That must be the difference between red-eye and blue-eye Primes. I don’t like it.
The Machine’s rotary gun began to spin.
“Orissa,” Leon warned on what breath he could muster.
“Got it,” she said triumphantly, rising from her backpack with something in her hand.
They ran as shots fired out again.
They dove behind a fallen tree, plasma whizzing overhead. Splinters of bark poured down on Leon’s head. A scream came from Orissa, every word a curse, many of them quite inventive.
The rotary gun slowed and hellfire had once more ceased.
Leon sprang up, but Orissa caught him by the elbow and dragged him back down. “We can’t chew through that shield in time.”
“We sure as shit have to try. That Quantum Disruptor isn’t going to last much longer.”
Orissa revealed a grenade in her hand that she’d taken from her pack. “Smoke grenade. I’m going to toss it and create a concealment that’ll allow me to flank the Prime. You keep his attention. I’ll come in from behind and shank this EMP knife into its exposed wiring. Its functionality will be disabled only for a few seconds, but hopefully long enough for us to take it down.”
“You can’t—”
Too late. Orissa was already on her feet, bounding toward the Prime.
“Fuck,” spat Leon, jumping up. He squared himself to the Prime and began blasting the shield. Plasma sank into it like water into parched dirt. How much damage could the shield sustain before collapsing? The only Prime he’d ever hunted had a red crystal in its metal skull, and that one sure as shit didn’t dislodge the crystal and slam it on the ground to create a shield around itself.
A detonation rocked the earth and smoke billowed up to the Prime’s left. The Machine turned that way.
“Hey!” Leon screamed. “Right here, you sonofabitch!”
The Machine was no fish, or perhaps his bait wasn’t enticing enough, for its head continued to twist as if it were tracking prey scrambling through the smoke cloud.
Orissa emerged at its rear, electromagnetic pulse knife in hand. The Prime swung around and grasped her by the throat, lifting her two feet off the ground.
Leon didn’t think. He just acted.
He barreled toward the Prime without a plan. He ran through a list of possibilities in his head, whittling it down to something feasible and actionable. What weapons did he have? A rifle, some lock-on knives, a solar grenade.
That’s it, he thought.
Orissa kicked her feet, writhing as the color was sucked from her face and her eyes bulged like a ball of slime being squeezed.
Leon passed through the shield. Orissa’s wiggling was slowing. Her eyes closing.
He had seconds to work with.
He unhooked the solar grenade from his belt, armed it, and lunged at the Prime, thrusting the grenade into the Machine’s exposed circuitry.
Machines showed no emotion, but the way the Prime dropped Orissa and raked at the gaping hole in its frame in effort to free itself from certain annihilation… that was as close to panic as Leon had ever seen in one of these metal fiends.
And it was a blissful sight.
But he had little time to admire it. He had precious little time altogether, before he and Orissa were blown to bits as well.
She struggled to her feet, swaying drunkenly. She’d gain her faculties back in short order, but not quickly enough. Leon hoisted her over his shoulders and booked it for the woods.
The solar grenade discharged with a heavenly blast that knocked Leon to the ground—not from the force, but from the jarring sound. He looked back to see Prime parts belched into the air.
He picked Orissa up again and took cover in the trees as shrapnel rained down upon them.
When all was calm again, Leon brushed off the dirt and leaves from his pants. He stood over Orissa, disbelief stealing away his voice.
“You know,” he finally said, “I don’t know what’s more insane—that you ran in to shank a Prime with a knife, or that I came flying in to rescue your ass from that piss-poor decision.”
Orissa sniffed. She touched her throat, feeling around the deep red lines gingerly. Dirt smeared her face, staining her dark skin in ugly blotches of brown.
“What were you thinking?” Leon demanded.
“I was thinking—” She paused, lifting her eyes to meet his. “I was thinking that if we didn’t take that thing down immediately, we’d have a thousand Machines converging on our location.”
