As well as the security clones guarding them. I raise an eyebrow.
"Might work," he mutters. If we knew where the hell to go.
That's easy. "Unit D1-436," I say aloud, "tell me where the Twenty are being held."
The clone nods but doesn't say anything. Then D1-436 and the clone it's jacked into begin to tremble, small tremors at first, escalating into violent convulsions that risk severing the connection between them.
"What's going on?" I glance at Erik.
"Not sure." He winces at the sight. "Could be a defense measure to keep anyone from learning the location—"
D1-436 withdraws the data spike, and the clone it was connected to tips over, collapsing limply onto the ground.
"I have the coordinates, Enforcer Chen," it says, striding toward me as the spike folds back into place and its gauntlet returns to a five-fingered hand. "Shall we go?"
"What did you do?" I nod toward the motionless clone. It looks dead, for all intents and purposes.
The one next to it sits there looking stunned, staring at its partner.
"Unit D1-917 refused to share the location with me," D1-436 explains. "We fought. I won."
"You killed it."
D1-436 faces me. "Have I earned your trust?"
Instead of answering, I point at the aerocar. "I'll need you to fly that thing."
"Yes, of course, Enforcer Chen." It pivots toward the car.
I place a hand on its cold, armored arm. "Input the coordinates into the navigation console, but don't share them with anyone." If we're going under the guise of a security team returning with its cargo, we must maintain the air of secrecy. "And stick that other clone in the seat next to you." It'll look better having two of them in the cockpit. Business as usual.
"Yes, Enforcer Chen."
I turn to Erik. "Where do we need to stop first?"
He gives me a sheepish grin. "Oh, you're really not going to like it."
"I'll be the judge of that."
He shrugs. "Dome 10."
"Of course," I mutter. The birthplace of the terrorist uprisings—and the best place to procure illegal weaponry, along with other unsavory substances such as dust. Located on the edge of the Mediterranean, Dome 10 serves Eurasia as a waste-processing center, and it's the only dome with airlocks that open to the outside world. "Very well. Unit D1-436, we'll be making a stop in Dome 10. Then it's straight to our class reunion."
I release the clone to follow its orders.
Don't you want to know where the reunion's taking place? Erik thinks at me.
We'll know soon enough. Right now, I'm more concerned about Commander Bishop's rogue status. It's suddenly all I can think of. What the hell is going on? Why would she kidnap the Chancellor?
Any idea who this creator-person is? Erik scratches his chin. Because, if I had to guess—
Hey…guys? The sound of Arienna's thoughts enter our shared telepathic space for the first time. I think something might be happening to me...
15 Samson
5 Years After All-Clear
Cain reeks.
I caught a whiff or two of his stench while he was sitting next to me in the jeep, and I thought that was bad. But being trapped inside this dark shipping container as we roll toward Eden? Nothing I wouldn't give for a breather right now.
The four raiders keeping an eye on us don't seem to mind, but then again, they've got their own oxygen supply. The three Wastelanders aren't bothered by it either. They've gotten used to Cain's stank by now, or they can't smell it over their own. The smell intensifies the longer we're kept locked in the dark.
Shechara and Daiyna still have their head coverings on. Wise choice. Shechara holds a hand over her mouth and nose, but Daiyna doesn't bother.
The three of us can see perfectly fine in the dark, thanks to the spirits. So can the raiders, due to the tech in their helmets. They sit on crates and we sit on the floor, but we all sway with the movement of the tractor-trailer.
They keep their Tavor assault rifles resting casually on their laps with the muzzles aimed at us. And they keep their face shields pointed in our direction. No conversation, of course. This isn't that kind of road trip.
Cain is the only one of us bound and gagged, just the way we like him. The raiders saw no reason to untie him, and that's all right by me. So far, they seem to believe he was responsible for the destruction of their rig, as well as Stack. Also okay by me. The problem is, they think we're his cohorts.
