“Do you know how to get there?”
The girl nodded.
“I got a bike.”
“I’ve never been on a bike.”
= = =
Bethany appeared to know what she was doing. Vanessa watched as she took a splay of wires from within Glass and attached them to various sections of the abdominal sheath. There were metal latch points on his skeleton, and she stretched the manufactured muscle onto them, talking herself through the procedure as she wired and latched, wired and latched.
“The orange is below the blue and white, the purple is at the top. Anchor diagonally to stretch it properly . . .”
The patients in the surrounding rooms started screaming in distress.
“I can’t feel my body!”
“I’m shaking!”
“I’m off the bed!”
“Someone help!”
Vanessa started for the door.
“Stay here,” Glass said. To Bethany: “How much longer?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
They heard bodies hit the ground. Outside, one of the doors opened. “I don’t know what’s going on!” someone cried right outside. Footsteps slid past them.
Vanessa looked wide-eyed at Glass.
“Lock the door,” Glass said quietly.
Vanessa did. A frosted window was set in it, and just as the lock clicked, a head pressed its ear to the glass. “This is Cynthia Revo. Is this ‘Mother’?”
Vanessa turned to Glass and mouthed, What should we do?
Glass shook his head slowly. Nothing.
Bethany was hunched over him, sweat dripping from her nose, finishing the fix. The chest was installed, and she moved on to attaching the shoulder ligaments to the main body.
The doorknob rocked back and forth, the silhouette still peering in, listening. Suddenly the knob was ripped from the door, and the door swung open.
In the doorway was an anatomic display. The Minor was skinless, one of its legs was still not fully attached, and the head lolled like a ball on string. It had to grab its head by the hair and pull it up in order to look around the room.
Vanessa was in the corner, and next to her was Mike Glass, a nurse working on him. Still holding its head by the hair, the Minor turned to Vanessa. “You’re Mother. Of course. Why else would he take you under his wing?”
It shuffled in. Behind it, more doors opened and metal feet clacked on the tile. “I’m sorry, but I have no choice,” Cynthia said. “It’s you or millions. Or even more.”
Glass tried to get up, but his body wasn’t fully activated. The Revo turned its paralyzed head to him.
“You’re protecting her,” it said with curiosity. “You know what her life will entail. This is better. It’s mercy.”
The Revo dragged itself toward Vanessa. From the hall, the elevator dinged. As the Revo neared, Glass lunged, reached out, almost falling off the table as he did so, and grabbed the crook of the arm that held the Revo’s head. Cynthia—controlling the Minor—released the head and reached for Vanessa with the other arm. This was a Level 4 Minor body: if she could just lay a finger on Vanessa’s throat, she could end this. And she was mere feet away. The only thing holding her back was the grip of this broken giant.
Cynthia focused her entire energy on the Minor’s body, letting facial control go. Immediately the hanging head became aware, and the man stared at Vanessa, horrified and confused, like a boy being pulled into a van. “What’s happening?” he cried. His hands were almost on her.
Glass was now getting dragged off the table, but wouldn’t release his grip on the Minor. Bethany frantically worked on Glass’s arm.
“Lay ’em down!” The voice echoed from the hall, then was drowned in machine gun fire. Revos sprinted past the doorway toward the soldiers. Meaty pops filled the air, followed by crashing as the armor-less Minors got cut down. “Vanessa Raimey! If you are here, we need to go, now!”
More doors opened—and more gunfire. There were hundreds of soon-to-be bionics on this floor.
Glass’s left hand was missing two fingers, and he was losing his grip.
Vanessa was completely cornered. The frightened upside-down face in front of her turned cold. “It has to be this way,” Cynthia said.
“She’s in here!” Glass yelled. “She’s in here!”
The report of the gunfire escalated as the soldiers advanced.
The Revo turned to Glass. “What are you doing?” it snarled.
“Bethany, hide,” Glass said. Bethany ducked behind the bed. “They want her alive, Cynthia. And so do I.”
