Steamrolled

by Pauline Baird Jones

  “It’s not as perfectly formed as it was before you arrived, but it’s still big and bad.”

  “I’ll work on the virus,” Robert said, “but we might be out of time.”

  “When I have a virus, I just shut off my computer and call George. He’s twelve and a totally awesome geek, who likes steampunk, too. He had a teeny crush on me, but then fell for the girl who works at the Jesus Saves stand.”

  Doc started to snap—stopped—looked at Robert. “It couldn’t be that simple, could it?” It would so suck if this pitiful ragamuffin figured it out.

  Robert pivoted. “Where does the power come in?”

  Emily pulled out a flashlight and shone it around the lab, like she’d know a power source if it came up and bit her on her—

  “This looks kind of power button-ish.”

  “Don’t—” Doc was pleased Robert said it with her, but they were too late.

  The ragamuffin pushed it. And time howled.

  * * * *

  “This is Outfield4. Please respond, home base, I say again, please respond.” Carey taped the radar screen, but the Doolittle didn’t pop up on the screen.

  “Sir, where’s mom?” Outfield3 sounded baffled, but calm.

  Carey followed him into the firing run, fired his last missile and pulled up. “She’s there. Just getting some interference. Make your run, Catcher squadron. A couple of those bad boys are still trying to fire on us.” He skimmed low, studying the outpost, trying to figure out what was making his gut twitch. He banked for a turn as he reached the end, coming in right over the building that held the portal. And saw a strange sight.

  Two men, two men not designed by nature for running, were nevertheless attempting to run. Distant enough to not be a serious threat, a ragged mob of people shambled after them. He came in low, edged to the side so he could get a good look. Not a weapon in the lot.

  “Outfield squadron, prepare for another firing run—” he broke off as the horizon went weird again. It looked like…something rippled the length of the outpost, like a dark blanket. Their targets, the weird people, all of it vanished, which would have been fine if he hadn’t hit the mother of all turbulence. Felt like he’d gone from a sports car to a bucking bronco.

  His radio crackled. “Come…squadron…respond…”

  “General? Carey here. Please repeat last order.”

  “Break off…land…as…possible. Break…attack. Land…soon…possible. Acknowledge all squadrons.”

  “Acknowledged. Break off attack. Land soonest. Squadrons, acknowledge new orders.”

  One by one, they checked in, Carey doing a mental checklist as he tried to fight his craft into position to land. Only when all members had checked in, did he allow himself to wonder why they hadn’t been ordered back to the Doolittle, which still wasn’t showing up on his radar, okay, so he maybe knew why, still wasn’t sure how to get his bird on the ground when it looked like it…he peered through his forward screen…rippled once, then again. A little side to side shimmy, too. That’s when he realized what had been different. The stands of trees, the patches of lawn were different here from…there. Of course, the weather was different, too.

  Lightning. Wind. Clouds, lots of bad crap. He looped around, so that he had the six of all the squadrons. He’d see his people in, then he’d land.

  “Let’s bring ’em in slow and easy, starting with Catcher, then Infield, then Outfield.”

  They held it together, showed good form, well, good as they could. Catcher managed to land, though Catcher4 reported Catcher3 mating with a tree. No injuries. Infield picked their spot and went in. Infield5 bent his bird, but got out clean.

  Ground looked like rippling wasn’t enough. Added a bit of a twist to the ripple. Carey tried not to think of the civilians on the ground, of Olivia, it wasn’t easy as his squadron started down, while everything around them ramped up.

  “What the hotel is happening, sir?” Carey asked the question, though he didn’t know if the general would hear it. It just had to be asked. He was a meter shy of wheels down—when a rogue wind caught his bird. Yanked it up. And around. And around some more. Just in case he missed the FUBAR memo, his engines died and his avionics went dark.

  * * * *

  “Can you raise anyone?”