I figure they'll hold onto him but try to hand the rest of us over to Eden. Daiyna, in particular, with that bounty on her head. When the raiders move in to commandeer, pillage, and plunder, we'll take that as our cue to escape. Assuming all goes according to Daiyna's plan.
But I’m not sure she's in any shape to be making plans. The past few years have been rough on her. There are moments when we catch a glimmer of who she used to be. But for the most part, she comes across as a haunted drunk. I hope this trip to Eden isn't just a way for her to raid their liquor cabinets.
And kill Perch.
The last time she went after him, over three years ago, we ended up losing good people. I won't let that happen twice. Shechara and me, we're leaving at the first opportunity. Daiyna doesn't want to come along, that's on her. She can stay and lead her new Wastelander lackeys to their deaths if that's what she wants.
What do we want? To live life on our own terms. Not chasing Luther's lofty dreams of a future that may never come. Surviving here and now. More than surviving: enjoying every day we have together.
Will we get back there? I see the way Shechara dotes on Daiyna. The two of them aren't related biologically, but they've always been as close as sisters. Even if she hasn't mentioned it, I doubt a day went by that Shechara didn't worry about Daiyna. I could say the same about Luther, though he'd never admit it. They both love her in their own way.
I love Shechara more than anyone else on the planet. I can't let anybody put her in danger. Even if it is her beloved sister.
"Deep thoughts?" Daiyna's watching me, her goggles up on her forehead.
"Just planning our escape." My voice has a tendency to be louder than it should, even when I'm trying to keep it quiet.
The raiders chuckle and shake their heads. Because they don't think I can break out of here. The truth is I could, but I'd be risking lives in the process. I don't much care what happens to Cain or the Wastelanders; if we were positioned differently, with them in the line of fire, I might try something. But Shechara and Daiyna are seated on the floor close to one of the raiders. No way.
"Any ideas?" One of Daiyna's eyebrows lifts.
"I was liking the idea of Cain as a human shield. But then I realized he's not human anymore. He's hamburger."
Cain growls and thrashes at that, and the raiders laugh, a couple of them nudging him with their boots. Poking the bear.
"Hamburger…" Daiyna murmurs. "The first bite was always the best. You know? That explosion of flavor—" She cuts herself off at the sound of Shechara's stomach growling. "Sorry."
"It's okay." Shechara wraps an arm around her middle. "I'd even go for a protein pack right now."
I frown, unable to remember the last time we've eaten. Before we hijacked that big rig yesterday? Of course she'd be hungry now. I would be, too, if my arms and legs weren't made out of metal. Cyborg that I am, I only need to eat once a day. Although I can always eat more, if there's extra to be had on the rarest of occasions.
"Got any standard rations?" I nod to the raider who was calling the shots when we first entered our mobile prison cell. "We haven't eaten in a while."
"Not my problem," he says.
"You want our help invading Eden? We'll be more helpful if—"
"I want you to shut your mouth for the duration of this trip." He stares me down. Tries to, anyway, patting his Tavor. "Or do we have a problem?"
"No problem," Shechara says. "Except that he gets awful grumpy when he's hungry. I've seen him take on four or five guys without brea
king a sweat. Just to get a protein pack."
"Is that so?" The raider stands, steady on his feet despite the rig's movement. "You some kind of tough guy, metal man?"
"Can't be helped." I shrug and cross my mechanical arms. "Those wackos in Eden thought I needed limb replacement surgery. Side effect: I'm usually a real force to be reckoned with."
"Yet you're sitting there on the floor." He aims his weapon at my head. "Completely at our mercy."
"Ironic, right?"
The raider tilts his head to one side. "How about we rip off your arms and legs and drop what's left of you in the middle of the Wastes? Sound fun?"
Sadistic, more like.
He's looking to start something, but he has me at a severe disadvantage. For one thing, he and his cronies are pointing automatic weapons at my people, so of course I'm not going to take a swing at him. And even if he stopped the truck so we could step outside and duke it out, I would destroy him with a single punch. He'd have to be a complete moron not to realize that.
