Children of Genesis (The Gateway Series Book 1)

by Toby Minton

  Beyond the heavy lander, on the far side of the stadium, bounding down the steps between the seats five rows at a time, were two unarmed teenagers. None of the hostiles had spotted them yet, but that was about to change.

  The Hunter ripped the pistol from Padre’s hand, crushing it before flinging it aside, but Padre’s gaze slid back to the far stands. The twins reached the front row, grappled, spun, and Michael went flying in a high arc toward the lander. Nikki leapt to the ground and charged toward Padre, right toward the distracted but heavily armed troops and the four-meter-tall killing machine in her way.

  Nikki

  Nikki ran right over the nearest soldier, ripping the gun from his hands as she sent him sprawling. The others started to react as she ran past them, but not fast enough. She lobbed the gun at Bug Bot’s back and jumped with all her might.

  She cleared the towering metal monster by a good five paces as it spun to see what had hit it. She landed on the steps above Sam and immediately launched herself back at Bug Bot, reaching it just as it turned back, just in time to hammer her fist into its beady-eyed head.

  Bug Bot staggered back, one clawed foot gouging a trench in the field as it steadied itself, and Nikki landed in a crouch between it and the downed ship.

  “Remember me, big boy?” she said, straightening up.

  It did. She could tell by the way its eyes glowed brighter as it started stalking toward her. “Good,” she purred. “No train to save you this time.” She was going to enjoy this.

  Then she spotted Michael’s situation.

  “Tell you what,” she said as it hunched in front of her, ready to strike. “I’ll even let you have the first shot.”

  She spread her arms and closed one eye. “Better make it count.” Who says I’m not a team player?

  Its hand slammed into her like a wrecking ball, sending Nikki crashing through a seat, a rail, and into a concrete wall before she tumbled to a stop in one of the entry tunnels.

  Michael

  Michael saw he was going to miss the gun, but there wasn’t a thing he could do about it in midair. He tried anyway, windmilling his arms and reaching for the pivoting barrel that was big enough to launch a grapefruit.

  He cleared it by a good arm’s length, hit the top of the lander, and scrabbled for a handhold. He caught himself just before he slid off the back edge, the shouts and scrambling from the soldiers inside spurring him to his feet.

  He ran back to the uneven dome of the gun, grabbed the barrel, and heaved.

  The metal groaned, but the gun barely moved, the cogs inside grinding against him with rhythmic pops as he strained.

  He needed more power, just a little more strength.

  Come on, Nikki, he thought, wishing yet again that they could communicate something other than intense emotion and pain. Come on, Nik—

  Power poured into him as Nikki took a crushing blow. She was OK, as long as he returned the favor soon, but that blow had to have come from the Hunter. Seeing it approaching the crashed ship as they’d entered the stadium had brought back feelings he didn’t want to remember. Despite all the power he and Nikki could build up, that thing scared the hell out of him.

  As the power swelled in him, Michael heaved again on the barrel. The gears squealed and rattled as they broke free, the bolts holding the cannon in place popping free one at a time like gunshots. With a last mighty surge, he ripped the cannon loose. Then he looked for a suitable target for his signal.

  The near side of the stadium had blocks of big lights on open metal frames running across the top edge, angled in toward the field. Perfect.

  He swung the gun around twice and let it fly. His aim wasn’t dead on, but it didn’t need to be. The cannon crashed through the edge of one of the light frames, sending a spray of glass and metal, not to mention the cannon, flying outside the stadium.

  That should do it.

  He looked down to where a handful of soldiers were spreading out below him around the lander, leveling weapons at him. The few who’d been approaching the downed ship were running his way as well, leaving Nikki to the Hunter. From the hole at his feet, a stunned soldier was staring up at him through the twisted gears and wiring, an assault shotgun gripped in his hands.

  Michael leaned toward him and gripped the edge of the hole. “Time for a little payback,” he growled. The guy had no way of knowing Michael meant from himself to Nikki. The shaken soldier assumed the worst, as intended, and fired on instinct, the blast throwing Michael backward off the lander.

