ATLAS 2 (ATLAS Series Book 2) (36 page)

We smashed through a window on the building across from the warehouse, and landed roughly. Other SKs in gray jumpsuits unhooked Hijak and me from the glass container, then deactivated our PASS (Personal Alert Safety System) devices, which could be used to track us—though probably not very far in the alien-induced interference.

Two of the SKs tied us to their backs, just above their jumpjets, then they carried us through the city, leaping from building to building, following the rest of the SK platoon over the swarming crabs and slugs. The glass container was ported along through it all.

Oddly enough, none of the enemy robots on the streets fired at us. Maybe it was an illusion. Maybe they
were
firing, but their aim was so bad I just didn’t notice. Or maybe they didn’t want to harm our precious cargo.

Eventually we emerged from the southwest corner of the city, precisely opposite the original waypoint we had used for the insert.

I tried reaching the Chief several times over the comm, but I never got through. It was pointless to keep trying, because he couldn’t come for us now.

No one could.

The SKs unceremoniously strapped Hijak and me to the floor of a drop shuttle, alongside the caged Artificial. The SKs never once activated the EM field inside the glass container. I kept expecting the Phant to flow free, but it didn’t.

Instead, the host Artificial merely smiled at me.

The SK soldiers clamped into their respective seats, and the drop shuttle sped away.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Shaw

Q
ueequeg moved deftly among the ranks, dodging claws, evading mandibles, just tearing a path through the cords and severing the crabs from their host slug. It was a trick I’d taught him in earlier fights, and it was the fastest way to dispatch the smaller beasts.

I followed in his wake, piloting Battlehawk, shooting any crabs that Queequeg had missed or that came at him from the sides.

Fan guarded the rear from his perch behind my head. He was using the rifle, ammo packs, and grenades he’d retrieved from my mech’s storage compartment. He targeted the cords of the crabs too, and was doing an admirable job of protecting my back. I was fairly certain he was military by now, judging from some of the kills he’d made. I supposed that was a plus. I needed someone who could fight along with me.

We had held out for a surprisingly long time, mostly because of the tight nature of the tunnel, which siphoned the enemy toward us in manageable quantities, so that the most we faced at any one time were two or three.

Even so, I knew it was only a matter of time before our ammo ran out. When Fan exhausted his, I’d be forced to watch our back more often, leaving Queequeg exposed. Soon thereafter my Gatlings would empty, then my serpents, and finally my incendiaries.

Not good. Not at all.

We were trying to reach the surface, shooting and hacking our way back through the rearmost tunnel. It seemed hopeless. But I’d faced countless hopeless situations before. I’d always gotten through. Always.

Now wouldn’t be any different. It couldn’t.

We reached the slug that was the source of the current batch of crabs. Queequeg pulled back, allowing me to whale on the beast with my Gatlings until the alien phased out.

Queequeg, Fan, and I rushed through the temporary gap left by the evanesced slug, and we ran right into the next opposing group of crabs.

The slug meanwhile rematerialized behind us, blocking our retreat vector, but also cutting off attacks from crabs in that direction.

“Let me know if the situation changes behind us,” I said, wishing I still had the second pair of eyes afforded by the ASS drone, which we’d lost to a crab.

“The situation changes!” Fan said. “The big one disappears again to allow the other Mara to pass!”

The slug had realized its mistake, then.

“Well don’t just sit there,” I said. “Fight!”

I felt the pressure of a medium blast wave behind me.

“That was my last grenade!” Fan said.

“Do what you can!”

I’d been careful to use my Gatling guns in controlled bursts to conserve ammo, but my left one clicked now when I fired it.

Empty.

I cycled in a serpent launcher instead. According to the supply indicator on my HUD, this was the final rocket. Battlehawk had already exhausted most of the serpent inventory during its tenure with Bravo platoon, and I’d already emptied the last three from the right-side launcher when I’d made the Improvised Explosive Device.

So, one rocket left.

Had to make it count.

I aimed the launcher down the tunnel, and though I couldn’t see the slug through the darkness, I knew it was down there somewhere.

I fired.

The warhead detonated roughly thirty paces ahead, and the flash illuminated a tsunami of crab body parts.

