ANOM: Awakening (The ANOM Series Book 1)

by Jason R. James

  She turned back to the tower, closed her eyes, and flashed away. In an instant, she was standing back on the observation deck in front of the hostages. Six more hands reached up. She grabbed hold of them, and then she flashed away, back to the rooftop and then back again. This time she did get sick—she couldn’t stop it. She dropped to her hands and knees, too weak to stand, and she spit the bile from her throat onto the carpet.

  Nyx looked over at the hostages. There were still eight of them, huddled together, waiting. Nyx caught her breath. Only eight left, but that meant two more trips to get them out. She told herself again that she could do it, only this time it was harder to believe.

  A loud crash from over her shoulder shook the last thought from Nyx’s head. She turned and looked just in time to see Gauntlet thrown across the floor. Titan followed after him, moving at a slow, steady pace, stalking down his prey.

  Nyx struggled to her feet and looked back at the hostages. “I want you to stay here.”

  They cried in protest: “What!?!”

  “You can’t—”

  “We need to—”

  They were all desperate—she knew that—and maybe they were right. Maybe her first priority should have been to get them out, but Gauntlet was still writhing in pain on the ground, and Titan was almost on top of him.

  Nyx pulled back both her fists and punched out with all the strength she had left. A double bolt of energy shot out, hitting Titan in the shoulder. The metal giant staggered half a step to the side. He staggered—but that was all she needed.

  Titan turned and looked at her, fixing her with his cold, hollow depressions that served as eyes. Nyx thought he looked angry. Then he took a step in her direction, and she knew he was angry. That was her opening.

  Nyx closed her eyes and flashed to the other side of the room, kneeling on the ground next to Gauntlet. She reached for his arm, and she could hear a grunt of pain from behind his helmet. At least he was still alive.

  Titan heard it too, or maybe he just knew. He wheeled around and lunged back for the both of them. Nyx closed her eyes and flashed again, this time to the far side of the tower, and this time she took Gauntlet with her. It was the best she could do. She was exhausted now.

  From the other side of the room, Titan saw them. He squared up his shoulders, twisted his head as if he were cracking his neck, and then he started after them again. He moved across the room even slower than before. Why would he rush? He already knew the fight was over. Nyx knew it too. She and Gauntlet were as good as dead.

  Nyx steadied herself on her feet. The whole building felt like it was spinning under her. She wanted to get sick again, but there was nothing left to throw up. Titan was only twenty yards away. Nyx tried to throw a punch with her right hand. A thin bolt of energy shot out, fading into nothing halfway to its target. She punched with her left. Nothing happened. She couldn’t even manage an energy bolt now.

  “Help me up.” Gauntlet was struggling to stand next to her. Nyx reached down, grabbed him under his arm, and helped him to his feet. There was another grunt of pain muffled by the helmet. Then Gauntlet limped a step forward, putting himself between Nyx and Titan. He closed his fists, and a cocoon of metal swallowed up each hand, twisting around on itself. Then half-inch spikes jutted out from the metal in all directions. In half a second, Gauntlet had turned both of his fists into a pair of medieval morning stars.

  He limped forward again, raising his right fist up to his chin; his left arm still hung lifeless at his side. “Stay behind me. I can buy us some time.”

  Nyx laughed—she didn’t mean to. She wasn’t sure if Gauntlet actually believed what he said or not, but the idea was absurd. Still, if he was sincere…

  Nyx put her hand on his shoulder. “Give him hell.”

  Titan was only three feet away.

  “Hey!” a voice suddenly yelled from their left.

  Nyx turned to look. Gauntlet looked too. Even Titan stopped his advance to turn and face the new arrival. They all saw him at the same time. Standing in front of the north stairwell, his silhouette framed by the emergency lights behind him: It was G-Force.

  For a moment, they all stood frozen, waiting for someone else to make the first move. Then Titan obliged. He squared up to this newest adversary and raised both his hands, beckoning the boy on.

  G-Force answered. He charged, moving faster than any of them expected—even Titan. He hit the bronze Anom hard around the waist, like a linebacker finishing a blitz, driving him back into the windows of the tower. The glass pane spider-webbed behind Titan’s back.