Not good enough, thought Leon. “Why not toss a thermal grenade at its feet? Its guts were exposed, Orissa. All you had to do—”
She scrambled to her feet in windswept rage. “I’m not fit for this!” she screamed. She unstrapped her belt and shoved it in Leon’s face. “This isn’t me!”
Leon shrugged his arms. “What isn’t you?”
She closed her eyes and fastened her belt around her waist. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
“You just—”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said firmly. “Not now.”
Leon looked to the heavens with an exasperated grin. He sighed. “Fine. Let’s get that vehicle and get the hell out of here. You’re driving. I need to sleep, or I’m going to lose my mind.”
He walked no more than five feet out of the forest before regret stung him like wasp. He couldn’t recall a time when he’d been so angry.
That wasn’t me, he thought, parroting Orissa’s line. The stress was getting to him.
And the stress had only just begun.
Chapter Seven
No sooner did Leon close his eyes than the nightmare raked across his mind. He was in a suburb somewhere, a quaint little neighborhood whose paved streets were lined with sugar maples, and every third house had a basketball hoop out front. Probably this was a peaceful place once.
Not now.
A thunderstorm of bullets erupted around him. He kept his head down, sweat beading from the tip of his nose as he dragged an unconscious soldier down a blood-soaked gravel driveway.
This was how the nightmare always began, and it ended soon after, with him staring at the soldier’s grotesque features. The way his nose had melted and grafted to his cheek, the way bone jutted from his crooked finger.
Over and over the scene would play out with no reprieve, till either morning came or another dream of horror took its place.
Tonight, however, was different.
“General!” screamed a soldier near a fencepost ahead, barrel of his gun aimed just past Leon.
Leon wheeled around. A hulking Machine with six arms and the body of an arachnid bore down on him. Bullets sprayed into the metal fiend, bronze casings deflecting off like they were nothing more than plastic darts.
He ripped an electromagnetic pulse grenade from his belt, armed it with a flick of his thumb, and chucked it at the Machine. He bolted for the fencepost, hunkering down with the other soldier as the grenade detonated.
Leon gave his new partner a once-over. The kid couldn’t have been more than eighteen. He was clean-shaven, or more probably unable to grow anything but the small, wispy patch of hair under his chin. His blue eyes were wet and wide with innocence. This wasn’t a war he wanted to fight, or one he signed up for.
Poor bastard.
Blue currents of electricity sheathed the Machine, temporarily paralyzing it. Leon slammed the stock of his rifle against his shoulder. Aiming for the Machine’s array of sensors buried in its head, he held down the trigger and lay plasma-incased bullets into that metal demon.
The electromagnetic pulse field gave way just as the sensors shattered, and the Machine wobbled unsteadily on its spiderlike legs.
Leon grabbed the baby-faced soldier and hurried him into a house with broken siding and shattered windows. They found refuge in a kitchen whose only windows faced south, where the Machines had yet to congregate.
He backhanded the kid’s gun away from his face. It was an old semi-automatic rifle of
yore that only fired standard metal bullets. “What the hell are you doing with that?”
The soldier’s lip quivered. “I—that’s all they gave us, sir.”
Great, thought Leon. We’re so strapped for supplies that we’re handing out useless artifacts to fight this war. He tapped his comm. “Syxx, I’m pinned down near Tabor Drive. Do you have sight on, uh—” He peeked out from the kitchen and into the living room, where the glass of bay windows lay scattered on sills. “A white house, rainbow flag.”
Nothing.
“Syxx—”
“Syxx’s position was overrun, General,” said the kid. “His comm was shot out. He sent me down here to tell you.”
Leon chewed on that. “Axon Company?”
“Gone, far as I can tell, sir.”
“Drop the sir bullshit. What’s your name?”
“Private Gregory Mantelli, si—” He cleared his throat, remembering.
Leon thrust a finger into the soldier’s chest. “Private, scour this house for survivors.”
The soldier hesitated, but then gave an affirming nod and tore off.
Leon tried another frequency on his comm. “Axon, you copy?”
