Panic settled in his irises and strangled his voice.
The Mechum glanced at him in the rearview mirror before her gaze was pulled away by the salvage bus, which abruptly appeared ahead of them.
“Hold on.”
She cranked the steering wheel to the right and the rig trembled. The flatbed, laden with stolen cargo, began to tip.
Metal grated as the couplings desperately tried to keep the trailer and cab attached. Just when he thought it would break, Tink spun the wheel back to the left, correcting it. The back end clipped the salvage bus and sent it spinning, spewing scrap metal and parts over the ground.
Thrown from one side of the vehicle to the other Peter felt like an insect in a jar shaken by a small child. He clamored to the front of the cab and grabbed the back of the driver’s seat.
“Did you hear me? They took Wendy!”
“I heard you, but there is nothing we can do about it now, Peter. We must escape so she has a chance.”
“A chance at what?”
“Us rescuing her.” Her fake eye spun in circles as the momentum of the semi screwed with the balancing pin. “We have company.”
Two dune buggies joined the chase, each driven by hunters just as insane as the ones on the motorcycles.
Tinker was right. If they got caught, there was no one to help them. They had come on this journey alone.
He swung his legs over the gear shift and hopped into the passenger seat, pulling the safety belt across his lap and tying it to the clip on the other side.
The semi rumbled toward the gate. Through the dirty windscreen, he spotted the iron doors.
“We’re not going to make it.”
The yawning gap narrowed as henchmen on either side cranked the levers, trying to close the doors and trap the runaway rig inside Neverland.
Tink pressed the gas pedal to the floor, and the supply trunk lurched, bearing down on the escape route at break-neck speed. “Yes, we will.”
Peter closed his eyes. We’re going to die.
The ear-splitting sound of metal scraping metal filled the cab as the semi-truck tore through the narrow space. Massive iron doors gouged the hull, tearing holes into its sides. The engines shrieked, but the momentum of the hulking rig pulled them through and out into the wastelands.
It shook violently, careening by the carcass of the downed plane and into the open desert beyond. Additional vehicles appeared in the dust behind them. There were at least a dozen of Hook’s hunters in pursuit.
“What’s the plan?” Peter’s headache had intensified and the throb in his temple pounded in rhythm with the truck’s shaking.
Tinker popped the clutch.
“That,” she said, pointing to the hazy horizon in the distance.
A billowing cloud of sand miles long darkened the sky in front of them. It expanded quickly, blocking out the light as it moved with intention across the desert.
The shouts and catcalls of those giving chase faded.
Peter stared at the beast rolling over the parched land.
He had never been so happy to see a sandstorm.
The storm had been the cover they needed to lose the posse of derelicts chasing them. Tinker had maneuvered the supply rig deftly through the sandstorm, and with limited visibility was able to keep them safe from any pitfalls.
The others weren’t so lucky.
Now riding one of the motorcycles and dressed like Hook’s henchman, Peter followed Tink back through the front gate of Neverland.
“That was too easy,” Tinker said, pawing at the headdress hiding her rotating eye. She climbed out of the dune buggy and adjusted the brown leather jacket.
Peter slipped off the bike and surveyed their surroundings. “Maybe it was meant to be.”
“If this is a trap, there will be no escape, and we will have failed Wendy and the others.”
“We don’t have a choice, Tink. If we die, the survivors in the colonies eventually will too. If we do nothing, the outcome will be the same. So trying and succeeding is our only hope.” The metal spire loomed overhead. “Are you sure about this?”
Tinker nodded and stretched her mechanical hand skyward. “Hook will take her to his barracks at the top.”
A stale wind blew in through the surrounding walls, carrying on its wisps an eerie silence.
“I don’t like this,” Peter commented. “It’s too quiet.”
Tinker shrugged. “There is nothing for us to do but move on. Do you want to save Wendy?”
Peter nodded and reached for the skull heads, which doubled as handles on the entry door. More silence echoed from the tower’s core.
