The general stepped back in and shook the captain’s hand, posing for the photo op. Then he resumed his place at the podium to answer questions.
I jumped as the TV turned off. Jon stood behind us, remote in his hand. Wendi braced to stand, but he held up his hand. “I shouldn’t have blown up earlier. Gladiator is right. They took Abby and Waxenby, and we have to get them back.”
I nodded. “Thanks, Jon.”
“Tommy, we have scores to settle with these bastards. When you go after them, I want in.”
Given my track record, I’m not sure if us being on the same side was a good thing or not.
37
The next two days were spent in the war room attempting to find a way to free both Abby and my dad. Waxenby would have to wait since there were only two episodes left. Every plan fell apart. We wanted Alyx to get us in the Megadrome, but unless he scouted it first, he couldn’t. It’s not like the Reclaimers gave tours of one of their most protected sites.
Marcel scoured the blueprints he had retrieved, searching for a hole in the defenses. Nothing. Frustrations rose, as did voices, and feelings were hurt. Luckily, feelings mend and no one resorted to fists.
We spent most of Saturday apart, thinking, looking for anything that could give us an edge. Alyx and Nico snuck out to scout possible portal locales, just in case. After all the time at the Zoo, being confined didn’t sit well with them. I can’t say I blamed them.
At eight, we settled in front of the TV to watch Dad’s second to last match. Part of me wished he would lose so I could get away from the insanity of planning to break him out. The rest of me wanted to know my dad so bad that I would do anything to get him out. No wonder I had a headache—a war was being fought in my brain.
We muted the commentators as they recapped the previous eight weeks of matches, a proverbial greatest hits of the Gauntlet until this point. The crowd, much larger in the Megadrome, lacked the energy of previous weeks’ smaller Block audiences. No one really expected it to end tonight with the ultimate spectacular scheduled for next week. We turned on the sound as they panned down to Desmond Roberts standing on the stage at the end of the arena. The red strobe of the finish button gave him a decidedly devilish appearance. It fit him well.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he said sweeping his arm across the assembled audience. They cheered their response. “We have the penultimate match for the Gauntlet tonight. Cyclone Ranger has bested eight of the hardest courses we’ve ever seen in Saturday Night Showdown History.”
Boos and catcalls erupted from the crowd. Brief blue flashes sparkled from vaporizing trash thrown against the Megadrome’s protective shield, keeping the spectators safe from stray shots and escaping Gifted.
“But tonight will go down as a first in the annuls of Saturday Night Showdown,” he said, a knowing smirk playing across his face. “Tonight, the Protector himself has requested we punish one of the vilest criminals in recent memory.”
“I really hope they captured Grim Reaper,” Marcel said.
Jon shook his head. “This is going to be bad.”
Wendi gripped my hand harder. I patted hers, hoping against hope it wasn’t what I thought it was.
“We have The Butcher of Bus 219. The one who’s responsible for thirty-three deaths and rising. Introducing Cyclone Ranger’s partner for the rest of the Gauntlet, The Butcher!”
“Oh my God, no!” Wendi said. “They can’t do this.”
“Sis, these bastards killed all those kids just to frame Abby, so there are no limits.” Jon turned to me. “We are getting her out no matter what, Ward.”
I nodded unable to speak. Fire burned away all my doubts. By the end of the week, they would be free.
On the screen Abby and Dad walked out of the entrance. Abby still wore the combat suit Harold had made for her, a bit dirty but no visible damage. She didn’t have her helmet. The crowd went nuts shrieking for blood and vengeance. I couldn’t really blame them. I would be furious if I thought she had killed all those kids.
“We are going to Chip Calloway, the voice of Saturday Night Showdown for the call,” Desmond said as the camera zoomed in on Abby’s tear-streaked face.
