The smiles faded.
“What a joy-kill,” mumbled Sam.
“Come on,” Brant urged. “Let’s hear it.”
Jessie coughed so quietly it could have been a flea-sneeze. “You must understand,” she began in a timid voice so submissive it was difficult to hear her. “We took an oath, one we cannot break.” Her eyes drew from the floor and landed on Teresa. It was a powerful, committed look which caused the counselor pause.
Brant inhaled then released his breath in a slow, diffusing sigh. “Look Jess. We wouldn’t want you to break an oath, but we must ask,” he delved, “does this oath involve the safety or wellbeing of someone?”
“Yes!” spoke up Sam. Then he paused, “ . . . we’ll I think so.”
Jessie eyed him annoyingly. “You don’t even know what that means.”
“I do so!” Sam blew out air and fell back hard against his seat. “Fine,” he growled.
“Jessie,” Teresa said. “Does this oath have to do with Gracie?”
Sam sprang up again. “Yes!” he shouted. “And this time I know my answer is right!”
Jessie’s eyes seared the boy for a second time, but she made no attempt to silence, or scold him. Instead, she hesitated, then allowed herself a subtle nod.
“Does Jimmy Reitman have something to do with it,“ questioned Brant, his query coming unexpected.
Teresa looked a surprise at him.
“Jimmy Reitman is an evil man!” Jessie suddenly cried. “There is so much more you don’t know . . . can’t know, or understand about Sandcastle! I can’t—”
But Jessie’s words were cut short, and not by the interruption of another’s sentence. Her body suddenly lurched forward!
Everyone gasped and reached, instinctively, to balance them.
The vehicle leaped again. A sudden thrust, harsh and lashing.
Teresa shrieked, and pushed down hard on the brakes. Her eyes shot down to confirm that the vehicle’s gear was in park, and not running.
Brant whirled to see who had hit into them, but there wasn’t even one vehicle nearby. And then it happened again: a jerking, dragging sensation as the car now careened nearly ten feet backwards!
Teresa shrieked!
“Are we rolling!” Brant shouted.
“No!” cried Teresa, pulling the keys from the ignition, and resetting her foot hard on the brakes.
Then—as if the unseen attachment had been set—the car charged backwards at high speed. It bolted between and around light poles; maneuvered cement curbs and multiple parked vehicles—barely missing each. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the vehicle wrenched to a whip-lashing stop, nearly a hundred feet from where it had been parked.
“What are you doing!” hollered Brant.
“Nothing! I’m not doing a thing!” gasped Teresa, her face a picture of absolute panic! She tried to move the gear-shift, but it was locked in park. “Here! You take the keys!” she shouted, throwing them at him. But even before Brant could catch hold of them, the vehicle bounded into motion again, and this time it was accelerating forward—very, very fast!
“Hit the brakes! Hit the brakes!” Brant bellowed.
But Teresa didn’t answer. There was no time. Besides, all of her senses were focused on the massive cement wall approaching dead ahead. She wrenched hard on the wheel, but nothing. It was as if some force had taken full control. She screamed and threw her hands in front of her face.
Jessie just leaned back, closed her eyes, and seemed to somehow anticipate the impact.
Brant had just enough time to hurl himself over-top of Sam.
The car went into the wall at high speed.
Chapter 49:
As Briggs and his men inched cautiously through the expanse of reinforced passageways, they found no other opposition from the sentinel forces—an outcome which both relieved and surprised them. The troublesome Three-of-Ten had not had time to reactive all of the Sandcastle defenses, giving Reitman’s preemptive sabotage the advantage—a fact that become more apparent as Briggs’ men crept ahead, station after station, finding the metal defenders powered down in a motionless, near spooky stance.
There were many other types of androids, however, which were very much online, and active. These task droids, as Reitman had referred to them, were not a threat, and were a necessary component in keeping the HOPE complex alive, and subsequently, the vital satellites functioning nominally. These drone workers carried on as though unaware of the intruders now wandering in and around their facility like a group of guests on some unofficial tour. It was an eerie feeling for Briggs and his men, as they brushed past the humanoid machines, with their heads craning, eyes scanning, arms and legs moving and ticking like creatures not of this earth—the Fire Ants were more than relieved to finally move clear of these operational sections.