A splurge of static, and then, “Onnos here, Imus. I’m the only fucking one left. Goddamn Primes decimated us.”
“Where are you?”
“In a fucking cellar. Leon, you’ve got to call it in.”
Leon looked to the heavens, which was a white ceiling covered in dust. Not very appealing, as heavens go. “If they take this fork…”
“They’ve taken it,” returned Onnos.
The tile floor under Leon quaked rhythmically. A dish on the sink inched closer toward the edge of the counter. He watched and cringed as it toppled off and shattered. He brought his rifle up and peered around the dishwasher, into the living room. No sign of Scorpion or Molotov-class Machines coming in; those ones were always the keenest of hearing.
That was good news. What walked down the street, however, blanched Leon’s face. His heart plunged into his bowels.
Six Primes marched abreast, rotary guns firing in deafening unison.
Leon kept low and moved about the house, searching for Gregory. The lower floor was clear, which meant he’d gone upstairs. Leon took bounding leaps up the stairs, skipping every third step. He nearly collided into Gregory on the landing.
“Sorry, sir!” the Private cried. “I f—f—found someone.” He led Leon into a master bedroom. At first glance it appeared clear. But from under the four-posted bed and behind the hem of sheets which draped the side rail came a sniffling.
Leon pushed Gregory ahead. “Get to that window.” He closed the bedroom door and started toward the bed. “Come on out. It’s all right. We’re U.S. Military.”
Slowly, a hand emerged from underneath the sheet. And then a round face with red hot cheeks and teary eyes. She crawled out and helped two small children, maybe three and five years old, out as well.
Christ, thought Leon.
“Sir,” said Gregory, “it looks empty out there. There’s—”
Leon padded over to the window to have a look for himself. It was a clear shot to a narrow creek and the sloping hillside beyond. If they could put a mile or so between them and this neighborhood, a chopper could evac them without putting itself in danger.
He gathered everyone in close and explained the plan of action. They’d climb out onto the awning and from there jump down. He’d catch the kids. Once every pair of feet were on the ground, they’d run as fast as they could past the creek and down the hill, not stopping until he gave the word.
Time seemed to jump then, and he was standing in a field looking out at a cloverleaf interchange. The roads were empty but for a few overturned cars.
He looked back and could see nothing but a rising hill and smoke billowing from beyond. Private Gregory, the woman, and her two children huddled around.
Leon switched channels on his comm. “Birds of Prey, this is General Imus.”
“Torrie here, Imus. I’m the only one in your sky. It’s looking bad down there.”
“It’s over down here,” replied Leon. “Level it.”
“Understood.”
Moments later, a roar of thermal engines screamed from above. The twin-engine fighter—a Cobalt—dropped its payload over the suburb.
Fireballs coughed into the sky, then collapsed into great clouds of smoke. Leon never flinched.
We’re losing this war, he thought, breathing in the smell of char and death.
The morning air was crisp on her face, wind slinging back the hair from her eyes. Orissa breathed in freedom, content with silence but for the quiet thrumming of the thermal engines. Once a Helrider got up to speed, it barely made a noise.
Orissa side-eyed a groaning Leon. The unforgiving road must have finally jarred him awake. Although, it wasn’t really a road. It was more a carpet of weeds stretched tight over a divoted earth.
A blade of pink morning sunshine cut across the sky like the trail of a comet.
“Where are we?” Leon asked sleepily.
“Somewhere on an interstate,” she said. She’d run over a rusted mile marker a short while ago, the back wheels of the Helrider flipping it into the air. The numbers would have been worn off by now.
“Ninety miles can’t take that long in one of these things,” Leon said. He went through his awakening ritual, which consisted of yawning, stretching, cracking his knuckles, smacking his lips in disgusting fashion, and snorting whatever gunk had accumulated in his nose during sleep.
Attractive though he was while in the heat of battle, he was an equally unattractive slobbering mess after waking up. Orissa supposed she was too.