  His aikido training kicked in as he hit the ground. He slapped both arms to the side as his back hit, dispersing the energy of the impact, which would have been funny if their situation were less serious. The shotgun blast at point blank range, he took full force. The five-meter fall to the soft overgrown turf, he tried to dissipate. He would have laughed if his chest hadn’t felt like he’d just been shot.

  The damage wasn’t too bad. Bruising, maybe another cracked rib, nothing Nikki couldn’t take care of in a second. He just needed to get up and get to her. The soldiers closing on him seemed to have other plans.

  “It’s one of them!” one shouted. “Put him down, but take him alive.”

  The first one to reach Michael got a little too close, put the muzzle of his weapon within reach, and that cost them the fight. Michael rolled to his feet, swept the gun aside, and struck one blow after another. Punch inside the bicep—rotate—chop to the wrist—rotate—palm to the throat. He was on the next soldier before the first hit the ground.

  Michael flowed from soldier to soldier, from attack to attack, holding back his strength as best he could to avoid killing these men. From joint lock to throw, from stunning block to strike, from sweep to kick—he cut through the squad, feeling another surge of power from Nikki as he fought. He lost himself in the fluid dance of the fight until only one man was left in front of him.

  The last soldier ignored his orders and pulled a heavy combat knife. He knew what he was doing with the weapon. He kept it close and tight, cutting and slashing in quick, controlled motions. But Michael was charged enough to deal with it. He stepped into the attacks, taking slashes on his arm and both hands as he thrust his shoulder into the man’s chest, gripped the weapon arm, and spun the man into the side of the lander.

  The knife flew away, but the well-trained soldier pulled his pistol as soon as he hit the metal wall, even though the breath left him. He fired three quick shots.

  Michael took all three in the chest, stumbled back a step, then lunged forward with a palm to the man’s gut that rattled the hull of the lander. The solder dropped to the turf, the fight knocked out of him.

  Michael turned from the downed soldiers to look for Nikki. She wasn’t hard to spot.

  Across the field, the Hunter was backing out of one of the team tunnels, being driven back by a girl less than half its size wielding…a locker? She was swinging it in powerful arcs, clanging it off the thing’s upraised arms with each pass.

  Michael ran toward the fight. The transport was cresting the top of the stands on its way to Ace and Padre. He and Nikki had to keep the Hunter busy and as far from that transport as possible.

  He was halfway across the field when the Hunter caught the end of the locker and tried to wrench it from Nikki’s grasp. She didn’t let go. They ripped the locker in half, and Nikki promptly threw her half in the Hunter’s face. Then she leapt up, caught its arm, and kicked out with both feet into the thing’s chest. The Hunter stumbled back. Nikki landed flat on hers.

  The Hunter’s arm shot out before Nikki could get up. It moves so fast. It grabbed her leg and flung her into the stands like a rag doll. She flipped end over end three times before crashing over two seats.

  Michael charged the last ten meters at full speed. The Hunter turned at the last second, hearing or sensing his approach, its arms flashing up to catch him. He dropped and slid under them, kicking into the knee joint of one of the thing’s legs as he passed.

  The leg bent backward, and
for a heartbeat Michael felt a rush of success. Then the other leg bent the same way. The Hunter dropped to all fours, looking as comfortable as it had on two legs. And it pounced.

  Michael rolled away, feeling the dirt spray up over him as the thing’s claws ripped into the turf where he’d been.

  Sixty meters away, the transport touched down, and Elias rushed out toward the downed ship. The Hunter hadn’t noticed it yet, or at least hadn’t gone for it, and Michael didn’t want to give it the chance. He and Nikki had to keep it—

  As the Hunter turned toward Michael, a blue plastic seat shattered against the side of its head. It looked into the stands just in time to catch the next one right in the face.

  —distracted. His sister was all over it. The plastic seats she was ripping up and hurling from the stands as she moved along the row couldn’t possibly hurt the Hunter, but they were enough to keep it distracted.

