“I’m not sure Sir would agree with you.”
“He’s intimidated by you,” he says, catching me off guard.
I shake my head. “I don’t think he could be intimidated by anyone.”
“He once told me it was his job to ‘consider all possible future outcomes.’ And thus far he has, with the precision of a razor sharp blade. But this … outbreak. He never saw it coming and I’m not sure he knows how to respond to it.”
“A viral outbreak is not something you can shoot,” I say.
Mohr nods, glances over his shoulder and then gently nudges me farther away from the other Councilmen, but not Luscious and Heap. Whatever he’s going to say, it’s not a secret from them. “Further demonstrating why you are responding to this crisis more quickly than Sir. The solution to this problem isn’t going to be found in an armory, or a laboratory.” He places his hands on my shoulders and looks into my eyes. “It’s going to be found outside the city.”
I nod in agreement. “The living dead are not natural. Someone made them. Someone is guiding them.”
“Who?” Luscious asks.
“That is the question,” Mohr says. “And likely the solution.” He steps back, looking at me, and Luscious, and then Heap. “And I want you, the three of you, to find the answer.” He turns to the large display screens. “Out there.”
25.
“You want us to what?” Luscious asks, her voice raised, but she gives Mohr no time to reply, probably because she understands his request perfectly. She turns to me. “He’s trying to kill us.”
“You are wrong,” Heap says.
“What do you know?” Luscious reels around on Heap. “You’re a Simp.”
I’m not sure what a Simp is, but I’m certain it’s not intended as a compliment.
“How many people did you kill for the Masters after the awakening?”
“I protected life,” Heap says.
“I bet you did. How many Masters did you protect?”
Luscious’s anger surprises me. I get a sense she’s been biding her time, waiting for the right moment to launch this verbal barrage, but I don’t yet understand it. Though the idea that Heap might have willingly served the Masters is disturbing. Heap doesn’t seem disturbed by Luscious’s tone. He’s his normal, calm self.
“Fifteen,” Heap says. “For two years post-Grind.”
This seems to surprise Luscious. She steps back for a moment. I can almost feel her heating up. Her brows furrow deeply. “You kept Masters living for two years?”
Mohr places a gentle hand on Luscious’s shoulder. She shrugs away from it, repulsed.
“They were in the mountains,” Mohr says. “He had no communication with the outside world, no knowledge of the Simp rebellion, and he was protecting children.”
Luscious’s anger implodes at this last word. She clings to the negativity for a moment, but then it dissipates fully.
“Children?” I ask.
“Until they weren’t,” Heap says. “One night, they lived. In the morning, they didn’t. When I returned to the city, this tower was just being built and I learned about the events you have mentioned.”
“He’s been in my service since,” Mohr says.
“And I would level this city to protect Freeman,” Heap adds.
This statement surprises me. I know we’re friends, and I know it’s his job to protect me, but I can’t be that important. It just doesn’t make sense.
“Then why send him back out there?” she asks, hitching her thumb toward me.
I realize I’ve been absent from this conversation, of which I am the subject. I raise my hand. “I’d actually like to know that, too.”
“The radio signal,” he says.
“But Sir thought—”
Mohr waves a hand at me. “Never mind what he thinks. He is a brilliant strategist, yes, but not a scientist. He thinks in a grand sweeping scale and occasionally misses the details. The radio signal is faint, and intermittent. As Sir said, it’s like one created by a solar flare, but I believe that is what we are meant to believe. Where Sir hears static, I hear a pattern. I believe it’s what instigated this attack and perhaps directed the dead beneath the city. And he will not hear of it again unless I … unless we can provide proof. Sir is many things, but his weakness is his stalwart belief in his own abilities. Once something is dismissed, it will not be considered again without compelling evidence.”
“Like a zombie arm?” I ask.
“Much more than that, I’m afraid. You’ll need to find the signal’s source, and if you can, shut it off or take control. If we’re lucky, that might even be enough to stop all this. And if you find those responsible for this mess—”
“We kill them,” Luscious finishes, surprising me.
