Page 46
He grabbed my shoulder, and I thought his fingers and thumb were going to tear into my flesh, shatter my collarbone.
In one swift movement he threw me sideways. I expected to hit a wall, but I passed through a door, crashing onto a hard linoleum floor.
I tried to defend myself, only to see that he wasn’t coming any closer. He was framed in a doorway. He pulled the door closed, locking me in the dark.
Silence.
The room heaved.
I was going down.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
My Tasers were gone, and the fist spikes. I rolled up my pants and untied the powerheads. They both seemed to be fine, though I had no idea whether they’d work. Still, I liked holding them—they felt substantial in my hands, the grip of the screwdrivers heavy and comfortable.
I still had the box cutter in my shoe, but decided against pulling it out for now. The door could open at any minute, and I didn’t want to be shoeless.
The room lurched and stopped. The lights dimmed for an instant, and then came back.
I faced the door, suddenly terrified.
There had been blood on this floor before, Becky once told me. Not everyone who got sent to detention just gave up and went to surgery. They fought back, right here, and they died.
Click.
Someone was messing with the door. Unlocking it.
I crouched.
There was a sliver of bright light as the door creaked open.
I took a cautious step forward.
No sounds.
I reached my foot out and kicked the door the rest of the way open.
The hallway was wide here. Androids could be hiding on either side. They probably figured I was armed, so it made sense that they’d set a trap.
I stared down the length of the hall. It was brighter than I imagined, the walls white tile and plaster, and lit with exposed lightbulbs every five or six feet. It reminded me of an old hospital. There was a chemical smell, like harsh soap.
“You’re dead,” I said.
No answer.
If there was someone there, they’d expect me to jump out and attack. That’s what they were prepared for. So that wasn’t what I was going to do.
I took a breath, as deep as I could. And then I ran.
In an instant I was out the door and pounding down the hall.
At fifty feet I spun around.
Two of them, both Iceman. One, dressed in workman’s coveralls, had a metal baton. The other, wearing medical scrubs, held a Taser in his hand—it had been fired, the probes and wires lying tangled on the floor. He’d missed me as I ran.
He ripped off the cartridge and approached me now.
My hands were sweaty, and I suddenly worried about holding on to the powerheads.
“Please do not resist,” the workman said.
“Did you hear what I did to the others?” I said. “I killed four of you. ”
The workman smiled as they continued toward me. “Death does not scare us. ”
“Then why didn’t you come in that door to get me?”
I needed to do something soon. My back was to an open hallway. Someone could sneak up behind me anytime.
“Where’s Becky?”
“Perfectly safe. As you will be when you surrender. ”
They were close now, maybe eight feet away.
“You already know about Fort Maxfield,” the workman said. “You know that we don’t kill or torture. ”
“I’m not going back there. ”
“Yes, you are. ”
“Where’s Becky?”
The man in scrubs lunged at me, the face of the Taser sparking white and blue. I smacked his arm away with my left, but the powerhead in that hand flew out of my fingers, clattering down the hall.
He was almost on top of me, and I brought the other powerhead up, stabbing into his ribs.
Bang!
Everything stopped.
The noise exploded down the hall, and the shock made us both startle and stagger backward. The spent powerhead dropped from my fingers.
He had a bloody hole in his chest, a ring of torn skin and cloth around shattered circuits and machinery.
He looked at me and fell.
I jumped back to my feet. The workman looked stunned, staring at his dead partner.
I picked up the Taser. “Still not afraid of death?”
The workman jumped, swinging the baton like an ax. But the ceiling was too low, and it skittered against the cement, smashing a lightbulb and coming down harmlessly a foot away from me.
I leapt past him, running for the second powerhead. He was right behind me.
The baton swiped past my ear, the tip scraping painlessly down my shoulder as I dropped to grab the weapon. I snatched it off the ground, turned to him, and jammed the barrel into his stomach.
The powerhead bent in half, the barrel ripping off to the side and snapping off, leaving me holding only a screwdriver.
He didn’t wait, but crashed the baton into my arm. Pain shot from my fingertips to my shoulder. I dropped the Taser and screamed.
The workman advanced mercilessly, pushing me back toward the elevator. I didn’t have any good weapons left—just the screwdriver and the box cutter in my shoe. There’d be no time to get it.
“Tell me where she is and I’ll let you go,” I said.
He didn’t respond—not a word or an expression. He continued walking, and I kept retreating.
I glanced back. Nothing could help me. The door to the detention room, the elevator controls, a lightbulb. Nothing.
He swiped the baton again, but just to scare me. He knew he had me cornered.
But I was cornered only if I was going to stay underground.
I turned and ran, jamming the button for the elevator to go up.
I heard his footsteps behind me. I knew he wouldn’t let me go. He wasn’t trying to hit me now—he was trying to get inside that elevator before it left.
As soon as I got inside I spun, slamming the door into him. It caught on his shoulder and arm, and he reeled.
I rammed the screwdriver into his chest.
Whether it was his artificial heart or the power system Harvard had mentioned, it didn’t matter. He dropped.
I jumped back out into the hallway and shoved his body the rest of the way inside. I closed the door and let the elevator leave, taking the body of a dead robot up to the students.
I was dripping with sweat, my heart pumping so hard I could feel it in my neck, arms, and fingers. But I didn’t have time to catch my breath. Backup was sure to be coming.
I grabbed the Taser and stared down the hall, trying to visualize the map again. I needed to get to the cells.
I ran.
There was no one in the corridors. No one in the rooms to my sides. I’d killed six androids in the last week, and Becky had likely Tasered a seventh. Maybe they were running out.
I turned the corner to the cell block. The lights were on, but dim. Curtis was right—it looked like a hospital, with a nurses’ station and everything.
I crept in, but couldn’t walk quietly. My clothes were still soaking wet from the heavy snow, and my shoes squeaked on the tile floor.
Every room was the same: a bed and a sink and a toilet. They all had prison bars, and instead of a keyhole there was a ten-digit keypad. Those pads were the only thing in the entire cell block that looked less than fifty years old.
My heart was in my throat as I hurried down the row. I passed two dozen rooms, and a junction that led to another hallway, before I found her.
I gripped the bars and stared.
Becky was unconscious, a bandage around her head and a plastic mask covering her nose and mouth. A wheeled cart was beside her bed, and all the tubes, wires, and sensors covering her body ran to it. It hissed as she breathed.
Feedback Page 46