The soldiers rushed in and fired on the Revo. Exit wounds exploded through it: like the others, its armor sheathing wasn’t yet in place. It collapsed onto Vanessa. She heard the man say, “I don’t want to die,” and then he was pulled off of her and she was yanked to her feet. A flashlight blinded her.
“We got her! We got her! Cynthia has control of the Minors. I repeat, Cynthia has control of the Minors.”
Vanessa stared back at Glass as she was carried away. He gazed lifelessly at the ceiling, his arms wide, his mouth open.
“No! Mike! No!” she yelled, and then she was out of the room.
More gunfire, more Revos. The soldiers made it to the stairs. A sergeant yelled into the radio, “Every floor is compromised! I repeat, every floor is compromised!”
A stampede of Revos chased after them.
= = =
Bethany slowly rose from behind the bed. She looked down at Glass’s still face.
It reanimated and she jumped against the wall.
“Fix me,” he said.
= = =
The soldiers rushed Vanessa down the stairwell. Halfway to the ground floor the pursuing Revos started swan-diving down to them from above. One Revo grabbed a soldier and pulled him over the rail. Another, just arms and a torso, landed on top of them like it was crowd surfing. It ripped out a soldier’s throat before it was pummeled by lead.
Ten more soldiers met them on the ground floor. Together they exited out the main entrance.
Kove opened the back door of the transport. “Get in and go!” he yelled. Above them, the windows exploded outward and Revos—some just parts, others nearly whole—rained down from all levels. Knees popped and limbs snapped as they piled on top of each other, spilling into the road. Those who survived the fall immediately attacked the soldiers, tearing four of them to pieces.
Kove slammed into them, scissoring down with punches. Then a second wave fell from the fourth floor, and these were targeting the giant. They covered him, clawing at his body as he swung wildly, trying to shake them off.
“Get her out of here!” Kove yelled.
The soldiers fired into the dog pile of limbs that surrounded the truck. Two got sucked in, dead within seconds, but the other six—plus Vanessa—made it. Kove heard gunfire echo from the interior—something must have snuck in—and then the truck rumbled away, still covered in the amputated mess.
It had just made a wide U-turn to head toward the airport where a plane was waiting, when out of the corner of his eye, Kove saw something streak toward the truck. But before he could see what it was, Kove’s helmet was torn open as the Revos tried to get at his brains.
BA-BAM!
Kove hydraulshocked the mass. The pile of Revos that had swarmed him were now scattered for a hundred yards. Kove turned back to the truck, confirmed that it had escaped—it was a good hundred yards farther on and out of danger. On the way out, it had apparently crashed into a nearby building, where a hydrant now spewed a column of water high into the air. The hydraulshock report had masked the crash.
What the hell? Gunshots filled the air, and to Kove’s surprise, he saw Glass assaulting the truck. He started to run, to attack, but Revos continued to pour out of the building, and those limbs and broken bodies that had survived the hydraulshock rushed toward him like crabs. Kove crushed them with his fists, tore them off his back, struggling to escape, but they held him back by sheer force of numbers.
Th
warted by the relentless attack of the Revos, Kove had no choice.
He detonated the bomb.
= = =
Bethany finished, and Glass rushed out of the room after Vanessa. On the way down the stairs, he found a dead soldier and took his bulletproof vest. When the Revos tumbled out of the building in a waterfall, he smashed through a window on the second floor and carried down with them.
He saw that Kove was swarmed. The truck was leaving. Glass had no time to think. He ran directly at the truck and dove at the windshield. He shattered through the glass with his arms out like wings, nearly decapitating the two men in front. The truck veered off the road at forty miles per hour and crashed into a building. Glass grabbed a pistol from the dead driver.
He ran around and ripped the doors off the hinges. Vanessa was cuffed and wedged behind four soldiers. They shot him point-blank with their rifles, emptying their clips. He ignored their fire and pulled them from the truck, snapping their necks. One of the soldiers jumped behind Vanessa and put a gun to her head.
“I’ll—”
He didn’t finish. Glass raised his pistol and shot him in the head before the soldier could even register the movement.
