A Reitman security guard had stepped out from nowhere, right in front of them, and was peppering them with his semiautomatic firearm. Brant heard the metal pellets dropping like leaded rain at his feet. Once again, he had allowed the shock of the moment to stun his reasoning abilities. He blinked off the blow. The belt! he recalled. Then filled with rage. He raised his arm and leveled the EMR device directly at the hostile figure. He felt the pressure of the trigger attachment strapped to his wrist. This time there would be no, I’m warning you . . . to caution his actions. Not this time. “Ever been kicked by a mule!” he hollered. He ginned defiantly then fired the weapon.
The look on the guard’s face would forever be imprinted in Brant’s mind. He probably wouldn’t remember how the man’s body lurched backward in an airborne tumble—head over heels; nor how his semiautomatic .45 APC had blown backward in a smashing hammer-to-face impact; nor how (and this was nearly comical) a pair of pristine, polished shoes remained positioned, as though glued, on floor exactly as they had been when two feet had occupied them. But that face? Oh yes. Brant would never forget that choice look of absolute astonishment. It was . . . how do they say it? Priceless?
The guard moaned, now in a motionless heap thirty feet down the hallway. Brant looked at Teresa, then at the weapon. He sighed longingly. “I love this thing.”
Teresa stared, dumbfounded. She eyed her own EMR attachment. “Do you get the feeling that Jacob never really tested these things! There needs to be a label attached that says: may cause death or injury—right across the face of it!”
“Oh, I don’t know though,” reasoned Brant, nearly caressing the device. “A thing of beauty is a joy forever.” He clicked his tongue then smiled at her. “Don’t ya think?”
Teresa snorted. “Come on.”
They hurried ahead until, with a last cautious step, they found themselves in a large room. Pieces of what had been a reinforced door were scattered out in broken fragments on the tiled entry. They looked carefully around. Then, something moved in a darkened corner of the opulent room.
Three-Of-Ten knelt over a small figure whose legs could just be seen protruding across the front frame of a simple wheelchair. The android’s eyes were bright and alive as he turned and smiled at them. Then he slowly raised himself to reveal the rest of the wheelchair’s occupant. Gracie’s face came into view from behind the android’s metal frame. Her countenance instantly transformed from fear and uncertainty, to a look of confusion, shock and finally ebullient surprise. She threw her hands to her mouth. Her eyes grew large and unbelieving. “Teresa! Brant! But . . . but how—!”
And then, before another word could be said—before hugs could come and explanations exchanged—a monstrous entity tore through the already damaged doorway like a spike through a pinhole. The very force of the intrusion tumbled Brant and Teresa to the ground. The room shook wildly. Glass shattered, pictures fell from walls, vases crashed from tables; debris and dust filled the air.
Brant coughed and rolled to his side, gawking upward in a dazed stupor. The sight of the Goliath-killer towering over him was like a viper coiled over a mouse. The thing filled his entire view. Brant lost all ability to move . . . to think . . . to react. This was the stuff of nightmares—of science fiction and futuristic lore. Then, as if the nightmare demanded some kind of rationality, two more of the metal creatures slunk into the room; crouched and ready to kill. Their eyes rolled in their ugly frames, scanning and hungry. Their hulls ticked and clanged in an artificial pulse of life . . . a terrible, vengeful sound of existence. Brant dared not take his gaze from them, but felt with desperate hands for Teresa. He touched her arm and instinctively rolled toward her.
The fall had been extreme. Teresa had hit against a table as she went down, and now felt the throbbing stab of broken ribs. She tried to sit up, but the pain was excruciating.
“Stay down!” Brant cried, as he moved to shield her with his body. But his movement only seemed to attract the hideous red eye of the nearest Goliath as it zeroed in on them both. Brant reached to his arm. Jessie’s words rang in his head: . . . remember to change the setting on the EMR from stun to MR mode . . . He needed to react, and fast! But as his hand grasped at his arm, a terrible sensation engulfed him. The EMR device was gone, knocked from his arm when he fell! He gazed hopelessly around and spied the device well out of his reach. As he spun back around, the one-eyed monster shambled toward them, its transfixed gaze in a death-lock.