  For a second, Nyx actually thought the window might hold. But then the broken glass fell away, and Titan and G-Forced tumbled out into the empty sky.

  Chapter 24

  Jeremy was falling. That was the plan—or, if not a plan, at least the general idea. It was the best he could do under the circumstances. There wasn’t time for much else.

  He got the call from Nyx while he was still doubled-over on the sixty-eighth floor trying to breathe. Honestly, even now, he wasn’t sure of exactly what she said, but he remembered the strain in her voice—the desperation. And then he was moving, running back up the stairs, and his only concern was getting that beast Titan away from his team.

  He kicked open the door to the observation deck and hit Titan hard and fast. He took him right through the window, and now they were falling. That was the idea.

  For the first couple of seconds, after they broke through the window and fell, Titan and Jeremy had been tangled together. Jeremy had wrapped his arms around Titan's waist, but now their momentum pulled them apart. Titan was falling more than a dozen meters to the right.

  Jeremy felt a quick pang of guilt. He never wanted to kill the man. He thought he could zero out his gravity and save them both. The fall would be harmless, but that wouldn't work now—not with Titan so far away. Jeremy closed his eyes, trying to forget the man next to him.

  There was something almost peaceful about the fall. The static rush of wind around his face and ears obliterated any other sound. It all became white noise, and then the white noise disappeared as well. Jeremy opened his eyes again, spread out his arms, and zeroed out his gravity. His downward momentum slowed to almost nothing. He was a feather floating down to earth.

  But Titan kept falling. He hit the southwest plaza, and Jeremy could hear the sound of impact high above the ground. It was loud—almost the same as an explosion—only somehow duller; there was no sharp retort after the initial crash.

  Jeremy could see a thin cloud of gray dust rising over the street below, and through the haze he could see a crater. The red bricks of the plaza were tossed aside, scattered in every direction, and the brown earth was visible underneath. It was impossible for Jeremy to tell how deep the crater was—he was falling directly over top of it—but it was wide, maybe 18 feet across, and at the center of the crater he could see the twisted body of Titan. Then he saw the body move.

  All at once, a dozen voices crackled over the radio:

  “He’s standing up! I repeat, he’s standing up!”

  “Titan’s moving!”

  “Subject’s still alive!”

  Ellison’s voice cut through them all, “Blue Team, move out of the lobby and engage Titan. G-Force, what’s your status?”

  Jeremy pressed the contact mic against his throat. "I’m falling toward the plaza. I see Titan under me."

  "You need to get down there and re-engage Titan!"

  Jeremy looked down at the plaza. Titan was back on his feet now, standing outside of the crater, waiting.

  Lara’s voice broke over the radio, “Don’t do it, G-Force. Ignore that order. Let him go.”

  “What?” Ellison’s voice exploded of the receiver.

  “I said let him go,” Lara shouted back, defiant now. “Let him get away. There’s nothing more we can do.”

  “Mirror, end your transmission. G-Force, re-engage. That’s your order,” Ellison growled.

  “Jeremy, if you go down
there, he’ll kill you. Just let him go.” Lara’s voice was razor thin. Then silence.

  Jeremy looked down. The doors to the tower kicked open, and two lines of men snaked out across the plaza. They flanked out wide on either side of Titan, their M-4’s raised and ready.

  A low voice came over the radio, “Do not fire unless engaged. I repeat, do not fire unless engaged. Keep him on the plaza.”

  Then Titan was done waiting. He charged at one of the lines, grabbing the first man by the throat and lifting him off his feet. He kicked the second man in the chest and swung his left into the third man’s face. Then he slammed the first man down against the bricks.

  The M-4 rifles lit up, three round bursts singing in rapid succession. Jeremy could see the orange sparks falling off of Titan’s skin. They may as well have been gnats popping against a windshield.

  A black SUV raced onto the plaza, screeching to a stop just feet away from Titan. Men with body armor and submachine guns jumped out. Titan wheeled around to face them. He kicked at one of the open doors before the last soldier could get out. It pinned the man against the side of the SUV, nearly cutting him in half.