Reitman’s blueprints channeled the men onward where they soon found themselves standing in what Jimmy had described as Convergence Central. This station-hub served as the main confluence dome where all transportation tunnels-ways converged. The salt arena was colossal, and lined in fortified steel—shiny like polished silver—rising up on all sides, and was bustling with groups of androids coming and going, their transportation pods lined up along tubular openings like caddies waiting for their fare. Some of the pods had just jetted in from a distant grid, while others were loading with robotic counterparts ready to speed off to their assigned area. It was an awe-inspiring sight; a collective, engineering marvel to be sure, one worthy of a soldier’s saga. But no. This account would never be recited amid hobnob and drink. This experience would forever lie bound in the minds of those who now stood in the midst of it, and wondered in some perplexing stupor: what had the United States Army gotten them involved in? The men of the Fire Ant Division would never be the same.
At the far end of the hub, a massive archway rose, its byzantine pillars as luring as an ancient entrance to a forbidden city. Above the keystone, were scrolled the words: Avalon. The intensity of the light from within the arched opening spilled outward onto the marble floors like a warm fire on a cold night. It was brilliantly white, nearly as the sun on a summer’s day. As the men approached, they grew cautious, and slowed. Then, as though cued by rank, Briggs plowed forward, and stepped through the entrance. It took only seconds for his eyes to adjust, but even as they did, his other senses were reeling in perception. His skin felt the warmth of a gentle breeze; his nose, the fragrant scent of flowers; and his ears, the sound of cascading waterfalls. But it wasn’t until his sight had regained their sensitivity that the air rushed out of him in a sudden gush of reflex: it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen!
Briggs had scarcely composed himself, when the sounds of his men, equally overwhelmed, echoed from behind him as they joined their commander in absolute astonishment.
“How—?” one of them asked.
“The EMR technology,” Briggs spilled off his lips, nearly unaware he had replied. “Now can you see why such power must be contained and controlled.”
The dome which towered above and around them was a vision unlike anything the soldiers had ever conceived. Like peering into a child’s dream, this was an Eden of unrealistic beauty, and they felt, in that moment of awareness, strangely safe and contented. There were no words exchanged in the minutes that followed. The mighty Fire Ants just stood and absorbed the essence of Avalon.
Was it any wonder? Briggs had to consider, that these individuals—whomever they were—had fought so desperately to keep their home hidden from the world? Would he not have done the same? No, he conceded, nearly shocked at his own self-realization. He would have killed to preserve it.
A sudden voice cut in on Briggs’ radio, jolting him back to the moment: “Colonel Briggs. This is Sergeant Call, checking in, sir, as command. We have traversed several other passageways and scouted multiple industrial-type domes. We have not encountered any other resistance, but there is still much of this labyrinth unexplored. Do you want to rendezvous, or have us c
ontinue on, sir?”
Briggs paused only briefly. “No, Sergeant. I believe that the whole of the complex is secure. Otherwise, the sentinel units would have hunted us down. Our reinforcements are waiting topside to join us. Take your men back down the tunnel to Mole Hole and regroup at command central. We’ll hookup there.”
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant replied, then he paused. “Sir. You won’t believe what we’ve seen here. You just won’t.”
Briggs inhaled a slow, methodic breath and gazed around. “No sergeant. You are wrong. I absolutely do believe,” he muttered, then clicked out. He turned to his senior officer. “Let’s head topside. We’ll let the other division cleanup and deal with any remaining hostiles. We’ve got to get the Four to their transports and back to Mole Hole as soon as possible. Tanner’s team is anxious for their arrival. I’ll contact him and convey our successes.”
“Yes, sir”, saluted the man. He whirled and motioned for the others to follow him. “Let’s move!” They headed out on a quickened march, but were soon halted.
The lead sergeant stopped and turned back toward his commander. “Sir. Are you coming?” he shouted across his shoulder.
Briggs hadn’t moved. He now turned and gave the soldier an odd regard. “I suppose so, Sergeant. I suppose so.” Then he looked around one final time, and stepped to join his men.
