Apocalypse Machine (41 page)

And dry.

That’s the difference.

The few times I have seen the Machine, in person or in video, it had been expelling material. Sometimes leaking, sometimes spewing, it seemed to be in a constant state of matter regurgitation. Or shedding.

My eyes move down the miles-high spines, now still, like great towers, to the vast plates lining its back. I look at the seams and find them smooth. There is no mash of goo and eggs between the plates. The Machine is no longer shedding new life.

“It’s done,” I whisper.

“Done what?” Mayer asks, standing behind me, looking out the window.

“Done shedding.”

“Then what’s it doing?” Graham asks, looking out the window with Edwards.

I shrug. “Evaluating its work? Making sure it set things right? Maybe it’s looking for us. Seeing if we’re still around.”

“Here we are,” Ike says, looking out the window, defiance in his eyes.

“But I think there’s no doubt about what it’s here to do. It might be done reseeding the planet, but I don’t think it’s—”

All six soldiers in the plane, and myself, see the Machine’s big black eye shift in our direction. We step back as one, gripped by primal fear. We’ve been spotted. Fight or flight instincts kick in.

Was it waiting to see if we’d show up? Should we have stayed hiding in Raven Rock? Maybe it would have avoided Yellowstone, if it thought us contained. But here we are, flying through the air, toting a nuclear payload that it probably can detect. Maybe this is what it wanted? A boost of radiation to kick off another round of accelerated shedding and rebirth?

Calm down,
I tell myself.
Evaluate the situation. Find a solution.

I step forward and return the Machine’s stare. It might see me, but I see it, too. We’re not defenseless anymore. And whether or not this thing had a hand in making the human race, it’s our planet, too. My children’s planet. My children’s children’s and generations to come.

As though sensing my brazen contempt, the massive eye shifts forward, and the Machine takes a step, toward the park.

Toward humanity’s undoing.

I turn to the cockpit and shout, “Get us down there! Now!”

43

My stomach lurches when the Osprey shifts back to vertical flight. The change in momentum feels like a fast-moving elevator that travels front to back and side to side, in addition to up and down. But it’s not just the movement making me uncomfortable, it’s the knowledge that I’m about to return to a living landscape that I had hoped to never see again, let alone set foot on.

But the visit will be short this time. The plan is simple, the way good plans are.

Get the bomb into position.

Lock it down.

Run away.

Then we will set off the bomb from a safe distance. The explosion will take place in two stages: a very specific and not even very powerful electrical charge, triggering the nanobots’ dormant state, and then a nuclear blast to eradicate them and keep the robotic cells from reforming the Machine. It’s a theoretical and completely untested weapon. It could have no more effect than all the other nuclear warheads thrown at the monster since it emerged from the volcanic depths of Iceland. But we have to try.

Graham steps away from the cockpit, relaying a message from the pilots. His voice comes in clear through the comms built into the tactical helmets we’re all wearing. The visors can provide night vision if needed, and display tags for every member of the team. Even in complete darkness, we wouldn’t lose each other. The rest of our gear is a mix of radiation blocking armor, weapons and survival gear, should one of us be separated and be forced to abandon ship using the parachutes built into the armor’s back. We also have facemasks and an hour-long air supply, though we should only be out there for a few minutes tops. “Touch down in sixty seconds. We will have thirty to unload. They’ll pick us up when we call it in.”

“All right,” Ike says, his voice somehow more masculine and commanding than I’ve yet heard. But I’ve never seen him in action. In his element. “Circle up!”

Edwards, Felder and Gutshall are on their feet, unsteady as the Osprey descends, but showing no fear. They link arms around shoulders, waiting for the rest of us. Graham is the next to join the incomplete circle, perhaps recognizing what I’m guessing is some kind of pre-mission ritual. Mayer follows his lead, and I’m the last to join. I’ve never played sports. Never taken part in a huddle, or even stood on a football field. So this feels foreign. It’s somehow intimate and powerful at the same time. And then it’s something else entirely.

“Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.” Ike’s words catch me off guard. I’d always assumed he would take after his mother and me, but as the words slip from his mouth with the earnestness of a true believer, I see that I was wrong.

Edwards, Felder and Gutshall join him at, “Thy kingdom come,” and then Graham chimes in with, “Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.” Mayer remains silent, but her eyes are closed. She might not know the words, but she understands the meaning of this moment, and the bond being forged between soldiers and with, perhaps, God.

Memories of dinners past, seated around the kitchen table with Mina, Ishah and Ike, listening to the musical cadence of Bell’s voice reciting the prayer, return. I smile and join in, finding comfort in the words. “Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen.”

The group separates, and Gutshall shouts out, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will kick evil straight in the fuckin’ nuts!”

“Hooah,” Edwards and Felder shout in response.