  Hel knew how much it cost the general to ask the question. Wished he had a better answer. He shook his head. Now, when it was gone, he realized how much he’d relied on his connection with Delilah. It had, almost, irked him at times, though Delilah was always careful not to intrude on his thoughts, but to be so connected, so aware of another person, it was somewhat alien to his nature. His arm itched, the arm with the ma’rasile that bound him to her, in life and in death. He half turned and pulled up his sleeve. The mark swirled and twisted under his skin, shifting and changing shape. Almost fading from view and then surging back. He yanked the sleeve down. Took a calming breath. Needed another. As Delilah would say, it was disturbing. Did it require the nanites to maintain it? What would happen if it went away? Would they survive or die? Almost, he heard Delilah say, deal with the problem in front of you. Now if he just knew what that was, knew what to do to help.

  He looked around the small space they shared. They’d had to seek refuge in this power station when the trees started falling and debris started flying. The low hum of the power system was a bit reassuring. At least one thing worked—unless it shouldn’t? If power ran to the lab, wouldn’t that power also fuel the virus and help it spread? He tapped his radio, felt the need to try to connect one more time, but got nothing, not even static.

  If he asked the general about it, he’d argue because the idea came from his enemy. Hel was in command, he had the right and the responsibility. And it felt right. He always followed his instincts and so far it had served him well. He spun around and yanked the master switch down. The low hum faltered, then stopped. Outside, the wind seemed to build, almost to howl in protest.

  “Why—” Halliwell started, but didn’t. Took the single step to the door and pushed it open.

  The air outside appeared to move horizontal to the ground, and moving in a circular fashion well outside his experience. Hel pulled up his sleeve again. The mark pulsed, there and gone, there and gone…

  “What do you think?” For once the general’s tone was devoid of ire.

  “It will either end well. Or badly.”

  “Yeah.” He paused. “Almost wish I smoked. Seems like a cigar kind of moment.”

  An odd moment for a truce, when all time might be resetting. Or ending.

  “It does indeed…sir.”

  * * * *

  Robert tensed as the screens died, as the howl outside and inside ramped up.

  “Without those screens, we’re blind here,” Delilah said, trying not to sound annoyed. Maybe. Failed, but he appreciated the effort. No surprise Delilah was a bit disconcerted by Em. She’d probably never met anyone not afraid of her. He grinned. Don’t poke a bear unless you have to.

  “Oh!” Em reached into her pocket-rich coat and extracted the data pad. “Maybe this will help.”

  Robert almost hugged her, if there’d been time for that. “I do love you.” He took the pad, ignoring Delilah’s snort and studied the data, while Em snuggled into her spot against his back. The wave had lost shape, less tsunami and more hurricane shape to it, but still seemed to be incoming. Think, he urged himself, while even the hellhounds in his head looked for a way out. Something, anything other than watch it come, watch it wipe out everything.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Delilah shifted, like she couldn’t stand still.

  He knew the feeling. Keep moving or they’d catch up. She moved under the hole.

  “Fyn? Can you drop us a line?”

  “Pretty nasty up here, Doc.”

  “Nasty I can take.” She shot a look their way. A line came down and she snaked up it, like the black ops pro she was.

  Robert made a loop. “Put your foot in and hang on.”

  “We sh
ould go up together. When we let go…”

  “Right. Can you shimmy up?”

  “When you look at me like that, I can fly, Robert-oh-my-darling.” Her smile went high beam and Robert had the feeling he lost a few IQ points.

  “Just put your feet in the damn loop and we’ll pull you both up.”

  Robert kept the grin, but did as she asked. Delilah could only be pushed so far. They rose swiftly to the surface—and into the inner circle of hell. Something howled like a banshee, something like wind, but not quite. Robert pulled out the data pad again. The wave seemed to be forming into a V-shaped wedge. Took him a couple of tries to overlay the tracking with the outpost. A couple of seconds to realize what it meant.

  “It’s coming right at us. At this position.” Had Faustus left anything else behind—his thoughts froze. Restarted. He looked at Delilah, held out the data pad. “It’s coming for this. It’s a—”

  “—beacon, maybe some kind of targeting beacon.”