The pounding in his head intensified as he stared into the gloom.
Entering the iron fortress’s central pinnacle was like being trapped in the belly of a monstrous mechanical beast. Riveted metal plates lined the interior of the tower. To the left a section of cogs the size of windmills turned slowly, powering hurricane lamps hanging from cross beams. Anchored to the walls, staircases pirouetted to the top, and thick chains swung from the catwalks joining them.
Tinker lowered her voice so the echo was less prevalent. “This tower is mainly for appearances with no value apart from providing Hook with solitude and a place to display his importance.”
“What else is up there?”
“Besides the pit? Nothing.”
“The pit?”
Her lips pursed. “You will see soon enough.”
Tinker’s mechanical hand clanked as it grasped the metal handrail, and Peter winced as the sound reverberated upward.
The Mechum stilled. “Stay alert, I have a bad feeling Hook may already know we’re here.”
They reached the top without incident, entering the sacred sanctum of the infamous Machinist.
The upper spire was a strangely luxurious place. A metal catwalk ringed the entire room. On one side numerous doors stood closed, flanked by thick drapes. The other boasted an open balcony overlooking the entirety of Neverland. High-backed iron and leather chairs dotted the inner circle of the sanctum, but one stood out from the others. It was throne-like, cloaked in skulls and feathers, and prominently featured on a raised platform near the back.
But what drew Peter’s attention was the gap at the center of the room.
A splash echoed through the spire, and he noticed a vast metal tank attached to the catwalk grid underneath. A line of murky ripples flowed across the surface as something moved in its depths.
Intrigued, he leaned over the edge.
“Careful.” Tinker placed a steadying hand on Peter’s arm. “You don’t want to fall in.”
“What’s down there?”
“Monsters.”
Without warning the water broke and a gigantic crocodile catapulted into the air. Peter reared back startled by the unexpected attack.
Metal casings wrapped around the beast’s jaws, a type of mechanical mouth that screeched when it snapped at him. Additional razor-sharp points that added to the creature’s already formidable bite clanged together.
“What the heck is that?” Peter asked as the reptile fell back into the watery pit.
“I’m not the only living thing Hook had the pleasure of mutilating.” Tinker’s face twitched, sending the fake eye spinning.
Peter gazed at the woman who had at one time been whole. Hook had disfigured her, chopped off human parts and replaced them with engineered bits and pieces while at the same time destroying her humanity.
“Everything around you is Hook’s attempt at recreating your father’s work. He couldn’t master the genetic sequencing that would allow the human organisms to fuse seamlessly with the mechanics, so he ended up with us—junkyard hybrids.”
More than a dozen crocodiles surfaced in the water.
They had the same dull eyes as Tink. “Why does Hook have these?”
“They get rid of the trash.”
Shivers crawled over his skin at the ominous meaning behind her words. He assumed she didn’t mean the excess fo
od waste.
A chorus of ticks and tocks resounded through the spire when the creatures snapped their metal jaws.
Over the clatter, a voice echoed from the dim.
“Hello, Peter. Welcome to Neverland. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Hook walked out of the shadows; his arm wrapped tight around Wendy. The edge of a small blade dug into the skin of her neck.
A sneer contorted his lips and a metal tooth glinted. The patch over his eye shifted slightly, revealing a long, deep scar intersecting the socket.
“Where are your men, Hook?”
Tinker’s snide remark did not escape Peter. The Mechum had a deep-seated fear and hatred for the Machinist, and the taunt was her way of hiding her true feelings from him.
Hook’s ice-blue eye turned toward her. “I was surprised to find you in the company of these two, Tinker. I assumed you would have headed for the Far Lands by now.”
Tink snorted. “The Far Lands. That area of the world is toxic—a land of petrified rock and death, but I assume you already know that.”
Although a portion of his face was hidden behind a squirming Wendy, the smirk contorting his thin lips was obvious.