Brant fell over Teresa and closed his eyes. So this is how it ends, he thought. All that we’ve been through. All that we’ve overcome. And now, so close . . .so very close. It ends like this? But then, he felt, almost subliminally, a hesitation in the clicking of gears and the drone of machinery. The Goliath’s focus had shifted. Brant opened his eyes. He was right! The creature, for reasons unknown, had turned away and now seemed to be rescanning for something else . . . for someone else. The other two Goliaths followed suit, and now followed the alpha, moving past them. But Why? Brant pondered the question, even amid the wash of relief. Why after trying so desperately to kill them in Jacob’s laboratory, did they now seem uninterested? What were they after? Then Brant heard Gracie scream out—a terrifying, blood-curdling shriek. And in that awful instant, he knew. He knew why he and Teresa had been disregarded. He knew by the sounds of the creature’s stalking crouch, what they had been seeking. It was Gracie! The Goliaths were there for one task: to kill Gracie!
Three-Of-Ten exploded in first lunge. The android had hesitated as long as he dared, not wanting to leave Gracie’s side. But now . . . now it seemed he had no choice. He spun and rolled in his acrobatic assault, landing on the head of the alpha robot. It rocked wildly and flung its great arms upward, its mandibles snapping and slicing.
The other two Goliaths stalked near, so near to the alpha that they could have easily overpowered Three-Of-Ten. Yet they did not? Instead, they ignored the attack on their counterpart as if unaware . . . no, as if uncaring, moving past the ferocious duel and ahead, in a direct march toward their target . . . toward Gracie.
Brant heard Teresa cry out: “Take it!” He turned to see her pale face as she forced herself far enough up to toss him her EMR weapon. He caught the device in one thrust, and in the next, had turned to see a final desperate glance from Gracie as a Goliath aimed its weapon. He was out of time! Without thinking he pointed the device and fired . . . and so did the monster Goliath! Brant’s eyes were momentarily blinded as the searing light pulsed outward. He turned his head away and shrank, knowing Gracie would not survive.
But in the game of light-energy, a nanosecond is an interminable span of time. And Brant’s shot had come first . . . milliseconds first, but first none-the-less! And although his EMR weapon had not been set for the horrific creature within its sights—Brant hadn’t had time to change the setting—it was a force. The discharge hit the Goliath like a breeze against a locomotive, a mere wisp, but it was enough to falter the monster’s aim! Its killing beam of energy missed its mark, and instead, sliced through the left wheel of Gracie’s wheelchair like a machete through butter.
Gracie screamed as the chair collapsed, spilling her onto the floor.
The creature wasted no time. It took aim again, but this time Brant was ready. He had changed the settings on the EMR weapon. He glanced quickly to avoid Three-Of-Ten, then fired. The pulse rolled with the speed of light. Its amplitude clearly defined as everything within its wake, vanished, having been turned to air. The expanse of newly created gas exploded outward as if a door had been opened on an airliner flying at thirty-thousand feet. Windows shattered; hangings, lose items and bits of debris blew out into the night air; fixtures, tables, chairs and rugs were also blasted toward the shattered opening.
Brant felt the pressure wave hit him like a punch to the face. He fell backwards, rolled, then slammed into a wall. His eyes were filled with dust and particulate, and his ears whined from the sudden change in pressure. Then, as if someone had simply flipped a switch, the calam
ity was over. He coughed wildly and rubbed the gunk from his eyes. He kicked off the debris which had littered him like spewed rock from a volcano. As he opened his eyes, the dust rubbed like cobblestones. Finally, he got a flash of vision. It only lasted for a second, but what a sight! He just caught a glimpse of a section of torso—the lower half of the alpha Goliath—as it folded in a crushing tear of metal and collapsed in a loud bang which rattled the floor. For a euphoric instant, Brant wanted to jump in the air and shout for joy! But as the dust cleared from his incessant blinking, he knew that something was still wrong.
It was Three-Of-Ten! The android now pulled himself, foundering hard along the floor. It was then that Brant saw the extreme damage inflicted on his mechanical friend. Three-Of-Ten’s legs were in shattered pieces, his frame was crushed and twisted beyond form. It was beyond words, and Brant was sickened by the sight of it. With only one partially functioning arm, the metal comrade dragged himself along in a desperate crawl to reach Gracie.