  Then Titan stepped around to the front of the vehicle. He crushed his metal hands down through the hood, torqued his body hard to the right, and the whole thing swung up into the air. Then he let go, and for a second, the SUV was flying. It landed on the plaza and rolled side over side, a two-ton bowling ball aimed at the second line of soldiers.

  It all happened so fast that there was no time for the men to escape, so they did all that they could. They dove face-first to the ground.

  Then there was no time to think—no time to answer Lara or Ellison. Jeremy dropped. He hit the plaza and started running. He met the SUV just in front of the line of soldiers, lowering his shoulder and plowing full speed into the vehicle. There was a loud crunch of crushing metal, but it worked. It stopped the car just short of the soldiers.

  Jeremy stepped back and looked down at the men lying prone on the ground in front of him. One by one they lifted their heads, each man realizing he wasn’t dead. Then they looked up at Jeremy.

  “Run!” Jeremy had no authority to give the men orders—he knew that—but they listened anyway. The soldiers scrambled to their feet and ran for the far line of cop cars. Whatever happened next with Titan, it would be on Jeremy alone.

  He looked across the plaza. Twenty yards away, Titan had stopped his assault on the remaining soldiers. He was standing motionless, his metal fists clenched, staring across at Jeremy. Everyone else on the plaza had stopped too. Most didn’t have a choice. Jeremy could see their bodies sprawled and twisted across the ground. Some were obviously dead. Others were too hurt to move, but even the men who were still upright had stopped firing their rifles. They used the moment’s lull to back away, running for the line of police cars on the street. They must have known there was nothing more they could do. Jeremy knew it too.

  Titan squared his shoulders. He was ready.

  Jeremy waved him on.

  Then Titan charged. He closed the twenty yards between them in a breath and threw a wild right cross at Jeremy’s head.

  Jeremy slipped the punch and countered with a right of his own to Titan's body. It landed hard against his metal ribs—a heavy, solid punch.

  Jeremy knew his gravity had been up from stopping the SUV. It still was—he could tell that much—but as he threw the punch, he blew out a quick breath and raised his gravity even more, all of it centered on his right fist. It was every ounce of the effort he gave in the tower to stop the explosion. It was more.

  As Jeremy’s right hand connected, Titan doubled over. Jeremy threw another punch—a quick left hook. It landed on Titan's back, at the kidneys. Titan swung his arm back across his body. Jeremy ducked. Then he lifted an uppercut into Titan's chin. The metal-skinned Anom staggered back. Then he fell.

  Jeremy laughed to himself; he understood it now. "You've never been in a real fight in your life, have you?"

  Titan was struggling to gain his feet.

  Jeremy bounced back and forth on his toes like a boxer. "You ready for round two?"

  Titan charged at him again, putting all his weight behind a right cross. Jeremy read it all the way. He parried the punch aside and threw another right uppercut into Titan's midsection. Then a quick left jab to the face. A right hook to the ribs. Another hook to the side of the head. Titan was reeling. Left jab. His metal face snapped back. Right cross to the jaw, and Titan fell again.

  Jeremy danced away, back to his corner, waiting for the ten count; he was starting to enjoy this.

  Titan climbed back to his feet. He was slower this time—unsteady. Jeremy had hurt him.

  Titan staggered forward, staring down at the bricks on the plaza. That’s when Jeremy noticed the man at the metal giant’s feet. Titan saw him too. It was one of the wounded soldiers. Jeremy hadn’t paid any attention to the man before—there were so many laid out across the bricks—but this one tried to move away. All he really managed was a half-groan, half-gurgling noise from his throat as he rolled to his side. That was all Titan needed. He kicked the man in the face, and the soldier's head snapped back in a spray of blood and bone. Then he was still.

  Titan had killed before—the evidence of that littered the ground—but this was different. It was a show of strength—a demonstration of his cruelty.

  Then any conscious thought or reason was gone. Jeremy couldn't think. Everything was emotion. Raw. Burning. Then cold. Jeremy closed the distance between them.

  Titan threw a right roundhouse punch.