“Wishful thinking, I guess,” Hook said and shrugged.
“Sorry to disappoint,” she countered.
He ignored the Mechum and trained his attention back on Peter. “Let’s stop pretending, shall we? The future of this world has always been about you and me.”
Peter glared and tightened the grip on the handle of the dagger. “What do you mean?”
“A show of good faith.” Hook lowered the blade from Wendy’s neck and dropped it to the floor. Uncoiling his arm from around her shoulders, he shoved her to the side.
The Machinist raised both hands shoulder height and walked toward where Peter stood. His long leather duster swished against his torn and dirty pants as he came to stand in front of him.
“You want to kill me for murdering your parents, and I want to kill you for the secrets you hold. But first, let’s chat.”
“I don’t have any secrets or anything to say to you.”
The grin widened, revealing another metal tooth. “Oh, you have secrets, just none you are aware of.”
Lowering his arms, he shoved the clawed hand back into his coat pocket and took another step forward. Peter tensed at his proximity and at the strong smell of alcohol on his breath.
“For years I was fooled into thinking your father’s notes were in his lab, but after I killed him, I found this not to be true. To keep his work secret, he destroyed all the hard copies. After I figured this out, I assumed his research died with him, but no. There weren’t any written journals, but there was something better. You see Peter, your father had already accomplished the impossible but chose to keep it a secret from me and the other Machinists.”
Distracted by Hook’s words, Peter didn’t see the knife hidden in his sleeve slip to his hand until it was too late. The blade sliced Peter’s forearm and a burning sting crept up his skin. Shocked, he glanced down. Instead of blood pouring from the wound, Peter was horrified at the black oily substance dripping down his arm instead.
“As I suspect.” Hook chuckled and walked back a few feet. “You still don’t understand, do you Peter?”
Through the ringing in his ears, Peter heard Wendy gasp.
His vision wavered and the room spun. The greasy lubricant drained away to reveal bundles of wires and fibers running through his arm.
The Machinist grunted his appreciation. “He was at the top of his field before everything went to crap. Your father had already perfected stem cell regeneration and integrated biogenetics and cybernetics to engineer a human who had the ability to live, with minimal resources, for extended years. After the fall of the world, and even though it took years to rebuild a functioning lab, he was able to realize his dream of a superior being.”
A glint flashed in Hook’s eye, and his mouth quirked up at the corners.
“You are your father’s legacy, Peter. A road map to the future of mankind. You will never grow up or grow old but will stay the same as long as your engineered cells continue to regenerate.”
Blood roared in Peter’s ears. Hook’s words pounded fateful in his head, but he was frozen in fear and confusion, unable to run from the truth.
Hook pointed his claw at Wendy. “Years will pass, and your sister will age and then die, but you, Peter, will remain the same—forever young, forever healthy, forever here. But the best part is, you won’t care because you don’t know how to love or feel empathy.”
“LIAR!” Peter bellowed, but the word sounded hollow even to him.
“Am I?”
“He loves me,” Wendy said, her voice barely a whisper as she walked closer.
“No, my dear, he doesn’t. Your father made sure he lacked those human abilities, our shortcomings, the emotions which can get us killed in a violent world like this. The only thing your brother is programmed to do is protect you. I knew he would come back to rescue you—you were the bait.”
Wendy went silent, and a tear slipped down her dirt-streaked face.
Peter gazed at his sister, but his heart remained indifferent, the same as always. He sighed afraid that what Hook said was true. He had never really felt emotions the way Wendy did—only anger.
“Look around. While the rest of us were building iron fortresses, flying machines, and salvage plants, your father created the next evolution of man—a high-tech Mechum who didn’t rely on scrap metal, cogs, and welded joints.”
Hook’s smug grin broadened, and he looked at Tinker. “Sorry, love, but I didn’t have the skill set our dearly departed George Darling did. Nonetheless, you are the finest of my attempts. At least you lived.”