Mohr shakes his head. “Subdue them. Do not, under any circumstance, kill anyone that isn’t already dead.”
It pleases me to hear Mohr say this as it falls in line with what he taught me about the sanctity of life, but he doesn’t say anything about that now. Instead, he offers some logical reasoning. “We may require their knowledge.”
“What makes you think we can do this?” I ask.
“You survived the Lowers and made it to Liberty’s Core. You went beneath the city when no one else would, and once again, returned successfully.” Mohr raises an eyebrow. “You think that was luck? Also, you’re immune to the virus.”
“And what about me?” Luscious asks. “I’m just a mod from the Lowers.”
Mohr smiles. “You have become more than yourself. That alone is impressive, but you’re also important”—he nods to me—“to Freeman. He needs you.”
Luscious stares at Mohr for a moment and then looks back at me. “You’re going to go, aren’t you?”
I nod.
“Aren’t you afraid?”
“Very much so,” I confess, “but being controlled by fear is worse than pain, or death, in my opinion.”
“You see!” Mohr claps his hands together and then thrusts them both toward me. “Brilliance, wisdom and bravery in seventeen words. This is why Freeman, and only Freeman, will save humanity.”
This statement feels exaggerated. Borderline ridiculous. How could saving an entire race of people be up to me? I suppose it’s not. Not really. Sir and his security forces are doing their part, holding off the invasion for as long as possible. But that can’t last forever. Part of me says that Sir is not this narrow-minded. That he would listen to Mohr. But then, I’ve seen his stubborn refusal for myself.
Mohr leans closer and whispers, “And if you must know the truth, I have more faith in Freeman than I do in the defenses of this city and the Spire. You must hurry. I’ve run several simulations including all variables: population density, defensive capabilities, structural designs and flaws, as well as the layout of what lies beneath Liberty. In most scenarios, the city is lost in two days. And when that happens, the Spire will not be far behind. We have three days at the most. It’s worse for other cities around the world, where similar attacks are being carried out. They’re far less defended and will likely fall by the end of the day. For there to be any hope, you must reach the transmission’s source in three days.”
“But we don’t even know where we’re going,” Luscious complains, and it’s a valid point.
“North,” Mohr says, talking to me. “The signal originated north of Liberty. Within a hundred miles. Whoever is doing this, they’re close.” He starts walking away. “Come. Quickly. Before Sir realizes you’re leaving.”
“I don’t think Sir will mind that I’m leaving,” I say, following close behind while reaching out for Luscious’s hand. I’m privately nervous she’ll decide to stay behind. I may have performed some impressive feats but the fact that I did most of those things in the defense of Luscious is not lost on me. Mohr is right. I need her. Relief floods through me when her fingers find mine. Heap follows closely, his heavy feet thumping on the hard, glowing floor.
“On the contrary,” Mohr says. �
�When he has a moment to think beyond the current predicament, he will find a hundred different uses for you, none of which will allow you to reach your full potential or prevent the extinction of humanity. You will become just another one of his weapons.”
“A weapon?” I ask.
Mohr looks wounded for a moment, but straightens himself up and speaks calmly. “There is a long history of new discoveries, technological advancements and brilliant science created with the best intentions being twisted for use as unimaginable destructive forces.”
I hardly think I have the potential to be an unimaginable destructive force, but I understand what he’s saying. After all, our enemy has conjured a way to raise the dead and is using that ability to slaughter the living.
Mohr stops and motions toward an open elevator door. We step inside and immediately head up. The doors open just a moment later.
We step out of the elevator and into a wide-open, circular chamber that’s hundreds of feet across. We’re in the disc atop the tower, I realize. But it’s not just an empty space, it’s a hangar. Aircraft of every shape and size fill the space, including a line of thirty HoverCycles. Soldiers bustle about, prepping an army of flying vehicles, including several familiar-looking drones.