  Jeremy raised his left arm and blocked it. The impact should have shattered the bone in his forearm. Jeremy barely felt it. He grabbed Titan by the wrist before he could pull back his arm. Then Jeremy jumped, and as he landed, he punched his fist down against Titan's elbow. His gravity spiked, and his fist didn't stop. There was a high-pitched shriek of snapping metal, and Titan’s arm severed at the joint.

  Titan recoiled and collapsed to the ground, writhing back and forth over the plaza bricks as he waved his broken stump of an arm in the air.

  Jeremy looked down at his own left hand. He still held the other half of Titan’s arm by the wrist. He threw it away.

  “Get up.”

  Titan struggled back to his feet. The metal Anom punched again—a weak left jab. Jeremy parried. Then he landed a heavy left hook to Titan's ribs. The giant doubled over.

  Jeremy grabbed him by the arm and punched down on the back of his shoulder blade. As soon as Jeremy hit, he could feel the metal give way, spreading thinner like a baker kneading his fist into a lump of dough. Jeremy punched again. Then again. The metal was singing now like steel under a blacksmith’s hammer, and then, with a final shriek, Jeremy's fist punched down through Titan's shoulder and out the other side. Titan wrenched back, only his left arm didn't move. The metal sinews in the shoulder twisted and snapped, and with a final jerk, Jeremy ripped the arm free from Titan’s body. Titan collapsed again, convulsing, his head thrown back in a voiceless scream.

  Jeremy looked down at him. The metal Anom was rocking from side to side now, and the sunlight bouncing off his skin reminded Jeremy of a hooked fish desperate to find its way back to water. It was pitiful, and maybe in another time and place that’s exactly what Jeremy could have felt. But not today. Today there was too much pain—too much suffering. Titan would have to reap his share.

  Jeremy tossed the arm aside and reached down for Titan's ankle. He lifted up the leg, and then he stomped his foot down on top of Titan's knee. There was a sick crunch of folding metal. The leg buckled. Then it broke, bending up into the air at a grotesque angle. Jeremy stomped his foot down again, and the leg snapped at the joint.

  Titan had stopped moving now. Maybe he blacked out from the pain. Maybe, somehow, he was dead. Jeremy didn't care—he wouldn't let himself care.

  He turned his back on the Anom and walked away, pressing the contact mic against his throat. "This is G-Force. Titan is down."
<
br />   Ellison answered over the radio, "Copy."

  He wanted Lara to say something too—anything—but there was only silence.

  Then Jeremy felt empty—like everything he was had been poured out and now nothing was left. There was no guilt. No remorse. No satisfaction. He knew he could have put his fist through Titan’s skull and taken the Anom’s life. Or he could have wrestled him to the ground and held him down and waited for help—maybe that’s what he should have done—but he didn’t. He made his choice, and now he would have to carry it.

  Jeremy pressed the mic against his throat. “This is G-Force. I’m off radio.”

  “You need—” Ellison started to bark another order, but Jeremy pulled the receiver away from his ear before the major could finish. Then he ripped the contact mic away from his throat, and he let them both drop.

  Jeremy walked back toward the tower, tired and alone.

  Chapter 25

  Major Ellison walked quickly through the white fluorescent halls of Fort Blaney, his anger roiling just below the surface. He was late for a briefing, and he despised the feeling. Even worse, he resented the implication. It all felt like failure. Ellison had once told his men there were no excuses for lateness. Either they failed to plan their schedule or they failed to execute that plan. Either way, it was a failure—and it was theirs. Now he was the one who was late, and the whole thing felt like a very public mistake.

  Ellison turned the corner in the hallway and reached the elevator. He jammed his thumb against the button and waited. It felt like ants were crawling under his skin, or like someone’s nails were scraping down a chalkboard. He couldn’t stand still. He needed the elevator to be there already—but then Ellison forced himself to take a breath.

  He was already late—nothing would change that now. Everyone else would simply have to wait. And as for the implications of failure, anyone who knew the major would have to draw some other conclusion. Ellison rarely made mistakes, and he was never late. He took too much pride in himself to allow that to happen. Today’s failure was beyond his control—a quirk of the new schedule.