  “The wave has dissipated a considerable amount, but it’s still big enough to—”

  “—kick our tushes back to primordial slime,” Em finished. She’d tucked herself in against his back again. It didn’t surprise him that she faced this the way she’d faced everything since they met. It did surprise Delilah. Seems she didn’t always expect the unexpected.

  “So, what? We break it?” Fyn asked.

  “If it’s got Constilinium in it, breaking it might not be enough.” Delilah frowned in a way that told him she was processing and discarding courses of action.

  “Constilinium?” Fyn frowned.

  “Red. Round. Powerful.”

  “The Abram’s ball!” Em managed to sound delighted, despite the wild winds and the incoming time wave. “There was one in the transmogrification machine before we blew it and my dead uncle up.”

  Delilah’s gaze met Robert’s.

  “We need to see the guts,” she said. The storm made it hard to tell if her teeth were gritted, but Robert suspected they were.

  Robert turned the data pad over. Looked at Em. “Please tell me you have a screwdriver.”

  “I always have a screwdriver. The 1000 model. Didn’t upgrade, because it does the job, though the infomercial for the 5000 was seriously tempting.” She produced it and used it with admirable dexterity. That should impress Delilah, help her see how wonderful Em was.

  Robert eased the back off. Was both surprised, and not, to find it also ran on steam.

  “Oh, now that’s just cute. A miniature steam engine. The evil overlord had that going for him.” She looked up, eyes widening. “Still glad you made him dissolve. The ability to craft a seriously fine, miniature steam engine does not give him the right to try to take over, well, everything.”

  “He probably stole the tech from the Professor,” Robert felt impelled to point out.

  “Right. Yet another reason to dissolve his sorry tush.” She smiled at him, the wind whipping her hair into her mouth. She batted at it without breaking eye contact.

  “Someone kill me now,” Delilah muttered.

  Robert wasn’t sure if he was meant to hear it or not. He hid a grin in action, bending over the device. “It’s smaller than our Abram’s ball.”

  “Still enough to blow this spot into next week,” Delilah told him. She looked at Fyn. “C-4?”

  “We used it all making the other hole.”

  Em leaned in. “I think we can rig an overload with what’s in the guts.”

  “A power overload?” Delilah’s brows arched almost to her hair.

  “When your family thing is power generation, you can sometimes overdo it.”

  “What?”

  “We’ve also blown things up.”

  “Oh.” Delilah looked almost approving, as a squadron of fighters skimmed past. “Do it. We’re running out of time.” She turned to Fyn. “Get your team out of here. I have no clue how much real estate we’re about to destroy.”

  “You go, too, Delilah. Em and I can handle this.” When she hesitated, he pointed out, “There’s not room in there for more hands.”

  Em had already pulled out a pair of seriously weird glasses that magnified her bright gaze to nova level. Delilah winced and nodded, looked like she wanted to say more, but they didn’t do the mushy stuff, so she punched his arm, then turned to jog after Fyn and his team.

  Despite the small components, Em didn’t hesitate, her touch light but assured. He found another thing to love about her: her hands. He followed her lead and finally she sat back, returning the glasses to one of her many pockets.

  “It’s done. Just nudge that over and the timer starts.”

  “How much time do we have?”

  “Twenty-five seconds. Probably. Might be less than that. It was all I could squeeze out. If I did.”

  “Get ready to run.”

  Robert bumped the tiny switch and tossed it down into the lab, then took off, grabbing Em’s hand as he went by, yanking her along with him. Not that she fought it. He matched his stride to hers, wished for some peep boost, while he counted down in his head.

  …twenty-three…

  Did it seem like the sky rushed toward them? Dark, it seemed to curl into a sort of vortex.

  …twenty…

  The wind bent, began to spin, catching an incoming Dauntless and lifting it high in the air. Robert lengthened his stride, towing Emily now, as the wave rushed in like a well-aimed lance.

  …fifteen…

  They weren’t far enough from blast or wave.