“That’s impressive,” I say, looking at a large red aircraft parked at the center of the hangar. It’s wide and sleek, like a giant bird of prey combined with a manta ray.
“It’s a VTOL gunship,” Mohr says. “Sir’s own design. Should the Spire be overrun, it will be our refuge.”
I’m slightly disappointed. Part of me really wanted to take the plane. Heap stops by the line of HoverCycles and mounts the nearest. Rather than climb up behind him as I usually might, I step up onto the neighboring cycle and motion for Luscious to hop on behind me. Unlike Heap’s former cycle, these look brand new. The paint is deep blue and shiny. And the number seventy-eight is emblazoned on the front hood, just below a star and above the words, PROTECT AND SERVE. I suspect the number, symbol and words were painted over on Heap’s cycle.
“Um,” Mohr says. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. You’re not—”
I place my thumb on the starter pad. “Cycle seventy-eight, start.” The repulse engines hum to life. Bright blue light glows dully against the black floor. The cycle rises three feet. I turn to Mohr with a smile. “You think I can save humanity, but are afraid to let me drive? Also, is there a magnet in my thumb?”
Mohr chuckles. “You’ve changed so much in the last twenty-four hours.” Then his smile fades. “Wait here.” Not answering my question, or perhaps avoiding it, he walks to a chest and taps a code into the keypad on its side. The top separates and opens. Three rows of black weaponry fill the space. He fiddles with the contents of the case for a moment, then stands up holding two holstered guns on belts. He carries the weapons to us and holds one up. “Toggle this switch to power up the weapon. Then just pull the trigger. These work just like the railguns, but on a smaller scale and with slightly less velocity than the others you’ve seen.”
“So they won’t punch holes through the city?” I ask.
“Well, not all the way through, but you should handle them with great care.” He hands one belt to me and the other to Luscious, who looks surprised. “They go around your waist.”
As Luscious and I wrap the belts around our waists, Mohr taps on one of ten hard square pouches on the outside of the belt. “Each of these contains a magazine of ammunition, one hundred rounds in each, small but powerful. You have eleven hundred rounds total, which sounds like a lot, but in the right circumstances, won’t last long. Use them sparingly. To replace a magazine, depress the button on the back of the handle. The spent magazine will eject and you can insert the new one. Understand?”
I nod and fasten the belt in place. “What about you?” I ask Heap.
He pats his armored leg where his gun remains hidden until it’s needed. “I’m already armed.” He starts his HoverCycle and gives the repulse engines a good rev. “Check your armament gauges,” he says to me, pointing to two glowing vertical bars on his dash display. I look down and find the bars. They’re lit green to the top.
“Green and full,” I say.
He moves his finger across the dash to a circular display. “Charge?”
I find the display. A needle points to the right of a notched circle, landing on a capital F. “F for full,” I say, and Heap nods. “Anything else I need to know?”
“If anything else lights up, ignore it. If it starts blinking, make sure you’re near the ground and start thinking about an alternate mode of transport.”
“You know,” I say, “I really enjoy these longer conversations we’re having now.”
Heap turns to Mohr. “He has a sense of humor now, too.” He pulls forward toward the outside edge of the hangar, and stops. I pull up next to him. Mohr lags behind. I turn back to him.
“Will you be okay?” I ask.
“Sir will protect me,” Mohr says with a shrug. “If he doesn’t shoot me for letting you leave.” When I look worried, Mohr waves his hand dismissively. “We’ll see each other again. Of that, I have little doubt. Now go. Take care of yourself, and each other.”
“We will,” I promise.
“You remember how to slow a fall?” Heap asks.
“Of course,” I say.
“Hold onto him,” Heap says to Luscious. “Tight.”
Luscious wraps her arms around my waist and despite the circumstances, I must admit to feeling a deeply pleasant surge of emotions as a result. When she leans her head on my back, the surge is calmed. It’s like she has some kind of control over me, and despite the fact that control over another human was forbidden by the Grind Abolition Act, I find myself a willing participant in relinquishing myself to her.