"I'll zip it." That should be enough to make him think he's won. For the time being, anyway.
He stares my way without saying anything else, his cocky posture doing the talking for him: Yeah, I thought so. Then he returns to his seat, and I pretend to doze off. Checking my eyelids for holes, as my grandfather used to say. But the lurching motion of the truck doesn't lend itself to actual snoozing.
I'm resigned to the fact that we won't be escaping while en route. We're actually going to Eden. Three and a half years is way too soon when you think you're never going to see certain people ever again.
Perch, in particular. The man who took my limbs.
I shouldn't worry about Daiyna's thirst for revenge. I'll have plenty to occupy me, keeping a lid on my own. Can't do anything that will jeopardize Shechara's safety. Once we arrive, we'll let the raiders take the lead while we fade into the distance, as far away from any crazies as possible. Where? Doesn't matter much, as long as we're together.
Cracking open one eye, I watch Shechara until she notices. Difficult to tell if she smiles at me, with her head covering in place. But I smile at her.
We're gonna be all right. We've gotten through worse.
I hope that's what my expression conveys. She gives me a little nod and looks down, keeping her eyes to herself.
"You'll want to have your driver pull into the east end of the city ruins," Daiyna speaks up. "No way this rig will fit inside the parking structure, so we'll either have to take these—" She slaps one of the Wastelanders' dirt bikes parked beside her. "—or go on foot. Five levels down."
She has the attention of my sadistic friend. His face shield turns her way and stays there. "Then what?"
"We take a tunnel straight to their front door." She shrugs. "Giant airlock, big enough to drive a jeep through."
"That's where we claim the bounty."
She nods. "They'll open the door as soon as they see you've got me. We won't even have to knock."
"Dead or alive." He raises the Tavor, his gloved finger curled around the trigger.
She doesn't blink. Doesn't cringe, either. I've never known anything to frighten Daiyna. She's seen much worse than this guy.
"They'll be more enthusiastic about opening up the airlock if they're the ones who get to end me. Your call, but I'm thinking you could use that enthusiasm as a distraction while you invade their subterranean sanctuary." She leans forward and lowers her voice. "That's where the babies were made, you know. Eurasia's hope for a bright future, right there in Eden's sublevels. I'll take you on a tour." She chuckles to herself. "Hell, I should sell tickets..."
The raider eases his weapon back onto his lap, finger off the trigger. "You're not exactly right in the head, are you."
"I've been told that before." She gives him a wink.
Shechara looks concerned. Not the first time since reuniting with Daiyna, probably won't be the last.
By the time we reach the ruins, it's mid-morning. The driver parks the rig where Daiyna suggested, and the raiders who followed in our jeep open up the shipping container with jarring metallic shrieks. We're expected to exit one by one, the raiders keeping their rifles trained on us the entire time.
They don't like the idea of riding down into the parking structure on motorbikes, so we hoof it. Daiyna and three raiders in front, followed by the Wastelanders and Cain, then a couple raiders, then Shechara and me, with the last two raiders bringing up the rear. Cain's ankles are unshackled, but his arms remain bound, hands behind his back, and the gag is still right where it should be.
Anytime I make eye contact with the oaf, he gives me a maniacal stare with plenty of bloodshot white around the dark irises. Like he wants me to know he's not through with any of us. That his current situation doesn't define him. That he'll have his revenge. Or maybe I'm reading too much into it.
We make our way down into the lower levels of the parking garage, the high-powered flashlights attached to the raiders' rifles cutting a white swath through the darkness and throwing the abandoned automobiles into stark relief against the surrounding concrete. I keep an eye out for cameras mounted along the ceiling but don't catch sight of any. Perch has really dropped the ball. Willard was always so proud of his surveillance tech down here.
The only sound is our footfalls as we descend the ramp into the lowest level and head straight for the tunnel's open mouth at the far end. We're thirty meters away from it when shots explode, fired from somewhere off to the left.
"Shechara!" my voice booms, lost beneath the barrage as raiders crouch and return fire.