“Are you okay?” Glass asked. Vanessa was shaking. Blood was spattered across her face.
Before she could answer, a huge blast came from the Derik Building. Glass was knocked down; the truck lifted off its wheels and was thrown into the nearest building, Vanessa tossed within it. A hurricane of dust pummeled them. Glass pulled himself up just as a broad silhouette appeared out of the murk behind him.
“Behind you!” Vanessa screamed.
Glass ducked. Kove’s massive fist cleaved through the back of the truck. Glass dove beneath Kove’s legs and vanished into the fog.
Kove looked into the truck. Vanessa was against the cab wall, coughing and covered in grey, but fine. He turned to the fog, squinting for any sign of Glass, but the bomb had turned the surrounding area into a fugue.
“Any of you guys alive?” he called. The silence was a negative. Shit. He couldn’t drive the truck. Kove amplified his voice. “I don’t have a problem with you, Glass. I know this is a raw deal, but stay out of the way.”
“You can’t have her,” the fog replied.
Kove rolled the back of the truck closed as easily as if it were a paper bag. “I’m not going to leave the truck, and reinforcements are coming. It’s over.”
The fog held its tongue. A minute passed; nothing. It was too quiet. It made Kove uneasy. He felt like he was missing something.
Off, away, there was the sound of metal wrenching back and forth.
What’s he doing? Kove wondered. He couldn’t leave the truck—Glass might sneak past, take the truck, and drive away. And even if Kove caught up to them—then what? He couldn’t do anything that could hurt Vanessa. She was the mission.
Vanessa’s yell echoed inside the truck. Kove slapped the side. “Quiet.”
He turned back, and Glass was there, just within eyesight. He held an ancient parking meter in his right hand. The pole extended four feet. His left hand was behind his back.
“Step away, Alan. I’ll let you live if you step away.” Glass was three feet shorter, forty-six hundred pounds lighter, but he spoke like a king offering mercy. “Evan won’t kill you; he loves his toys. Live to fight another day.”
Kove put up his dukes. “This is stupid. You know I can’t.”
With blinding speed, Glass’s left hand flung a piece of cement the size of a ham at Kove. Glass was a Level 6, the most powerful Minor ever created. The thirty-pound block hit Kove’s helmet at eighty miles per hour.
The helmet! The Revos had almost unlatched it. Kove settled it with his hand, then felt the blunt edge of the meter dig into his side as Glass swung it like a bat with all his might.
Kove reached for Glass with his other arm, but he couldn’t focus. And as fast as Kove was, Glass was faster; as strong as he was, it didn’t matter if he only grabbed air.
Glass focused on the helmet. He swung the parking meter again, and the impact spun the helmet sideways. Out of his right side, Kove couldn’t see. He caught a blur and snapped at Glass with both hands. Glass rolled out of the way and swung again on the rise.
This time the helmet launched off of Kove’s shoulders.
NO!
Kove covered his head with one hand and spun madly. His hand snared a leg, and he picked Glass up. Relief washed over him. He had almost been done in.
Glass didn’t struggle when Kove held him like a trophy fish. But he did pull out his sidearm. David and Goliath, the slingshot was drawn. With his helmet gone, Kove had to drop Glass in order to protect his head with both hands. The rounds bounced harmlessly off them, but Kove couldn’t see, and when the gunfire ceased and he opened his hands to find Glass, what he saw instead was a one-hundred-pound parking meter swinging right at his face.
The meter connected with Kove’s jaw and tore it from his skull. Kove crumbled backward over his legs, unconscious, spurting blood. The damage was extreme: his jaw was shattered, dangling by a flap of skin torn to one side. His tongue hung loose, the tip squirming back and forth while Kove sought consciousness.
Glass dropped the meter and ran to the truck.
“Are you okay?”
“Mike!” Vanessa cried.
“You’re safe now. Grab on to something. I’m getting you out of here.”
“Yes!” Vanessa said.