  “Bring it, big boy,” she shouted, ripping up two more seats. “What’s the matter? You done?”

  The Hunter bounded into the stands after Nikki, and she stood her ground. She hurled the two seats as soon as the Hunter landed on the steps. When it pounced toward her, she yanked up the rail she’d just emptied and swung for the fences. The Hunter came down right into her swing. With a jarring crunch of metal, it flipped backward and crashed back onto the field.

  “Woohoo! I can’t believe you fell for that!” she crowed. Then she charged down the steps and jumped after it.

  OK, maybe she hadn’t been trying to distract it. She’d been trying to lure it in. Trust Nikki to do the right thing without meaning to.

  They attacked the Hunter together this time, falling into an instinctive pattern of alternating attacks. They fought as a team, as brother and sister, moving in and falling back in perfect synchronization, each allowing the Hunter’s blows to connect just when the other needed it.

  But they weren’t beating the thing. They were as charged as they’d ever been, and they were working together as well as they ever had, but it was too fast. It felt no pain, no fear. It fought like an animal, like a cold, calculating, brutal animal that knew just when to strike and when to pull back. As hard as they were trying, they weren’t causing it any lasting damage. Something had to change.

  “Nikki,” Michael called, ducking a backhanded swing as they fought their way up the stands on the opposite side from the transport.

  “Yep,” she said, pulling herself free from three crumpled seats. “I was just thinking this would be a lot easier while having a chat,” she grated. She jumped the Hunter’s next swing and punched it square in the chest, driving it down a few steps. “What’s up?”

  “I have an idea,” Michael said, eyeing the shadowed vendor concourse under the upper balcony as he backed up the steps. He could see a sliver of open sky on the back wall where an opening led to the steps that zig-zagged down the back side of the stadium they’d flown up earlier. It was only a few steps further up from where they were now, and a good four stories off the ground.

  If he could get that thing to charge him in there, he should be able to use its weight against it and buy them the time they needed. He just had to tell Nikki the plan without that thing understanding.

  “Nikki, do NOT let that thing follow me,” he said, catching her eye and winking. Who needed telepathy?

  He turned and ran up the last steps, hearing the clanging metal steps of the Hunter giving chase. He crossed the concourse and turned to put his back to the open sky, a short handrail the only thing between him and a nasty fall.

  The Hunter bounded into the shadows of the concourse, paused, then headed right for him. Perfect. Now he just had to roll with the strike, turn the blow into a throw, and—

  Nikki flew over the last few steps and plowed into the Hunter’s back, wrapping herself around one of its back legs and sending them both sprawling to the floor halfway across the concourse.

  So much for that plan.

  Nikki scrambled up and grabbed the side of a rusted vending machine, no doubt planning to heave it onto the Hunter, but a lighting fast strike from the metal beast sent her sliding several paces down the shadowed hall.

  Michael rushed forward, striking out with the surge of strength from Nikki. He caught the Hunter behind one arm joint and hammered three quick blows into the unarmored area. He felt the joint give under the barrage.

  The Hunter pivoted and swung an arm.

  Now! Michael stepped inside the Hunter’s swing, caught the arm as high as he could, and threw with the momentum of the blow.

  It worked. Almost. The Hunter spun over Michael’s head, metal limbs scraping up sparks on the concrete overhead, but it crashed to the floor a meter short of the rail.

  Nikki whistled. Michael looked back to see her back on one side of the wide vending machine. She winked.

  “Better plan,” he agreed, grabbing the other side.

  As the Hunter twisted back to its feet, they drove the vending machine into it like a battering ram, and kept pushing. It tried to push back, its clawed feet digging gouges in the concrete, but it couldn’t hold them both, not with them at full charge.

  It slammed into and through the rail and fell toward the street below. The vending machine ground to a precarious stop on the edge as Michael sagged back in relief, until Nikki said, “Woops,” and nudged the heavy machine off after the Hunter.