Graham once explained the various military shouts to me. While they all mean basically the same thing—heard, understood, and acknowledged—‘Hoorah’ was used by the Air Force, ‘Oorah’ belonged to the Marines, ‘Hooyah’ was preferred by the Navy and ‘Hooah,’ as we’ve just heard, was used by the Army, to whom the Rangers belonged. That said, the Rangers generally avoided using the term, in part because it revealed their higher standards of conduct and skills, including with language, but also because the movie
Black Hawk Down
so overused the term that every Ranger who saw the film stopped using it out of embarrassment. So I’m a little surprised when Graham offers a hearty, “Hooah!” as well, before pushing the button for the rear hatch. “Visors down, masks on!”

I pull my visor down, activating the display. I see small sword icons appear over the others’ helmets, each followed by a callsign. Ike’s is ‘Ehud,’ whatever that means. Graham’s says ‘Supernatural.’ Mayer’s reads ‘Mossad.’ I tap Felder’s arm, whose name is displayed as ‘Night Terror,’ and I point to my helmet. “What’s this say?”

He chuckles. “‘Science Guy.’ Not very intimidating.”

I catch Graham smiling before he puts his facemask on, and I have to do the same.
Bastid.

The Osprey’s rear door lowers to reveal a chaotic, hellish world. The rough terrain of the Machine’s back is nearly how I remember it, but it’s now covered in large lumps, like growths or tumors the size of mini-cars. Rain whips across the surface, propelled by swirling winds. Vast networks of puddles reflect the turbulent sky and the lighting streaking across it.

For a brief moment, the team looks out at this otherworldly landscape, frozen by its strange violence. In the next moment, it’s falling away below us. The illusion is that we’ve just ascended several hundred feet, but we haven’t moved; the Machine has. With each step, the Machine’s body shifts from side to side and up and down. I remember the roller coaster-like feel from Graham’s and my previous visit. And I prepped the team for this possibility.

“Get ready!” I shout, bracing myself at the end of the ramp. I cling to a rung in the ceiling as wind and rain slap against me, trying to peel me away.

The terrain rises up below us.

When it’s ten feet away and slowing, I shout, “Go, go, go!” Then, I leap from the ramp. By the time my feet touch down, the vast back has nearly stopped rising. The impact is still enough to buckle my knees. But I now know how to take a hit. I roll back to my feet, vaulting away to make space for the others. They each run to the side, allowing Edwards to drive the ATV onto the Machine, just as the ramp comes in contact with the surface. While the vehicle could have managed the jump, jarring a nuclear bomb isn’t a great idea. There’s no risk of it accidentally detonating, but damaging it could certainly prevent it from functioning.

We regroup and start moving, as the Osprey lifts away from the shifting landscape.

“Where to?” Edwards asks.

I search the area, looking for a break in the plates. Ishah and I determined they would be the best place to secure the bomb, and a logical weak spot, making the device more effective. I spot the rise a few hundred yards away and strike out for it. “This way!” I want to run and get this over quick, but I’m still adjusting to the moving terrain.

How fast is it walking?
I wonder.

It won’t be long before it reaches the Yellowstone caldera, and all that pressure... The explosive force released might not affect the Machine, but the sound alone will be loud enough to liquefy our brains and end our lives, long before we realize it’s happening.

I motion to Edwards and wave him on. “We’ll be right behind you.” The ATV has no trouble handling the rising and falling landscape, and Edwards heads for the fault line ahead of us.

“What the hell?” Felder says. I glance back and find him following us, but walking backward. He’s got his XM25 assault rifle, equipped with explosive rounds, aimed back at something.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Thought I saw something moving,” he says.

Darkness is settling over the landscape as the now setting sun is all but blocked by the thick clouds. Lightning carves across the sky, lighting the Machine’s back for miles around. At first I don’t see it, but then I catch a glimmer of movement.

It’s the lumps.

“Abraham,” Graham says, his voice a chilling warning. “It’s the Crawlers. They’ve grown up.”

Flickering light blooms beneath several of the creatures, illuminating the ground around them in hues of orange and red. One by one, more of the creatures stir and blink on. Legs slide out from the rough, rounded shells, scratching across the Machine’s surface, as though irritated. They flex and stretch, popping the shells into separate plates, elongating their rounded bodies into something shaped more like a merger between a lion and a scorpion. The nearest Crawler snaps open its six-pronged mandibles at us and lets out a squeal.

All across the landscape, behind and ahead of us, lights blink on.

“We’ll cover you,” Graham says. “Get the bomb into position!”

“Ike,” I say. “With me!”

I can tell he wants to stay and fight, but activating the weapon is his job. Once the bomb is locked down, he needs to turn it on.

I turn for Edwards, still a hundred yards ahead of us, when the Machine reaches the bottom of its stride and starts rising back up. The added pressure beneath my twisting boot makes it catch. I stumble back, fall and catch myself. The initial fall probably looked clumsy, but my recovery was graceful.

“You okay?” I hear Ike ask, but I don’t reply.

My fingers feel cold.

Not just cold,
wet
.

I look at the digits, the white tips exposed at the ends of my fingerless black gloves. My hands are submerged in a puddle, making direct contact with the Machine’s shell.

“Aww, shit,” I say, before losing consciousness.