“Freeman,” Heap says, snapping me out of my reverie. “I’m working on my sense of humor, too.”
“What?” I ask, trying to recall if Heap ever made an attempt at humor.
He pushes a button on the dash of his cycle.
The floor beneath the cycles falls open, revealing a quarter mile of open space between us and the city floor. In the time it takes my shout of surprise to rise from my mouth, we’ve already fallen a hundred feet.
26.
Despite the ridiculous height, knowing that the HoverCycle will slow our fall and stop us gently, three feet from the ground, keeps me from feeling any real fear. A thousand feet or thirty thousand feet, I don’t think it would matter. Terminal velocity is the maximum speed a falling object can reach as gravity pulls it downward while drag slows it down. Were I to jump and free-fall in a dive, I might reach two hundred miles per hour. And while the HoverCycle is heavy, its large size, two hover discs and lots of air-catching nooks create considerable drag. I quickly count the time it takes for us to pass ten floors and calculate our speed at one hundred miles per hour. The HoverCycle travels faster horizontally.
I flash a grin at Heap, who is falling atop his cycle below and to my left, to let him know I appreciate his humor. He responds with a nod, though I’m not sure if he’s acknowledging me or something else. Nods are funny that way. They can mean any number of things. He could be expressing acknowledgment, pride or even indifference. It’s hard to tell with Heap’s armored expression. Filtering the gesture through what I know of my big blue guardian, it’s most likely that he’s feeling a mixture of pride, relief and maybe even happiness that I’ve managed to not panic all the way to the ground. Or perhaps he’s simply just glad that I found humor in his joke, which I have to say, is more of a prank than a joke. I have no experience with pranks. I have never performed one or been on the receiving end of one before now, but I suspect dropping someone from a thousand-foot-plus height is on the extreme end.
Heap raises his thick arm and points to the horizon. I turn forward and see the black, glowing towers of Liberty. But beyond the city is the lush green of the natural world. That’s where he’s pointing. We’re not just leaving the Spire, we’re leaving th
e city.
Suddenly, Heap’s direction changes. He’s no longer falling straight down, he’s rocketing forward as well. I’d assumed we would drop to the streets below and then drive our way through the city. This new route strikes me as risky. He’s moving into the congested airspace around the Spire, where HoverTracks twist about and carry speeding vehicles whose passengers are seeking refuge from the mobs of undead tearing through the streets.
A quick glance down reveals his logic. A battle is being waged in the streets surrounding the Spire. Huge robot soldiers, tanks and lines of men fire an endless barrage into rushing hordes of undead. The sounds of gunfire and explosions are muted by the rushing wind, but the sight of it is enough to convince me it’s not the ideal landing spot.
“Hang on!” I shout to Luscious over the wind.
“I am!” she shouts back.
“Tighter!” I lean forward slightly, tipping the cycle’s nose downward. This alone delivers some forward momentum, but we really start moving when I press the accelerator pedal. I spot Heap ahead of us and do my best to fall in line behind him. The cycles aren’t made for flight, or even gliding, but through a combination of leaning side to side, forward and backward, I manage to bring us up behind Heap.
He looks back, sees us and gives a nod. Approval this time, I think.
The problem with being behind Heap is that his thick body blocks a good portion of my view. I won’t see what’s coming until it’s too late to do anything about it, so I’m trusting him to guide us safely to the ground.
“Whoa!” I shout as Heap ducks down, revealing the bottom of a freeway track. The cars atop it are stopped and burning. Being far smaller than the man leading me downward, I don’t need to duck, but I’m still unnerved by the track’s proximity to my head, not to mention Heap’s. A gust of wind or an updraft could have slammed him into the track.
We’re just three hundred feet from the ground now, but the closeness to our descent’s end provides little comfort. If something were going to go wrong, it would be now.
Heap leans hard to the left, bringing his HoverCycle into a full spin.
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