—
Teresa opened her eyes to the silence of a tomb. Her last view had been that of a burnt-gray, concrete wall coming at her through the car windshield; and they had hit it! They had to have hit it! She shuffled, felt for her limbs and paused for any sensation of pain—but there was none? Nor was there any sign of damage to the car? As she continued her probing, she noticed first the dashboard, then the steering wheel . . . her arms, hands—pretty much everything—was awash in some unnatural illumination; not overwhelmingly bright, but comfortable, like sitting in a library. Then, realizing that this phosphorus glow was not a normal phenomenon, a horrible sensation suddenly engulfed her: they were all dead! And before even one more mental process could compute in her mind, she heard herself scream out: “Jessie! Sam!”
“What!” hollered back Sam, his voice coming in a wisp of relief.
Teresa whirled to see both kids gawking anxiously out their windows . . . and they seemed fine? Unhurt, even relaxed?
“This is cool,” Jessie stated, matter-of-factly.
“Ouch,” came Brant’s voice, finally.
“Are you hurt?” asked Jessie, turning to face the back seat.
“Well,” he paused, “I . . . I . . . no, actually? But we should be dead.”
“No we shouldn’t,” snorted Sam. The kid was nearly cheerful!
“What happened?” asked Brant, leaning over the seats and scanning around in a daze. “We hit the wall, right?”
“I,”—Teresa whispered—“I think we’re all dead.” Her voice cracked.
Jessie snickered. Then seeing Teresa’s frightened demeanor, she tried to serious-up. She smiled, confidently . . . too confidently in fact. “No. We’re not dead,” she stated with a brisk shake of her head. “I’ve seen this illumination before,” she assured, her heart jumping at the thought of Jacob. The Sandray had to be nearby.
“What do you mean, you’ve seen it before?” Brant queried.
“Come on,” Jessie urged. “Let’s get out of the car and I’ll show you.”
“No! Don’t you move!” cried Teresa, unconvinced and still a little shocked.
“It’s okay. I can explain,” Jessie pressed, but she was suddenly cut off by Sam’s shout of excitement.
“Three-Of-Ten!” The boy nearly jumped from his seat. “There he is! I see him! I see him!”
“Three of what?” questioned Brant, his eyes wide and absorbing.
Sam’s door suddenly flew open.
“Sam!” screeched Teresa. “Brant! Grab him!”
Brant lunged and grabbed hold of the boy’s arm like a vise. “Oh no you don’t, kiddo! I don’t know what you think you’re seeing but—,” then his eyes suddenly locked on a large form approaching the vehicle. It walked on two legs and swung its arms as though human. But it was not human! Brant couldn’t believe what he was seeing! He threw himself across the boy and yanked the door shut. “Everybody get down!” he shouted.
Teresa fumbled for the lock, pounding at it desperately. “What is that thing! What is that thing!” she screeched out, grabbing Jessie and pulling her away from the door. But Jessie yanked free, and in another second, had opened her door and bolted out. “Jessie, no!”
Teresa watched in horror as the robotic thing turned its glare on the girl. Watched defenselessly as it now moved to intercept her, reaching out its powerful arms in a wide, grasping yawn. It was hopeless! There was no time to do anything! And yet . . . amid the helplessness and horror of it all, something wasn’t right. Jessie continued to run toward it? How could she not see it! “Run away, Jessie! Run!” Teresa screamed out one last time. But it was too late. The metal form had seized hold of her . . . Teresa turned her head away.
It was Brant’s voice, amid the nightmare of it all, who spoke the strangest words: “I . . . I think she’s giving it a hug!”
Teresa’s head shot back up, and she stared, unbelieving! Jessie wasn’t trying to pull free, she was willingly embracing it! Teresa gazed on, her mind wrestling with her visual perception. But when the girl leaned into the robotic thing even more, and rested her head against its shoulder, that’s when Teresa nearly fainted.
“Of course she’s hugging him,” Sam scolded. “Now let me go! I want to see Three-Of-Ten!” He jerked again, and this time, pulled momentarily free of Brant’s grasp. But Brant quickly caught hold of him again. “No Sam!” he shouted.