“Thank you, Desmond. And good evening to all the fans out there.” The camera backed out to show the arena for the opening shot. “This will be a historic fight. For the first time ever, we will have a double Gauntlet. The Butcher of Provo will fight for her life. If they win out the next two matches, they will be detained in The Block to live out their lives. If they lose, well, we all know what that means, don’t we? And I’m sure I speak for all the folks watching, there has never been a pair who deserved punishment more than the two we have here tonight.”
Wendi pulled me back on to the couch. I hadn’t realized I was headed to kick in the TV. “Don’t destroy the TV. We have to see what happens.” Her face flushed with the anger, amplifying my own.
“Sorry.”
A map of the Megadrome arena filled the screen. “The arena has been split into five zones for tonight’s match. Each zone is fifty yards deep and two hundred yards wide. Plenty of room to maneuver. Zone one is open ground, but they are in for a warm reception.”
“Five zones,” Marcel muttered, flipping open his laptop, typing at a feverous pace. “Usually there are only three.”
Jon snickered. “They must be really worried Abby will do some major damage.”
“And there is the horn signaling the start of the match,” Calloway said in his game show voice. He could have been talking about the latest car on The Price Is Right instead of a fight to the death.
Abby and Dad moved across the laser line marking the zone. Abby took a few quick steps more, but stopped, head half turned to listen. She slowly backed up to stand next to Dad as they waited for attack.
From the floor, eight robotic warriors rose. Each carried a kite shield in one hand and a whip in the other. A black band ran around their head horizontally, the optics tracking three-hundred-sixty degrees. Obviously, the designers had learned the hard way about robots with blind spots around Dad.
Abby crouched as a barrage of lightning streaked out toward the metal warriors. Each crouched neatly behind their shield, absorbing the energy with no damage. Abby leapt to her feet, watching the robots stand and ignite their lashes, the flames running the length of the weapon. As one they advanced. She nodded once and stood shoulder to shoulder with Dad.
“Oh, man,” Marcel whispered. “They aren’t taking it easy on them tonight.”
“What do you mean?” Wendi said not taking her eyes off the TV.
“No one has ever reached the ninth match before, so this is uncharted territory. My guess is they’d want the finale to be the death match, so they’ll let them get through. Those robots are basically immune to Cyclone Ranger’s attacks, and the fire will do a lot of damage to the Gifted. The gloves are off, and there are still four challenges more to go.”
The robots continued to move in, push in so their shields became a wall. Dad launched himself into the air, but two of the lashes wrapped around his legs, dragging him down. His suit had kept the fire off him, but he was grounded.
Abby screamed as a lash twisted around her waist. She grabbed the burning cord and tugged. The warrior lurched toward her. She pulled again while it was off-balance. This time it fell flat on its face. Still holding the burning lash, she jerked it back to the right, using the prone robot against its own teammates. They dropped, the pins before the robot-shaped bowling ball. The whip was a part of the robot, so it couldn’t let go as Abby bludgeoned the fallen into pieces by slamming her attacker into the other over and over again like a giant game of Whack-A-Mole.
Dad attempted to roll away, but the two whips held tight, with two more robots closing in for the kill. Smoke rose from his legs where the flames tried to eat away at his suit. Launching himself into the air, he pulled the robots slightly closer, but they held fast. The crowd noise increased as he fought to free himself, lightning pulsing up and
down his legs as he tried in vain to break the whips. The other two robots’ whips joined the first two, snaring him around his arms. The robots crept backward, pulling Dad into a spread eagle.
Chip Calloway crowed. “And that’s all she wrote, folks. I think we’ve seen the last of Cyclone Ranger.”
Dad screamed as the whips pulled at his limbs, threatening to tear him apart. The audience shrieked for blood, flashes of blue flickering across the barrier above from all the thrown chains. Below Dad, a form grew, small at first, but growing quickly. The flames on the whips flared from the wind of the tornado taking shape under him. It swallowed him, the winds making it hard to see him. Slowly the robots slid to the right as the speed of the whirlwind increased.
Chip Calloway fumed. “He should be dead! Where the hell did that come from?”