“It’s almost three hundred miles, actually,” she said.
She could feel Leon’s eyes burning into her. Distrust. Contempt. Those were things Machines felt for her, and now so did another human. Orissa prided herself on an uncaring attitude, on a rough and tumble disposition, of a woman who simply got things done.
But when you add another human to the mix… well, turns out, things get complicated.
“Where the hell are you taking us?” Leon demanded.
Orissa couldn’t withdraw into her enigmatic shell anymore. The trust he’d afforded her because of his rescue, because she was a human and not Machine—that had all been spent.
Best fess up now, she told herself.
She looked for the perfect breakaway in the wild overgrowth. There, she thought. She lifted her foot off the pedal, triggering the Helrider’s automatic braking. Palming the wheel, Orissa spun the vehicle around and slammed it forward. Down a hillside the Helrider went, gyroscopes keeping it from flipping over.
The wheel tremored violently in her hands, and it took all of her strength to keep it steady. She directed the Helrider into a grotto, bowling over barberries and boxwoods, nearly clipping cedars and pines. The cold smells of a dead winter lingered, oppressive in her lungs.
“What the—”
Leon’s expletive-rant-to-be was interrupted by the harsh lurching and careening of the Helrider over lopsided and rugged earth. Orissa white-knuckled the wheel, and Leon held to the door frame like a child zooming down a road without training wheels for the first time.
When the Helrider came to rest in a hollow, silence encapsulated them. Then, a return to normalcy: crickets sang, the inquisitive heads of blackbirds popped up, equally curious and terrified.
Leon’s jaw was set. Slowly, he pried his fingers from the door frame. His chest fell and rose with deep, measured breaths.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” he said, struggling to quench the flame of anger in his throat, “but you’ve lost it.”
Orissa sighed. Her fingers felt glued to the wheel. “You don’t know me, Leon.”
“So, this is the real you, then?”
She flexed her hands, ironing out the cramps, and placed them on her thighs. “There is no ammunition depot.” She paused. “There is, but it won’t have
what we need.”
“Did you just decide this while we were on the road and I was passed out?”
“No. It was a lie from the start.”
The ensuing silence bore into her skull like a tortured scream, making her fitful and anxious. There hadn’t been a moment she wasn’t stressed since her rebirth—as she called it—into the world, but this was a different sort of stress. One made real only by the presence of another human.
“You know,” said Leon, “this speaks volumes, but I’m actually relieved that you’re admitting to your deception. I figured you’d try spinning me another story, see where that got you.”
“It’s not that simple,” Orissa shot back.
He cocked his head. “You mean it’s not as if you choose to lie? You’re telling me it ‘just happens’?”
The sour taste of irritation filled her mouth, but she bit her tongue. It would do no good to fly off at the handle.
It never did, truthfully.
“There’s a secure holding facility in the state of Maryland,” explained Orissa. “More accurately, in the cradle that was the United States Government.”
A flick of familiarity in those hazel eyes of his. “Washington D.C.”
She nodded. “Washington D.C.” She leaned back, rubbing her eyes in exhaustion. “There, in cold storage, are vials of mylosynicide.”
That elicited a sarcastic chuckle from Leon, which meant he knew of that fuel. Mylosynicide powered human ships during the Rise and it powered Machine ships to this day. It had been discovered by an array of Machines whose sole purpose was to develop better weapons for the United States Armed Forces. Mylosynicide’s compounds had never been publicly revealed, but the chemical was extremely potent and efficient.
However, upon combustion, mylosynicide also featured the highest energy output of any known chemical. It was used in the late Rise in an attempt to make missiles that could destroy entire countries, without the radioactive effects of nuclear weapons.
“All right,” said Leon, shifting in his seat. He ran his fingers through his thick hair, the straw-colored strands all dirtied and blackened from dust and mud and the debris spewed by an exploding Prime. “Mylosynicide, huh? Potent stuff. How do you know about this?”
Rebirth (Archives of Humanity Book 1) Page 6