“Let go of me!” Sam hollered out again, growing more annoyed.
Neither Brant nor Sam could have known what their scuffle was about to release. Sam’s shout was loud enough to get Three-Of-Ten’s attention, and in less than a second, the android had scanned the boy’s biorhythm and made several alarming determinations: Sam’s heart rate was accelerated, his breathing fast, and his adrenaline level, elevated. Three-Of-Ten also evaluated Sam’s position and attitude, and noted the adult human’s grasp on the boy. At this, the mechanical companion gently released Jessie, moved from her embrace and engaged his defense mode. Suddenly, his eyes flashed from their friendly blue to a defensive red. His metal veneer expanded, condensed and shimmered oddly as his shield activated. Then, the normally docile android leveled an angry, threatening regard right at Brant!
Jessie suddenly caught what was about to go down.
“Um . . . um . . . um,” Brant stammered. “Should I be alarmed!”
The android moved toward the car like a shark to a seal.
Jessie needed to act fast! Not because the situation was life-threatening. Brant had been a sanctioned visitor at Sandcastle, and as such, a profile had been generated, one more detailed than any on record. The profile included such details as Brant’s DNA sequencing, genomics and molecular coding; his ancestry, dispositions and social interactions; his hobbies, accomplishments, academics, health and family . . . it was all there. But more importantly, Brant had been deemed friendly. Fortunately, Three-Of-Ten had just accessed this file. But friendly or not, the outcome could prove to be . . . uncomfortable for Brant—the android would not tolerate any threat toward Sam.
“Stand down, Three-Of-Ten!” Jessie quickly interceded.
Three-Of-Ten instantly halted and turned a sanctioning look on her.
She nodded. “It’s okay. Sam is not in danger.” Then she motioned toward Brant. “You better let go of him,” she warned in an expression spawned more of amusement than panic. “Three-Of-Ten is not a danger. He’s as gentle as a baby, but I wouldn’t want to get him pissed off.”
Brant gulped and released his grip on Sam.
The android switched back to passive mode. His physical exterior morphed back to a more pleasant, human-like appearance. He cocked his head back and forth
as if puzzled by Sam’s situation.
“Yeah,” Brant’s said through his panting. “I could see that loveable expression in the glare he just knifed me with.”
Sam shot out of the car like a cannon. As he ran toward Three-Of-Ten, the metal humanoid bent carefully and opened up its arms. “Sam, Sam, Sam” it toned in a beeping tap of excitement. Then it grabbed up the boy and lifted him high into the air, spinning him around in circles until Sam was laughing hysterically.
“Do it again! Do it again!” Sam shouted, delightfully.
“This is so weird,” mumbled Brant, closing the car door and sliding back to his seat. He cursed for not having any of his recording equipment with him—his students at the university would have had a heyday with this one.
Teresa’s voice had left her completely. Probably because it was being crushed by the massive lump in her throat. Her mouth had been open now for way too long and her eyes were starting to burn from lack of moisture. Blink! She told herself. For her, weird just didn’t cut it.
She jumped suddenly at Brant’s door slamming. Was she the only one left in the car? Not for long! Teresa’s legs trembled and her head felt light, but she wasn’t about to sit in that car alone! What if the crazy thing took off again! “Brant!” she shouted.
Brant hurried over and helped her out of the car. He steadied her. Her legs were still like rubber! “I thought you wanted to stay in the car?”
“Are you kidding! It’s possessed!” she groaned.
For a time, the two of them just stood there, feeling as though they were part of a live-studio audience, watching the kids act out roles for some sci-fi sitcom. But this was not a movie-set! This was for real, and grappling with that fact was the single most difficult issue of the moment.
Brant finally broke his mesmerized lock long enough to look around. He quickly deduced that they were in some kind of dome . . . bubble . . . shield . . . thing. What was really strange was that the outer skin was transparent, and he could see right through it. There was dirt, rocks, tree-roots—all of which appeared to be held back by whatever force had encompassed them. Were they somewhere underground? Then, as he turned to examine where the car might have entered, he let out a huff of amazement. “Well I’ll be,” he said. “Would you look at that.”
Of Salt and Sand Page 66