We all cheered. The robots fell as the winds grabbed them, spinning them faster and faster. Suddenly a robot flew across the arena smashing into a wall, splintering to pieces. Shortly, the other three joined their brother against the arena walls.
“Such a waste of good hardware,” Marcel muttered as we cheered.
The winds died down, depositing Dad on the floor. Scorch marks were visible where the whips had been. Abby ran over to check on him, but he climbed to his feet to a chorus of boos from the audience. After a brief conversation, they moved deeper into the arena.
“Well, that was an interesting way to dispose of the bots,” Chip said. “Let’s see what zone two has in store.”
An air horn blaring signaled they had moved into the second zone. The cameras swung back to show two doors set into a solid wall that ran the width of the large arena.
“Oh, man,” Chip said, excitement thick in his voice. “We have the maze. There are all sort of tricks and traps for our contestants.”
After a moment, heads together, they each strode to a door, nodded to each other. Dad turned the handle, cautiously opening the door to peer inside. Abby ripped the door from its hinges, throwing it so hard it impacted the protective screen above. She rushed through the door as the cameras switched to an overhead view. Dad stepped through and jumped up, slamming into the barrier that enclosed the top. No flying over zones after the first time.
Abby turned the first corner, staying against the walls as she crept. Halfway down the second hall, she suddenly dove forward as three blades sliced through the air above her from the wall. She rolled and came to her feet on the far side of the trap. We all exhaled at once.
Dad strode down the center of the hall on his side of the maze, surrounded by a glowing sphere. The blades arced out, shattering against his shields, a new ability that no one knew about.
A camera swung back to Abby as she stalked down the hall. Lasers fired from concealed locations, and one clipped her shoulder, tearing her suit and leaving a large red welt. She spotted the laser, zig-zagged toward it, and with a mighty leap, pounced on it, smashing it on the floor. She looked wild, her two-toned hair tangled, a snarl permanently affixed to her face. Her suit compensated for her increasing size.
“Oh, this is going to be fun, folks,” Chip said with a huge grin on his face.
Abby moved into a large room with a hallway leading to the next zone. The wall in the center shimmered like a mirage. As she entered, Cyclone Ranger stepped through the wall, striding toward her. She visibly relaxed, pointing to the door. Cyclone Ranger closed on her and threw a vicious punch at her head. Reflex took over as she pivoted, taking the blow on the shoulder. It knocked her off balance.
“Oh, my,” Chip gasped. “Whatever could have happened to bring this about?”
Cyclone Ranger tackled her to the ground. He threw wild punches, only a couple connected, but Abby broke his grip and gained her feet. Her face twisted with rage, her mouth moving, though we couldn’t hear it.
Again, Cyclone Ranger advanced, a rapid succession of punches driving her back. Abby blocked them. I could tell she didn’t want to hurt her partner but had to defend herself. He connected with a nasty uppercut that snapped Abby’s head back.
“What the hell is he doing?” Marcel yelled. “They are on the same team.”
Abby lost it at that point. She screamed with rage, her eyes flared red, and she towered over Cyclone Ranger, her combat suit stretching as she grew. She swung and grasped the side of Cyclone Ranger’s helmet, tearing it free of his body. Electric sparks erupted like a volcano. The android Cyclone Ranger took a few steps and collapsed.
“Well, no need to lose a head over it,” Chip said. “These Dissidents take this so seriously.”
The camera switched to the other side of the room, where an android Abby was attacking my dad with a series of massive punches. He staggered from a blow to the side of his head. He rolled before the double-fisted overhead slam could break his back.
He stood with some effort as the android turned to face him. He wouldn’t fight back against Abby, but I’m sure he was just as confused as Abby had been on her side. Android Abby leapt into the air, fist back to deliver a killing blow. A black object streaked across the room, taking it in the side. Abby stomped through the shimmering wall, the Cyclone Ranger android’s body dragging behind her. Her twin started to rise but met with her fellow android as Abby swung him like a sledgehammer, striking the android Abby full in the head. Abby continued pummeling it until both bodies resembled the after shot of the demolition derby.