Shechara and Daiyna scramble for cover behind one of the abandoned cars. I hold my metal arms up to shield my head and torso and hunker down. My mechanical legs scrape across the concrete floor as I advance, taking cover behind support pillars and autos along the way.
During a brief lull in the shooting, an unfamiliar voice screams, "You did this to me! You!" Followed by more shots fired in Daiyna and Shechara's direction. "You left me out there to die!"
I stay low and continue to move toward the shooter. The raiders take cover and hold their positions. The one who suggested removing my limbs earlier doesn't like the fact that I'm not staying put.
"Get back here, cyborg!" he shouts, mostly drowned out by the weapons fire.
"Not my name." I keep moving. So far, I seem to be off the shooter's radar. He's concentrating all his rage elsewhere.
"You knew they wouldn't let me in!" the shooter screams during another lull. "I'm starving out here!"
"It's only been a day or two, you big baby!" Daiyna shouts back.
So, they're acquainted.
He releases a half-curse, half-shriek and resumes firing automatic bursts in her direction.
"They've led us into an ambush," one of the raiders complains.
The three Wastelanders keep low nearby, their grinning skull-masks looking pleased as ever by the proceedings. Cain is curled into a fetal position, grunting to himself.
"One guy? Hardly an ambush." I swing my right arm, smashing it like a wrecking crane into a sedan and sending it rolling laterally, straight toward the shooter's position. I follow the tumbling vehicle, using it as cover while I advance. Automatic fire blasts my way, and I duck, shielding myself mid-stride.
I have his attention now.
A swing of my left arm sends another car his way. This one hurtles through the air a meter above the ground, corkscrewing until it slams into the auto he's been using for cover, skidding it across the floor and pinning him against the far wall. He screams, agony and anger fueling the primal sound. He's got every right to be mad at me as I approach. His shooting arm, along with the rifle it holds, have been crushed.
"All her fault..." he whimpers, head lolling forward. "She should've killed me…"
"You from Eden?" I look him over. No camo, no black beret. He wears filthy thermal underwear instead. Haggard and gaunt, he obviously hasn't eaten lately.
"They won't let me back inside." He shakes
his head with a manic rhythm. "Not now... She did this to me!"
When he looks up, I see that his eyes are wrong. They're yellow. Bulging outward unnaturally. The eyelids are little more than fleshy tatters, torn away from the sockets.
"What the hell is happening?" he wails.
I have no idea. Never seen anything like this before. If the spirits have gifted him with a new ability, I can't tell what it is. Looks more like he's turning into a daemon—but that can't be. Can it?
After all we went through to get rid of those creatures, are the evil spirits making new ones?
A single gunshot explodes next to me, and the mutant-in-the-making's head snaps back with a burst of blood. Then he slumps to the ground, his arm and rifle stuck above him at an awkward angle.
"Was that necessary?" I turn on the raider who fired the headshot.
"Didn't you see his eyes? We don't mess with the infected." He nods for me to return to the tunnel entrance. "Move out, cyborg."
He waits until I lead the way, metal feet clanking. "You've seen this before, then."
He grunts. "Three years ago, we received word the roaming hostiles had been neutralized. Flesh-eating freaks with the same yellow eyes. I'm sure you're familiar with them."
I nod.
"For a while, we didn't see them anywhere, which made our supply runs possible. But lately, with food and water running low—"
"Thanks to you," I mutter. These raiders keep taking what we need to survive.
"—we've noticed an uptick in small pockets of the infected. Nowhere near as dangerous as the well-armed variety that used to rove around in their jeeps. Now they just hole up and starve to death. But the eyes are always the same. The first thing to change, once the infection sets in. Those hideous yellow eyes."
Shechara leaps into my arms as we meet up with the others, and I pull her close. "You all right, Small Fry?"
She nods, gazing at me with a slight scowl. "That was some real Strongman action, throwing those cars around." She squeezes me tight. "You put yourself in danger like that again, I'll punch you right in the eye."
Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3) Page 100