Part 8 (1/2)

I was so startled, I nearly dropped the controller. I froze where I was at the foot of the stairs. The sound had come from the speaker in the device and from the outside world above me at the same time. The thickset guard at the entrance was firing at M-2, his teeth bared as he moved his machine gun back and forth and sent a wild spray of machine-gun bullets at the zigzagging thing that was racing toward him.

I could feel the time bomb ticking off its last two minutes in the bunker behind me. But I had to stop where I was. I had to pay attention to what was happening on the controller's screen.

I could see the barrel of the guard's machine gun flas.h.i.+ng as M-2 raced toward him. Once again, I worked the controller to keep my little ally moving back and forth, up and down, dodging the spray of bullets as they came.

Then the gunfire stopped. I heard the fat guard give a curse. He was out of bullets. I saw him on the POV screen as he hurled his machine gun to the ground, reached inside his khaki jacket and pulled out a pistol. He started to lift it, started to point it at M-2. I saw the black darkness of the bore.

But he was too late. M-2 was in range now. His blaster was fully recharged. I fired and hit the fat guard square in the chest. I saw his face contort in pain as the shock went through him. Then he was gone, collapsing like a tower of blocks when you pull out the bottom one.

I'd done it. He was down. I grabbed hold of the banister and started up the long flight.

I took the stairs two and then three at a time, going as fast as I could to get away from the explosion that I knew must now be only a minute and a half away.

Now I was on the landing. Now I was making the sign of the house again in front of the blank wall. Now the engine was grinding, the door was sliding back.

I used the moment to glance down at M-2's controller.

I saw Waylon's face, contorted with rage, filling the POV screen as he rushed toward the entrance, toward me.

The door kept sliding open, revealing the fat guard where he lay on the threshold, unconscious. In another second, I'd be exposed, giving Waylon a clear shot at me, an easy chance to blow me away. At the same time, though M-2's blaster was still recharging, it wasn't anywhere near full power yet.

Now the door was half open. I looked up. There was Waylon. Our eyes met and a thrill of terror went through me as I remembered his cold, amused voice giving the order to kill me.

He saw me too. He lifted his machine gun, pointing the bore at my chest.

And there was M-2 as well. I saw the little device hovering in the air just beside the onrus.h.i.+ng Waylon.

Quickly, I glanced down at the controller and pressed the Fire b.u.t.ton.

I looked up in time to see what happened next right in front of me outside the open door.

M-2 let out a weak blast, using all the power he had left. It hit Waylon in the side of the head. The terrorist leader cursed, losing hold of his gun as he gripped reflexively at the wounded spot. The gun was strapped around his shoulder so he didn't drop it, but it swung loose as he staggered to the side, dazed.

It was my momenta”my only moment. I leapt over the fat guard and ran for it.

I dashed out of the brick cylinder and into the ruins of the old hospital complex. The forest mist surrounded me as I ran past crumbling columns and empty buildings with shattered windows that stared like eyes. I saw the three guards where they stood trying to recover from the tear-gas blast. I saw the fourth guarda”the blond guy M-2 had knocked over with a shocka”trying to sit up. Then I lost sight of all of them as I ran behind a freestanding wall. Up ahead, I saw the woods. If I could get into the trees, I thought, maybe I could lose myself in the forest.

But just then: the stuttering cough of machine-gun fire. Dirt flew up at my feet as bullets dug into the earth.

I leapt to the side and rolled. There was a crumbling column of stone. I got behind it before the shooter found his range. The bullets struck the column, throwing chips of rock into the air.

Lying breathless on the ground behind the column, I looked down at the controller still gripped in my hand. When I tilted M-2 toward the nearest red dot, I saw Waylon in the POV screen. He'd recovered from the half blast and was coming after me, machine gun lowered, ready to open fire again when he had me in sight. If I broke from behind the column, he'd mow me down easily.

M-2's blaster charge was still too low to get off another shot. But I thought maybe I could use the tear gas again to put Waylon out of commission. Hiding there behind the column, I tipped the controller and sent the security device flying after him even as Waylon came charging toward me.

Waylon came closer to the column. M-2 came closer to Waylon. I put my finger on the firing b.u.t.ton, ready to unleash the gas.

But before I could, Waylon suddenly stopped in his tracks. He wheeled toward M-2. My flying pal was moving too fast to stop. He was too close to get out of the way. I peeked out from behind the column. I knew what was going to happen a second before Waylon pulled the trigger.

Waylon fired and M-2 exploded in a sparking, sizzling white and red flash. I felt my little friend die in the rattle of the controller in my hand.

But there was no time to mourn for plastic and wires when so much flesh and blood were at stake. Waylon's back was turned to me as he shot M-2 out of the air. I seized the opportunity. I bolted from behind the column, hurling the useless controller away as I ran.

The ruin of a large, warehouse-like building stood in the mist off to my right. I ran for it, hoping to reach cover before Waylon could turn and find me. I was almost there when he opened fire. My heart seized with terror at that deadly, rattling sound. A bullet ricocheted off the wall of the building just ahead of me. I threw up my arms to protect my face as I was. .h.i.t by flying shards of plaster.

Then I was there, dodging behind the same wall, out of the range of the stream of bullets.

I raced along beside the building. If I could reach the far side before Waylon came around behind me, I might have a chance of breaking around the corner for cover and then das.h.i.+ng all the way into the trees.

I ran full tilt, my face contorted with the effort, barely aware of my own exhaustion and breathlessness. All I could think was that any second Waylon might clear the corner behind me and pump a stream of machine-gun bullets into my spine.

I was nearly there. Running. Nearly there.

And then two guards stepped out in front of me, blocking my way.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

Zero

It was two of the guards I'd hit with tear gas. A moment later, the third one joined them. Then the fourtha”the lanky blond guy M-2 had laid out with his blaster. All four of them blocked my way with machine guns lifted directly at me.

There was nowhere to go. No way to escape without being turned into Swiss cheese. I pulled up short. I saw the Homelanders' fingers tighten on the triggers of their weapons. I thought they were going to shoot me dead then and there.

”Put your hands up!”

The voice came from behind me. I looked around and saw Waylon at my back. He had his machine gun trained on me too.

”Put 'em up!” he shouted again.

I raised my hands over my head. I turned to face him.

He stalked toward me angrily. I expected him to pull the trigger any second. But he kept coming until he was standing mere inches away from me, his furious eyes peering into mine. He stood like that a long second, his teeth bared. Then . . .

”Pig!” he said, and he slapped me.

It was a hard shot with the back of his hand. It landed full force to the side of the face, nearly knocking me over. I fell two steps to the side, my face stinging, my head feeling thick, my vision blurred.

Before I could recover, Waylon grabbed me by the front of my fleece and swung me around, hurling me against the side of the building. I gave a loud ”Oof!” as the impact knocked the wind out of me. Waylon gripped the fleece harder, twisting it back so that his fist pushed into my throat, cutting off my air. He leaned in close to me as I struggled for breath.

”I ought to kill you right where you stand,” he said in his thick guttural accent. ”And I will kill you, that's a promise. I will kill you just as surely as I killed your friend in the bunker.”