I hadn’t hit the slug then, but I
had
inflicted damage on its minions.

The blast wave sent crabs in the immediate area flailing into the floor and walls.

Queequeg was knocked off his feet.

Battlehawk held its ground, although the cockpit shuddered around me.

One crab recovered right away, and tried to get Queequeg while he was down.

I split the crab in two with a Gatling burst from my right arm.

No one hits my friends while they’re down.

Another crab got up in front of me.

I depressed the weapon trigger—

My right Gatling clicked.

Out of bullets entirely now.

The doomsday scenario I had rehearsed in my head so many times before was finally upon me. Trapped in a cave, surrounded by beasts, slowly running out of ammo. It didn’t matter if I was in a mech or a jumpsuit, the final outcome was the same.

Don’t give up! Don’t give up! Don’t give up!

I cycled the incendiary throwers into both hands. These weapons fired some kind of oxidant and combustive together, allowing me to throw flames even in zero oxygen. I turned toward the rear, away from Queequeg, and activated the incendiaries. The crabs behind me were roasted, yes, but as soon as the creatures left weapons range the fires immediately flickered out.

The crabs devised a strategy: they would dive in and get struck by the jellied gasoline, then they’d retreat, the flames would quench, and then they’d dive right back in again.

I decided it was best to save the incendiary throwers for the slug, so I turned back toward Queequeg and began using Battlehawk’s body as my main weapon.

This involved a lot of bashing and stomping.

“Stay still!” Fan said. “I hit nothing when you move like that!”

“Do your best!” I said. “Stay alive!”

I wasn’t an infantryman. I had no training in small-unit tactics. I didn’t know the proper strategies for close-quarter combat situations, nor did I even know the full capabilities of the mech. I considered telling Battlehawk to fight the battle for me, but I remembered all too well what an AI had done to my shuttle, crash-landing it while I slept.

No. I fought my own battles. And if that meant I had to take a brute force approach, and smash whatever came my way, then so be it. The crabs were relentless, but I wasn’t going to back down. I’d force my way out or die trying.

Still, if Battlehawk knew something that could save my life . . .

“Battlehawk, any ideas?”

“Keep doing what you are doing,” the AI intoned.

Very helpful.

I waded through the living and the dead, striking with my fists, tromping with my feet, making my way toward the next slug, which I couldn’t yet see. I had refused to let Battlehawk fight on autopilot for me, and yet I was doing that very thing myself. My mind operated on automatic, blatantly killing everything around me, so that when I came across Queequeg’s snarling face in the mayhem, I nearly smashed it in.

I truly was a killer now. Worse than Rade ever had been.

Stunned and ashamed by what I had become, I didn’t move.

Queequeg leaped past and bit into the umbilical of the crab beside me, which had taken advantage of my inaction to attack my mech.

Other crabs surged forward to assume its place, and in moments they were literally all over me. Mandibles chewed at external pistons and compressor joints. Pincers clattered against exposed tubing and wiring.

It sounded like I was inside a flimsy tin shed covered in insects. Warning indicators blared all over the place, though I had no idea what most meant. I knew my right elbow joint was damaged, because I couldn’t bend the arm all the way. My left arm was sluggish. My right eye camera winked out intermittently.

I discovered flamethrowers worked wonders in close quarters. Fire at a crab clinging to your chest piece, and the thing instantly released you, howling in pain.

I flung a bunch of the creatures from my body in this way, and then cut a swathe in front of me, using the intense heat to send the crabs leaping back in waves. It didn’t last, of course. They resorted to their dive in/dive out tactics again.

I’d lost sight of Queequeg. My loyal friend was probably dead. Buried under one of those carapaces because I’d let myself become overwhelmed. I hadn’t been able to defend him, like a proper master should.

Still, a part of me hoped he was alive.

A weak, dying part.

I released another long scythe of flame, and then launched a horizontal burst from my jetpack, wanting to quickly claim the space I’d cleared with my incendiaries. I must have thrusted at the wrong angle though because I found myself traveling both forward
and
upward.

My head crashed into the ceiling at a forty-five-degree angle. I fell to the ground, landing in a prostrate position.

