by Harrison, S.
Ryan lets out an exasperated sigh. “OK, OK. I hear you.” He throws an angry glare in my direction before turning to the group. “Everyone, follow me!”
There’s no argument as the still visibly stunned cluster shuffles forward. Margaux, in particular, is an absolute mess. With our rifles at the ready, Ryan and I step down onto the patch of grass by the path just outside the window frame. Otto’s frightened gaze meets my stoic mission face. I throw her a confident nod, and she tries her best to smile back. I elbow Ryan in the side to get his attention and swat at the air mouthing, “Go, go, go.” He motions at the group to follow as he and Percy take off, leading them toward the corner of the white-stone building forty meters away. They’ve only gone a few meters when Otto breaks away from the pack and comes running back toward me.
“What are you doing?” I whisper. “Get out of here.”
She looks me in the eyes with stony conviction. “If you’re thinking about running off to find Richard Blackstone without me, you can forget about it. We had a deal.”
“I’m coming to the bus. I swear.”
“What about the mission? We’ve come too far to stop now. I can’t believe you’re just gonna drop this.”
“I’m not dropping anything, and I didn’t forget our deal. I promised that I’d help get everyone to safety. I keep my promises; you’d better keep yours.” I grunt and push her away. “Go, get out of here. When the others are in sight of the bus, we’ll double back.”
“I’m trusting you,” Otto whispers, her eyes narrow with suspicion.
“Go. I’ll be right behind you. I promise.”
Otto turns and jogs off toward the corner, glancing back at me on every other step. I shake my head and crouch beside the Security Station with the rifle at my shoulder, staring through the gap in a freshly pockmarked U-shaped tree and wondering how the hell I got so soft. I can see the inactive service Drone we saw before. It’s still standing frozen in the same place, but now one of its arms has been shot off, and its torso is riddled with bullets. The giant R.A.M. has moved out of sight around the black angular structure on the corner, but I can still hear it firing in sporadic bursts, and I can clearly see some of the horrific damage that it’s done.
It’s not a pretty sight in the courtyard.
There are wide gouges scorched into buildings, smoke billows out of shattered windows, and pieces of camouflaged bodies lie among swaths of blood and scattered rifles. I turn away, angered and sickened. A simple infiltration and assassination—that’s all I wanted—but this whole day is turning out to be a twisted nightmare.
I look back to check on the group. Everyone has made it around the corner except for Professor Francis, who’s dragging a stumbling Dean behind him. Otto catches up with them and tries to help by shoving Dean along with her shoulder. In a few more seconds, they’ll make it, and I can get the hell out of . . .
STOMP . . .
The shudder of a heavy footstep makes me jump in my skin.
STOMP . . .
I should have run the moment I heard it.
STOMP . . .
That would have been the smart thing to do, Infinity.
STOMP . . .
Obviously, I’m not as smart as I think.
STOMP.
Because I just had to turn back and look, didn’t I?
There, standing at the corner of the building near the courtyard and towering at least nine meters high . . . is the R.A.M. Through the gap in the tree, I can see its huge, domed head with a pure-black strip sitting atop its massive rounded chest and shoulders . . . and it’s looking this way.
I’m about to turn and run for my life when movement to my left catches my eye and sends my already-peaking adrenaline levels skyrocketing. The reason why the robot is coming back has emerged from behind the tree, and he’s limping along the path barely ten paces from me.
It’s a soldier. A solitary, wounded soldier.
He’s bleeding badly from multiple wounds to his upper body, and the toe cap of one of his boots has been blown clean off. He sways off balance and reaches for the trunk of the tree to steady himself. Behind him, I can see a trail of bloody prints leading to a door in the adjacent building. The huge robot moves again.
STOMP . . . STOMP . . . STOMP . . .
The soldier’s wristband is drawing the R.A.M. to him like a fly to dead meat, which is exactly what we’re both gonna be if we don’t . . .
THUD!