  …ten…

  They weren’t going to make it.

  …eight…

  In the distance, Fyn, his team and Delilah vanished around the side of a building. If it worked, at least she’d be safe.

  “Em.” He had to yell, not easy while running. “I’m sorry.”

  …three…

  They started to pass one of the small transport stations. Robert did a sharp right turn, whipping Em around and inside. The stone building might provide some protection.

  “Get down!” He yelled it, then pushed her down and flung himself on top of her.

  …two…

  The ground shuddered, the blast wave thundering past a few seconds later.

  “Twenty-four seconds. I was close.”

  The shaking didn’t stop. It seemed to ramp up. Robert looked up, saw the ceiling start to crack.

  “Move!” He half lifted, half pushed Em out of the way as it collapsed. Heard a sound, like freight train passing overhead…

  * * * *

  Carey couldn’t believe it when his engines kicked on, his avionics, too. But he knew what to do with both. No tracking still, though the storm seemed to be dissipating—or gone. He double-checked and had to ditto the gone pecan. He might have pondered the weirdness of it all, but he had better things to do than notice that this weird ass island was briefly normal. He brought his nose down, heading for the deck. His radio crackled.

  “Colonel Carey, come in. Colonel Carey, please come in.”

  “General? I’m okay and heading for the deck. ETA in sixty seconds.”

  “Good to hear, Colonel.” A pause. “In case you are wondering, all outpost ground personnel—and your squadron are accounted for.”

  “Good to know, sir. Foxtrot good to know.”

  With a wide grin, he sent his bird down to buzz the tower—or what passed for it. He’d earned a victory lap. Earned two, but he had a girl to get to and kiss like it was his job. He’d save the second lap for another time.

  * * * *

  The chaos increased and the general started to close the door again.

  “Wait.” Hel stopped the move, his gaze narrowing on the figures racing between two buildings. “That’s Delilah.”

  “And Fyn.”

  Hel started her direction, the general grabbed his arm. Their gazes met and he released him.

  “Good luck.”

  Hel plunged out into the maelstrom, heading not directly toward her, but what he hoped would be an inter
cept course. The noise was bad, but the way the wind felt against exposed skin, was much worse. His arm, with the ma’rasile mark felt on fire. Everything pulsed, though randomly, buildings going in and out of view. He saw the flare of an explosion, heard a rising shriek as he slammed into Delilah, taking her to the ground, they rolled several times, no surprise she ended up on top, her knife against his throat. For a split second her eyes widened, then the knife disappeared and her mouth slammed into his. Took him several, most pleasurable seconds to realize that they had survived and that the storm was just…gone.

  Delilah rolled off him, onto the grass, though she held on to his hand.

  “Is it over?” It looked over. His radio crackled and updates began again, as the storm had not happened, as if they’d merely paused for breath. “Systems are starting to come back online.”

  The general jogged to their position, looked down until they scrambled upright. Fyn looked much as usual, except he didn’t seem as desirous of shooting Hel as normal.

  “That was weird,” he said.

  Hel nodded, examining his mate, his woman for damage. A few scratches that the peeps—he winced. No sign of their return inside his head and the tension in Delilah’s face told him hers weren’t back either. He yanked her close, kissed her hard.

  “We’re alive.” She nodded. “Robert?”

  “He was behind us.” She turned, looked back the way they’d come.

  “Let’s go find him. I’m anxious to meet his woman.”

  “Well, there’s a surprise.” She tried to look annoyed. Failed. Her pace picked up, as they passed between two buildings, both showing some damage from the explosion.

  “We blew up the lab,” she said, as if sensing the question before he asked.

  They emerged into a wide-open area. “And our lone elevation, it seems,” Hel said, his gaze sweeping the area around the blast zone. The hill had been leveled, as had several smaller structures around it—

  “There.” Delilah darted forward, drawing Hel’s gaze to the remains of a small, transport station and the two, prone figures partially in the rubble.

  FORTY-FOUR