  She turned to Michael with a tired but pleased smile as the two crashes echoed up from the street. “That should give us, what, a minute maybe?”

  “More than enough,” Michael replied, turning to see the transport gliding toward them over the field. “Round two to us. What say we get out of here before round three starts?”

  Chapter 20

  Nikki

  Sometimes Nikki wondered if her brother had been dropped on his head as a baby, before their link had kicked in of course.

  “How could you not know what I meant?” he said incredulously.

  “Oh, because your genius secret code, you mean?” she replied, summoning every bit of sarcasm she could muster. “You’re right. I really should have done a better job. When you said ‘do not let it follow me,’ I should have known you really did want it to follow you. Especially since you stressed the word ‘NOT’!”

  “And I winked at you.”

  “Are you kidding me?” she shouted with a laugh. “I wink all the time! It never means ‘ignore what I just said.’ I winked at you to help me throw that big box thingy on Bug Bot. Did you not help me? No! You helped me with the big box, even though I winked.”

  “Vending machine,” he said, defeat seeping into his voice.

  “You’re a vending machine.”

  “No, I mean the big box. It was a vending machine.”

  “Are you sure? Did it wink when it told you that?”

  Michael leaned back in the padded seat and rubbed his eyes. That meant she’d won. He only did that when they reached the point in an argument where he realized she was right and there was nothing more he could say. Not the most gracious way to admit defeat, but nobody was perfect.

  They were in the doomsday fort in a room Elias called the command center. Aptly named, this one. From the looks of it, the church leaders had designed it as a bask-in-my-radiance room.

  It was a big round room with a big round stage in the middle. Centered over the stage was an oversized version of one of those fake skylights. The stage wasn’t huge big, but big big. Maybe a dozen people could fit on it.

  The rest of the room was large enough only for maybe four rows of chairs to circle the stage. The chairs had been removed though, if they’d ever been there. Maybe everybody was supposed to stand or kneel to bask in the holiness of their leader. Regardless, the darkened audience area was now filled with a bunch of tall black boxes with heavy wires snaking between them and three big display screens spaced along the curved wall.

  The stage had a control center—all touch-screens, knobs, dials, and flashing lights—on one section of the rail where the
operator could see all three displays. Behind the control center, a large light-up tactical display table had been installed under the skylight, surrounded by a half dozen padded office chairs.

  Kate had really made herself quite the nerd lair.

  Nikki and Michael had been in the command center since they’d gotten back. Nikki was dying to get cleaned up. Two days, three epic fights—two where-the-hell-am-I baths just wasn’t cutting it, but Michael refused to leave until he talked to Gideon. Considering what he wanted to know, Nikki was sticking around.

  Gideon stalked into the room, Elias and Mos on his heels. Michael pushed himself out of his chair as soon as he saw them.

  “How is she?” Michael asked.

  Elias nodded as he stopped just short of the stage. “Ace will pull through. She has a concussion, but given time she should make a full recovery.”

  “Can’t you help her?” Michael asked Gideon, who had gone straight to the tactical table. “The way you helped us? Nikki would be glad to punch me as much as needed, I’m sure.” He gave Nikki a hint of a smile.

  Gideon called up a topographical map of the western seaboard. He leaned on the edge of the display table on both fists and stared at the map for several seconds before answering.

  Nikki was about to repeat her brother’s question, a little less politely, but Michael touched her arm and shook his head slightly.

  “Channeling your energy into her would be…ill advised,” he said at last without looking up from the display.

  “Well, she’s ill, so how about we advise it?” Nikki said, ignoring Michael’s look. Kate came into the room and said something to Elias and Michael, but Nikki ignored that too. Her lack of a shower was starting to press her cranky buttons. Gideon’s constant dark humor wasn’t helping either.

  He looked up at her for a few seconds with what she assumed was supposed to be an intimidating glare. His ugly side was nice and gross, she’d give him that, but it wasn’t enough to intimidate somebody who’d just gone toe to toe with the rabid dog of steel.