Mental note: jetpacks and enclosed spaces don’t mix.

“
Get up
!” Fan said, the urgency very clear in his voice.

I’d forgotten about him, and to be honest, I was a little surprised he was still alive.

But he was right.

I had to get up. Crabs were already all over me.

I used my incendiaries to send those crabs skittering away. Some of the jellied gasoline dripped onto my chest piece, but it instantly flickered out due to lack of oxygen. I sat up and tried to fire off more rounds, but both incendiary launchers clicked.

So that was it. I had nothing left to attack with now, save Battlehawk’s body.

When I rose, I saw the alien slug waiting just ahead, at the edge of the light cone cast by my headlamp. Its girth filled nearly the entire tunnel. Several crabs lurked between us.

I instantly regretted expending my incendiary throwers. Without weapons of any kind, there was no way I was taking down that slug.

But I wasn’t going to quit.

I’d fight to the very end.

Then I saw the Phants.

The evil, malicious mist edged along the tunnel wall, seeping past the slug.

The sight made me shrivel inside.

So much for not quitting.

There was nothing we could do now.

We were, essentially, doomed.

“I’m out of ammo!” Fan said.

Like I said . . .

A heavy blow from behind sent my mech stumbling forward, toward the Phants.

The blow came again, and I collapsed entirely.

I tried to move, but couldn’t.

Multiple crabs had my ATLAS pinned.

Ahead, the remaining crabs parted to allow the Phants through . . .

I heard two thuds, and the weight shifted above me so that I was free.

“Fan?” I said, starting to rise. Crabs still clung to Battlehawk, but there were too few to pin down the mech.

“That was not me,” Fan answered.

An inhuman cackle echoed above my head, then Queequeg landed in front of me, green steam rising from multiple wounds in his matted fur. His teeth were bared, and he growled defiantly as two crabs flowed off my mech and backed him toward the others. One of the Phants veered toward him.

Feeling a sudden rage, I grabbed the closest crab and dragged it toward me as I rose to my full height. I crushed it underfoot, splattering its innards across the floor. I turned toward the other crab that threatened Queequeg, and bashed it against the wall with my fist. Its carapace burst into a meaty mess.

No one touches my hybear.

Queequeg leaped away from the Phant and ducked underneath the carapace of a crab as its pincers moved in to grab him. He deftly maneuvered to the other side of the crab and leaped up, clasping its umbilical cord between his jaws and biting down, severing it.

The crab collapsed.

Queequeg sidestepped another blow from behind, tearing off one of the heads of a third crab before leaping away.

I bashed my way to his side, then Queequeg and I slowly retreated from the Phants, fighting our way back.

“The Yaoguai. They come!”

Fan was right.

The mists were gaining.

We weren’t going to make it.

No.

We
were
going to do this. We were going to win. I didn’t know how, but we would. I had to believe that. Otherwise I’d just give up right there.

Then a crab got Queequeg.

Right in the belly.

Tore his body in half.

He looked at me as he fell.

One last time.

His eyes pleading.

Master.

Help me.

But I couldn’t.

It was too late.

There was nothing I could do for him.

Queequeg put his head down and closed his eyes for the last time.

I watched as my valiant friend, my heroic companion for these past eight months, died hideously, having laid down his life for me.

A blind rage filled me, and I fought, fueled by hatred and revenge. I killed the crab that got him, and I tore a path through the remainder. Just killing, killing everything.

I turned around and approached the slug, and the Phants. I wanted to face them. Wanted so badly.

Kill Queequeg, would you? Kill my best friend, my
only
friend, in the world?

They were going to pay.

I was going to slaughter every last one of the things.

The glowing mists closed on me from both flanks, but I dove past them, aiming straight for the slug.

I activated my jumpjets in a full-bore horizontal blast. I leaned forward and slapped my hands together in front of me, forming a pointed wedge with my fingers, effectively converting Battlehawk into a big torpedo.

I was going to tear a path into the slug and rend its body to shreds from the inside out. I was going to hack through its heart, carve up its lungs, rip open its entrails.

I was going to show them what happened when you messed with my friends.

But when I collided with the slug, my metallic body crumpled against the tough skin, and then I was flung backward.