The R.A.M. walks straight into the side of a building. With its head wildly rotating left and right, it raises one of its huge hands and scrapes it along the wall, almost like it’s trying to feel where to go next. I watch it closely; its movements are strange and clumsy. Its head swivels, and the plain black strip where its eyes should be pivots in this direction, but it doesn’t stop. Instead, it skims right past where the soldier and I are standing. Then it occurs to me: the reason why the R.A.M. is scanning for command modules is because . . . the stupid bucket of bolts can’t see! It must be firing blind at the power signals!
I don’t know why that robot is blind, and I don’t care; an advantage like that could give me the fighting chance I need to get this soldier to safety. I look at the insignia on his arm and read the name tag on his chest.
“Corporal Roth! We need to go!”
Seemingly oblivious to the walking death machine behind him, the soldier shakily raises his black visor with a bloodied hand, and a brutal truth is suddenly revealed. His eyelids are fluttering over a hollow stare glazed with panicked desperation. He’s looking right at me, but I can tell that he isn’t really seeing me.
Everything looks very different to someone in the final stages of shock.
I once saw a man try to scrape his own intestines back into his belly and seal it closed with mud because of shock. “Mother,” the soldier rasps. “Take me home.”
Corporal Roth’s mind has abandoned him.
Twenty meters away, the R.A.M. has stopped altogether. Desperately hoping it stays that way, I seize the moment and step toward the Corporal, but as soon as I do . . . that dreaded green laser beam snaps on. It fans out from the robot’s chest and begins scanning the wall of a nearby building. The jittering green line moves toward Corporal Roth, getting closer and closer with every passing second. When that laser finds his wristband, he’s dead—and I’ll be caught in the cross fire. I can’t let that happen.
“Your command module!” I shout. “Take it off! Throw it away!”
“Help me,” he whispers.
He’s not listening to me at all, and the laser scanner is only ten meters away.
With my rifle dangling from my shoulder, I run at the Corporal and grab at the command module on his wrist. “Mother,” he murmurs. He wraps an arm around me, and his legs buckle. He’s heavy. Grunting to hold him up, I pull at the wristband, struggling but awkwardly failing to pull the thumb of his other hand toward the diamond-shaped black stone. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the laser coming closer, the bright-green line roving across the wall barely five meters away.
“Help me, please,” he sobs. Any second now, that R.A.M. is going to fire and kill us both. I’m desperate. This isn’t working, and time is running out.
I know what I have to do.
I heave the Corporal off me and kick him hard in the chest. He stumbles away, falling backward, bewilderment and confusion creasing the edges of his eyes as he flumps heavily onto his back, groaning. With a jagged lump in my throat, I pull the rifle to my shoulder. Every fiber in my being screams out for me to close my eyes, but I grit my teeth, knowing that only my careful aim can provide mercy to that poor, suffering man. I hold my breath . . . and squeeze the trigger. With a loud bang, the rifle kicks in my arms, and my bullet finds its mark.
Right through the center of Corporal Roth’s command module.
He screams out in pain, pulls his wrist to his chest, and I loo
k toward the laser . . . It’s still coming. The shot didn’t deactivate the module. The laser line touches his boot. I raise my rifle again, hoping his hand will fall away from his body and I can get a second shot, but he holds it close, right over his heart. I can’t fire again without killing him. But that doesn’t matter now. It’s too late to help him. The laser flickers across his body.
Yellow.
It narrows into a focused beam directly on his wrist.
Red.
The robot’s weapon begins screaming, and I do the only thing I can. I turn . . . and I run.
I’m halfway to the corner of the white-stone building when the crackling squeal becomes a deafening roar. The terrifying noise only lasts for a few seconds. I don’t dare look back.
The only sound I hear is my heart beating in time with my frantic footsteps. All I can smell is electricity and burning meat. The only thing I feel is overwhelming guilt . . . and all I can see in my mind is the image of Corporal Roth’s sky-blue eyes pleading to be saved.
I failed him.