Glass got into the truck and gunned it. Vanessa heard civilians yelling as they passed. Stones clanged against the metal walls. She rattled around the back as Glass took turns too fast, and then she felt the truck descend and the sound of people fade beneath the gurgle of the engine.
Five minutes later the truck stopped. She heard the driver-side door open, but a minute passed and Mike still hadn’t said anything to her.
“Mike?” she called out. She shook away the image of the incomplete soldiers running after them.
“Stand back.” It was Glass.
A pipe punctured through the crimped metal and Glass rocked it back and forth, opening a jagged hole. He tore at it until it was big enough for her to slip through.
Glass pulled her out and they hugged. She looked at him. The skin on his face was the worse for wear, and the exposed muscles on his chest and arms were punctured by bullets.
“Mike! Are you okay?”
“The bulletproof vest took most of it.” He smiled. “And I’ll survive the rest.”
“What are we going to do?”
“You’re going to stay here.”
He escorted her to the passenger seat.
“Why?”
“It’s safe. I need to tie up a loose end.”
She looked around. Chicago was layered with streets, and this one was buried deep into the dermis. It had been fifty years since it’d seen the sun. A sheet of water covered half the street; rats scurried along the walls.
Glass shut the door. “Stay tucked down. I’ll only be a minute.” He disappeared up some nearby stairs.
Vanessa watched a rat scrape at a cup that had made its way to this forgotten street by gutters. She let out a long yawn; suddenly she was so sleepy. Adrenaline, she thought. A military radio beneath the dash crackled with noise. She went to turn it off, but paused. If Glass had been listening to it, it was safe.
Another yawn made her want to curl up and nap. Not exactly a survival response. She pinched her thigh, touched her eye, and then started flipping through the military bands. Something to do, and maybe she’d learn what the hell was going on. And five bands in, she heard something impossible. She hurried out of the truck and ran to catch Glass.
= = =
It was a nine-day passage from Boma to the United States. The goodbyes had been quick. Raimey asked Juhavee to bury Razal. Vana hugged Raimey’s leg. The captain—an angry, slurry Brit—had shown zero interest in crossing the Atlantic until Juhavee offered him gold. The same gold that had been paid to the Mort Vivant for the children
. After that, the captain warmed to the journey.
“Good luck, John,” Juhavee had said. “Find your daughter.”
Now Raimey was stuck in the cargo bay—none of the stairs were big enough for him. One of the engineers was a cool guy, and would talk to him from time to time. The others kept their distance, nodding nervously and moving on. Mostly it was just him and his wife, quiet company.
“You can get to her,” she’d say when doubt would fill his mind. She always knew.
“I know.”
“Believe it.”
“I will.” He’d try to look at Tiffany, but she’d slide away. “She wanted to speak to me.”
“She’ll forgive you if you save her.”
“She would, wouldn’t she? She’d have to.”
A day out from New York, an intercom in the cargo hold crackled. It was the captain. “We’re getting two radio signals. One’s an SOS, and the other’s a warning not to come in to port.”
“We have to,” Raimey said. “Someone must be there.”
“I’m not going to endanger my men,” the captain said.
“I will sink this ship.”
“That’s a shitty thing to say. Aren’t you the good guy?”
“I’m just a guy.”
A pause. “I’ll keep trying.”
Twelve hours later, the intercom crackled again. “We found a weak signal. It’s a soldier at the port.” The captain patched it through.
“This is Private Seth Cauwels.” The voice sounded young—just a kid. “Do not come to port. We barely have it under control.”
“Cauwels, this is John Raimey.”
A moment of silence. The radio was open and distant cracks of gunshots came across the tinny speaker.
“The Tank Major?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a built-in comm, anything like that?”
“No.”
“No headaches?”
“No, why?”
“MindCorp controls ninety-five percent of the bionics.”
“That’s impossible.”
The radio was again filled with gunshots and the far-off screams of sirens. It was clear that Cauwels had held the radio out toward the front of the port.
“It’s possible, sir. It’s happening.”
The Northern Star Trilogy: Omnibus Edition Page 56