Tinker turned her gaze to Peter. The mechanical eye spun, but it didn’t bother him this time because it was the hollow emptiness reflected in the other pupil that had his stomach clenching.
A Mechum was void of humanity, of empathy, and of regret. All the things she couldn’t feel he also struggled with and now he understood why.
Tinker and he were the same, only she was the shadow of the past, and he the future.
In a world where survival of mankind meant the continued existence of the world, progression was bound to happen. His father had found a way to help evolution along by perfecting the Mechum—by perfecting Peter.
The headache thundered in his brain as visions of his parents’ butchered bodies appeared. Wendy and he had huddled in the secret cupboard while Hook and his men ransacked the lab and their home.
A flowing pulse of electricity sizzled under his skin, and he suddenly realized the anger and rage ignited by Hook, this world, and their situation was an illusion. Aided by cybernetics and biomechatronic modifications, Peter was built to survive in a world gone to hell.
With reflexes he didn’t know he possessed; he ran at Hook. Grabbing him by the throat, he pushed him back until the Machinist was bent over the railing of the crocodile pit, the dagger at his chest.
“Peter, no.” Wendy’s plea drifted by his ears.
A gurgling laugh escaped Hook’s lips as Peter’s grip tightened. “You can’t kill me, Peter. You are your father’s son. Even after I slit your mother’s neck, your father couldn’t pull the trigger. He was weak, not fit to endure in this new world. I did him a favor.”
Peter pressed the tip of the blade deeper, and the Machinist winced. “Don’t speak of my father that way. He was a good man.”
“I don’t deny the fact, but alas decent men die in a world this dark and violent. His idealism made him a target. The other Machinists didn’t see a path to rebuilding a peaceful world. For a decade we lived in your father’s fairy tale, but there were plenty who didn’t—scavengers, piranhas, madmen intent on taking whatever they wanted without remorse or retaliation. The world had changed, and we needed to change with it.”
“And so you betrayed him.”
“It was the only way to survive. Your father didn’t
believe in violence, even when it knocked on our door and killed our people. He believed in science, in recreating mankind, he believed in you.”
“You were his friend!” Peter cried releasing his hold on the Machinist and stumbling backward.
Hook stood upright and callously straightened his coat. He cast a scornful look at Peter. “Only men like me can survive in this cruel world, Peter. Men, willing to get the job done, no matter what the cost. Nothing will stop me from ensuring the race of man survives, even if that means culling the weak.”
Peter stared at the smug face of the man who had taken everything from him, and a primal rage surged inside. Before he realized what he was doing, he lunged at Hook and plunged the dagger into his heart.
Peter stared into the Machinist’s shocked face.
Blood trickled from his open mouth, and he gasped for breath while pawing in vain at the blade entrenched in his chest. Hook’s eyes glazed as the life left his body, and it sagged into an awkward position, the pit’s railing the only thing stopping it from tumbling into the water.
He’d paid for killing their parents, but the violent act perpetrated by Peter only solidified the Machinist’s way of thinking. A Mechum had to be void of empathy, conscious, and regret, their only objective to survive. Hook had adopted that doctrine and apparently, in a less violent way, his father had too.
Revenge was bittersweet.
The headache disappeared, and a soothing hum took its place. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders as Peter’s eyes had been opened to another way.
His sister clutched his hand and squeezed it. “Peter, are you alright?”
He nodded, his eyes following Tinker as she moved toward Hook. She looked back at them and her rotating eye stilled. “He deserved to die, Peter, for that was his fate, but you didn’t deserve to have his blood on your hands and for that I’m sorry.”
Peter shrugged. “Don’t be, it was always meant to be me and him.”
She pulled the dagger from Hook, and his lifeless body collapsed to the catwalk. The crocodiles in the watery pit below became restless as blood dripped through the grates. Their iron jaws snapped in unison, and they threw themselves against one another vying for position.
Twisted Ever After Page 21