I make it to the corner of the building, panting at the air. I can’t see properly. Everything is swimming in my field of vision; colors are merging and dripping into each other like oil in water. I have no idea what’s happening. I panic and collapse against the wall, sliding down to the ground, blinking hard, willing my eyes to work again. Only after I feel the warm, wet droplets rolling down my face do I realize . . . that I’m crying. I’ve only ever cried once before. I was five years old. And on that day, I swore that I would never show that kind of weakness again, but everything I try to do on this mission from hell is ending in failure. And I hate it.
“Infinity?” Otto says, kneeling down beside me. She takes my hand. “We saw what happened. Are you OK?”
I know the definition of embarrassment, but I’ve never felt it before. Now, here I am, sitting on the ground, blubbing like a child. I feel like someone has cut my guts open and hung them in the town square for everyone to laugh at. I’ve seen soldiers die many times before. I’ve killed enemy soldiers myself. But I’ve never felt anything like this before. Why is this time different?
I want to shout “I’m fine!” and throw Otto’s hand away, but when the words seep from my lips, they’re quiet and feeble, and all I do is grip her fingers tighter. Finn is somehow infecting me and making me lose control. She’s the one making me soft. She’s the one making me care. She’s the one forcing me to feel. It’s the only thing that makes any sense. I detest her with a seething rage, especially now, but as much as I hate her for doing this to me, I can’t get the image of Corporal Roth out of my goddamned head.
“Ryan,” I say croakily. He steps forward and kneels beside me.
“Yes. I’m here,” he replies.
“You were right . . . ,” I murmur. “We have to warn them all.”
Both Ryan and Otto help me to my feet as I sniff back whatever is dribbling from my nose and try to regain my composure.
“So, the bitch has feelings after all.” My head snaps toward the insult, and my narrowed eyes zero in on Brent’s scowling face.
“Mr. Fairchild!” exclaims the Professor.
“For now, I’ll forget I heard that,” I say, staring Brent down.
“I won’t forget that I said it,” he replies as he turns away and hugs Margaux to his chest.
“Hey!” barks Ryan. “If it’s all the same to you guys, I’d like to get the hell out of here! So can someone tell me what we do next?”
“Mr. Blake?” the Professor says, looking in Percy’s direction.
“I . . . ah . . . ,” Percy stammers. He looks drained. This day has wrung his mind dry, and it shows.
I look out past the group. We’re standing on a wide pathway that skirts the outer walls of a row of buildings. Trees and gardens line the edge of the path. Beyond them, lush, green grass spreads out in a flat expanse for at least a kilometer all around before the ground sweeps up into rolling hills in the distance. I can only just make out the shape of the dark curve of Dome One through the canopies of the trees. It looks to be about four hundred meters away.
“Percy. Are there any fences or barriers between here and Dome One?”
Visibly relieved at being asked a question he can answer, Percy shakes his head. “No. The only fences we have to worry about are at the three guard posts on the drive to the main road. But they have electrified gates that can only be opened by someone in the”—Percy’s face drops—“in the Security Station.”
“That doesn’t matter. The bus will go right through those gates.”
“Awesome,” whispers Brody.
“OK, is everyone ready?” I say as I walk to the head of the group.
“Ah . . . I have a question,” says Brent. “Who put you in charge?”
“I did,” I reply. “Now move it.”
I start jogging down the path, checking the nearest alleyway on my left for danger as I go. Halfway down, I see that it’s blocked by a high wall. I glance over my shoulder, and sure enough, everyone, including a clearly fuming Brent, has begun following behind me. Major Brogan taught me a long time ago that sometimes all you need to do is act like you’re in charge for people to put you in charge. In this case, he was right on the money.
Ryan and Percy catch up with me at the front of the pack, and the three of us run abreast. “What about the soldiers in the courtyard?” Ryan asks.
“I’m checking the alleyways for access,” I reply. “I’ll stick with you guys until I find a clear route, and then I’ll cut through and find someone to warn. You carry on around the dome.”