Suddenly Brant heard a whimper, like the sound of a child stumbling on a phrase. He turned to find Teresa. She had managed to lean up against a chair. But her face . . . it was as if all life had been drained from it. Her eyes were glassy, blank and seemed eternally locked on whatever scene had connected to her so forcibly. Brant whirled to see what she saw. His stomach dropped, his breath halted, his blood went cold! It was the third Goliath, and it was nearly on top of Gracie!
Unlike its disintegrated companion, this one was only moderately damaged. Now, like a nightmare spawned of hell, it rose, pronounced, in all of its terrible grandeur, ready for the coup de grâce—the killing blow. Its massive blades drew down, hungrily toward the small figure lying on the floor. Three-Of-Ten would never make it to Gracie on time! And if he did, he was simply too damaged to make a difference.
Brant bounded upward, kicking at the broken material which held him down. He had to aim his weapon and obliterate this monster as he had the second one! But as he rolled and scrambled to balance himself, he somehow knew that he was already too late.
The crash that followed was so unexpected, so out of the realm of possibility that Brant was unable to grasped what had happened in those last ticking seconds. The entire wall imploded in a great wave of shattered glass, wood, sheetrock and bricks—just where the Goliath stood. The Sandray cut through the outside structure in a maddening ram that caught the massive head of the metal demon in a slashing blow. The Goliath flew through the air and landed in a rolling tumble which crushed everything in its wake. But it didn’t stay down for long. The behemoth rose again, its damaged torso twisted and smashed. It snarled and lashed out with even more furry!
This time Brant stood firm, his aim sharp, his EMR set. He discharged another killing blast. The Goliath vanished in a great burst of gas, leaving two ugly stubs where its legs had been. With a fallen wall and windows already blown out, the expanse of air on this discharge was far less severe than the first. The pressure wave was no more than a slap as it dissipated and was gone.
Jessie’s hands were still so tightly wrapped around the Sandray’s controls that she couldn’t move them. Sweat poured down her face and her throat hurt from the continual scream which had come, unceasingly, from her vocal chords throughout the entire ordeal. “Sam! Get the door open! Hurry!” she shouted.
Sam’s head popped up from his seat like squirrel from its hole. He had been bent at the waist in a crash position, his head covered with his jacket, as ordered by his sister. Now the boy pulled at his seatbelt and flew down the aisle.
The Sandray’s door opened to utter destruction. It was as if a bomb had gone off in the room. “Sam!” came Brant’s voice. “Come help me with Teresa! She’s been hurt!”
The boy bounded down the rail. Jessie soon appeared right behind him.
Brant carefully lifted Teresa and carried her toward the Sandray.
“I’m okay,” she managed, motioning at Jessie. “Somebody get to Gracie!”
Jessie spun. She gasped as her eyes saw nothing but piles of smoldering rubble. And then she saw something out of place . . . something different than the mass of broken material. There, through the haze and layers of debris, was Gracie. She lay very still . . . too still, and Jessie felt her shaking legs, lock. She couldn’t move, unable to except what might come next. Then, Three-Of-Ten made a sudden movement, and Jessie’s eyes caught sight of him . . . or what was left of him. The feisty android had made it to Gracie’s side, and now sat, broken as he was, coddling the woman as tenderly as he could. “Brant! We need help!” she shouted. She forced herself forward, and ran to kneel next to them.
Gracie coughed—the best sound Jessie had ever heard! She coughed again and managed a feeble smile. “My brilliant, brave girl,” she whispered. Then she gazed up at the Sandray. “Who on earth taught you how to drive?” She gave Jessie’s hand a squeeze.
Jessie laughed. “Who do you think.”
“Help me up, dear. We need to get out of here, fast.”
Brant soon appeared to give a hand. He had helped Teresa into the Sandray, his first priority. Now he could focus his attention on Gracie. He and Jessie worked together to carefully lifted the tiny woman up the ramp and into the small vessel. They sat her down gently in one of the seats.