Dad walked over, and Abby dropped her impromptu club to the ground. He reached up and hugged her. They put their heads together for a few minutes before heading to the long hall with the exit marked.
As they entered the hall, a new wall shot up from the floor, trapping them in the hallway. A loud crash announced the last of the obstacles. The wall holding the exit fell forward launching a massive spiked ball. It filled the whole hallway leaving nowhere to go.
“Wow, that would be two tons of spiked death,” Chip cried in glee. “Indiana Jones, step aside, we have one huge ball.”
The ball rolled forward gaining momentum as it careened down the hall. Dad fired a continuous bolt into the wall by Abby; sparks flew in all directions at the onslaught. The wall didn’t give, but he created a good size depression in it. He shoved Abby toward the dent as he ran at the ball. At the last moment he jumped, flew, slamming his back into the corner of the wall and the energy barrier. The ball rolled past, one spike catching him in the center of the chest. His suit tore as the spike sliced a narrow furrow down the fabric covering his chest and abdomen before it rolled past him. Abby curled herself further into the divot Dad had made. The ball rolled harmlessly past her, slamming into the far wall. They had made it through the second zone.
None of us cheered this time as we watched Dad fall from the ceiling. With his helmet on, you couldn't see his face, but he had to be in pain. Abby rushed to his side and helped him up. He walked out of the zone on his own. I looked for blood, but there wasn’t any. That was way too close.
“Dang, I thought we got Cyclone Ranger on that one,” Calloway said, disappointment heavy in his voice. “But on the bright side, there are still three more zones, and he’s weakened. We might finish him off tonight.”
Zone three was the demented skateboard park, littered with concrete pipes, ramps, and bunkers, a skater punk’s dream. The horn blared, and Abby and Dad ran for the closest pipe, readying themselves for the next challenge.
“The air force has arrived, folks,” Calloway chirped. “We’ve got gunships to hunt them down.”
The whirling noise announced the twelve sleek black drones as they swooped over the zone, lasers firing in a strobe of flashes.
“Wow,” Marcel said, admiration clear in his voice. “The four props gives them stability and maneuverability. That’s an impressive design.”
Jon snapped. “Can you not drool over the things they created to kill our people?”
Marcel gulped. “Sorry, got carried away.”
At the end of the zone, the formation broke down into four groups of three. The first two
groups strafed the tube protecting Abby and Dad as they flew by.
“The bad part is wind won’t work given the design; there isn’t enough to grab on to.” Marcel clicked away at the laptop as he spoke. “Damn!”
I jumped. “What?”
Marcel slammed the laptop shut. “I thought I’d be able to disrupt the ships or shut off the shields so they could escape, but I can’t. When they broadcast, it should have exposed the core system for my hack.”
I gasped, shocked to the core. “I thought you could hack anything now?”
“The systems in the Megadrome aren’t physically hooked to the outside world. Everything is internal to the building—electricity, water, air are all run from a stand-alone system. It can’t be hacked because it can’t be reached. Even with the broadcast running, it’s still true. Looks like they use an independent system to send the feed to a sub-station before it actually passes to the satellites. Best I can do is move the cameras.”
I’d secretly hoped Marcel would find a way to shut down the systems so we could break them out in the confusion, but now that plan had been scrapped. “We’ll have to figure something out later.” I didn’t add if it was still necessary since the drones had them pinned in the pipe.
The lasers flashing reminded me of Mom’s Pink Floyd concert tape. Parts of the pipe crumbled and dropped to the ground, spewing dust in their wake. Suddenly, Dad shot out of the pipe, banking hard to the left, barreling directly toward the attacking drones.
The drones rotated and sped into pursuit of Dad. He flew, diving toward a halfpipe while weaving to avoid the rapid pulse of laser fire. He increased speed as he entered the end of the pipe, flying up the wall as he went. The drones matched velocity, easily following his maneuvers, lasers pocking the concrete surface around Dad as they flew.
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