Ryan nods, and we jog on, both of our heads now flicking to the left as we pass each narrow passage between the buildings. With the light breeze rustling the leaves above me and the sunlight dappling the paving stones beneath my feet, this could easily be a pleasant jog through a park on a warm summer afternoon. Unfortunately, the two sweaty, dirt-smeared, blood-spattered guys running beside me completely destroy that illusion.
We carry on at a steady pace, and soon part of the massive outer wall of the dome comes into view through the thinning green canopy overhead. “We’re almost there.” I glance back, and the rest of the group isn’t far behind. Even the old Professor is keeping in step, jogging right beside a red-faced Brody, who is very impressively plodding along despite piggybacking a gormless-looking Dean. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with that kid? A wet sack of potatoes has more personality.
Percy, Ryan, and I arrive at the end of the row of buildings and wait for the others to catch up. Beside the last building is a thicket of densely packed plants. I turn to Percy. “Can I push through here?”
Wheezing and gulping from running, he shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. He doesn’t have a clue.
“I’m gonna try. You get going,” I say, pointing across the 150-meter expanse of grass between us and the visible edge of the dome’s rounded black wall. Ryan nods. I look back at the group. Everyone is gathered, hands on hips, catching their collective breath.
“I’ll be waiting for you outside the bus,” Otto whispers with a knowing look. “Be careful, Infinity.”
“You’re Infinity?” gasps the Professor. “So that murderous hacker was looking for you?”
I don’t know what he’s talking about, so all I can do is stare blankly.
The Professor looks bewildered and shocked and confused all at once. “Someone took control of that monstrous robot and killed poor Miss Cole and all the others . . . because of you?”
I stand there in silence, frowning at the Professor as he turns and barks at Otto. “What is going on here? I demand an explanation!”
“Later, Professor, I promise,” Otto says, dragging him away by the arm.
Ryan looks over at me. “You watch your back.”
I smile and nod. “Don’t get killed.”
He returns my smile,
then addresses the group, “C’mon, everyone; we’re almost home free.”
They move off at a cautious pace, with Ryan and Percy leading the way. I can still hear Professor Francis muttering my name as I turn, step up onto the edge of the concrete planter, and push my fingers into the thicket. I have to force my shoes into the tiny spaces between the roots of the plants and lean my shoulders sideways, pushing forward with all my might just to make any kind of decent headway. If I had one wish right now, it would be for my favorite black-handled knife to magically appear in my hand so I could clear away these damned plants that are catching and scratching against me. Actually, if I had one wish, it would be for Richard Blackstone to be dead, so stop wasting time with the daydreaming, Infinity; get to the courtyard, and warn the first soldier you see.
With my useless flights of fancy firmly put in their place, I carry on grunting and heaving at the sinewy vegetation until I can finally make out the pattern of paving stones through the tangle. I’m almost halfway through this wretched mess of weeds when a calm computerized voice suddenly speaks from somewhere on the other side of the garden.
“Combat Drones have been dispatched to eliminate unauthorized intruders. I repeat, Combat Drones have been dispatched to eliminate unauthorized intruders. Due to unresolved system malfunctions, all Drones are operating at a diminished capacity, so to avoid accidental harm, all authorized staff are advised to remain in your nearest emergency shelter. I do apologize for any inconvenience and hope to resolve this conflict in the most efficient way possible. Thank you for your patience, and . . . have a spectacular day.”
That was Onix. I’ve never heard anyone tell me they’re going to murder me in such a polite manner. It sure doesn’t make it any easier to take.
Despite the warning, I carry on. I’m pushing at a clump of weird, prickly shrubbery when there’s a scream in the distance. I freeze. That high-pitched, annoying scream is one that, lately, I’ve become all too familiar with.
Margaux.
Suddenly much more alert and concerned, I look back down the very roughly hewn track that I’ve barely carved between the plants, straining my ears in the direction of Margaux’s frightened shriek.