They were all inside the Sandray now except Three-Of-Ten. Obviously, the android was far too heavy to be lifted, and Brant was worried. He didn’t know how he was going to get his friend back onboard without a crane or lift, and they were running out of time! But Three-Of-Ten was not about to be left behind . . . again, and in fact, had already begun a scuffled slide toward the Sandray. With his one good arm as leverage—which was like a vise—and Brant’s pushing as hard as he could, the pair soon managed to haul themselves through the entry.
The instant the doors went shut, Jessie was off. She engaged stealth and pushed the throttle down hard. The craft rose and spun full circle. A dusty flow of crushed wall tumbled off its hull as it accelerated out and into the open air.
The timing was alarmingly close, as a line of reinforcements—more of Jimmy’s hired black-suites—began to arrive from all directions. They were armed to the hilt and ready for a serious exchange. But in stealth, the Sandray easily lifted above and over them, disappearing into the darkness like a black-feathered hawk.
Soon, the island was a distant spot on the navigation screen. They had made it! Bruised, broken and beyond exhaustion, they had actually pulled it off! As the Sandray continued on at best speed, putting as much distance between them and the island, Jessie suddenly realized—now that she had stopped shaking and her heart rate had slowed—that she had no idea where she was headed. Everyone was so weak and emotionally drained, there hadn’t been a hint of conversation. Even Sam—who finally got his chance to sit up front with Jessie—was silent, and that was rare indeed. “Where am I headed?” she finally asked to the dazed group sitting behind her.
Brant opened his eyes. He had dozed momentary, Teresa’s head resting contently on his shoulder. “I hadn’t even thought about it. I guess we need find a hospital,” he replied, thinking first of Teresa.
“Not on your life,” she rebutted, lifting her head. “That’s the first place they’ll look for us. Trust me, I’ll live.”
“Teresa is right,” Gracie agreed. “We dare not risk it.” She sighed deeply. “Most of our injuries are superficial, thank Heavens.” She tried to smile a hopeful face, but waned. “What we need is the help of my Four . . .” her words trailed off. She clenched her jaw and shook her head fearfully. “My Four! I wish I knew what those military mercenaries have done with them! Oh I pray they are alright. I’m so worried for them!”
There was an odd exchange between Brant, Teresa and Jessie. They all knew what needed to follow, but getting up the courage to tell Gracie the facts was no easy matter. “We have to tell her,” spoke Jessie, finally. “I mean, tell her what little we do know about the Four?”
Brant nodded.
Gracie’s expression turned severe.
“What? What do you know about my Four?”
He sighed and allowed a slight hesitation to gather his thoughts. “I’m afraid none of what we know is good, Gracie. And I’m not going to sugar-coat it.”
“I don’t want you to. I want the entire truth. No matter how unpleasant.”
Brant eyed Teresa one more time—as though a confirmation. She gave him an approving nod. “Very well,” he began. “I’m sure you know that your son, Jimmy—”
“Please do not utter that name in my presence again,” she interrupted, harshly. “I know what he has done. My own flesh and blood!” She swallowed down her welling emotion and collected herself. “I’m sorry. Please continue.”
Brant nodded. He understood her, completely. “It was a carefully planned incursion; a military endorsed movement on Sandcastle and the underground tributaries. And they had much of the Four’s technology—”
“Jimmy,” she spat.
“Yes. I’m certain of it. They were able to quickly overpower the drone sentinels with the same type of robot killers that nearly finished us off.”
Gracie shuttered. “Terrible, terrible things!”
“No argument there,” Teresa mumbled.
“Three-Of-Ten fought against the initial assault. In doing so, he was able to learn a great deal about who, what and where this militant group came from . . .” Brant shuffled in his chair, and continued to talk for nearly an hour. He explained all which they knew from Three-Of-Ten’s recorded data.
Gracie was strong, and kept her emotion in check. But near the end, when she demanded to hear that last, horrible audio clip from MU1’s control room—the one which had left no doubt of Jimmy’s involvement, and had brought such emotional devastation to them all—that’s when she broke. She could hold back no longer. And the sobs came in great, wailing bursts. It was so very difficult to witness, for them all.
Of Salt and Sand Page 78