SecondWorld (40 page)

“Fine,” Pale Horse said.

Vesely gave him a thumbs-up.

“They’re not Bouncing Bettys anymore,” Miller said.

“Too many hiding places,” Vesely said. “Ineffective.”

The problem was, the weapons had been adapted so that they could turn the vehicles into giant shrapnel bombs. If any of them had been closer to that car when it exploded, they would have been shredded. A second explosion made them all duck. “Gas tank!” Miller said.

They were surrounded by bombs, just waiting for a fuse. When he stood, Miller saw the pickup truck engulfed in flames. The blaze would soon spread to the surrounding cars, which could also explode.

The sound of several more approaching mobile bombs sent Miller into action. He climbed to the roof of the next car and searched the parking lot. The small things whizzed between and under cars as they converged toward the three men. “Stay on top of the cars, and don’t stop moving!”

Miller led the charge. They needed to cover one hundred yards over the roofs of nearly fifty cars. What could have taken fourteen seconds on flat ground would take more than a minute leaping from roof to roof. The bombs closed the distance quickly. The first exploded a little prematurely, four cars behind Vesely, who brought up the rear. The red hatchback flipped into the air. The explosion stumbled Vesely, but didn’t knock him over.

Miller glanced back to make sure the man was okay, but when he saw Vesely, the man was stabbing his finger ahead. Miller spun forward and found one of the robotic bombs tearing toward the Cadillac upon which he stood. There was no time to leap away, so he raised his sound-suppressed UMP, took aim, and squeezed off a tight three-round spread. The first two rounds found pavement. The third hit the red light dead on. The small engine fell silent and the vehicle rolled forward. It came to a stop against the wheel of the Caddy, and didn’t explode.

A car behind Vesely exploded, and this time the impact sent him sailing. He crashed onto the roof of the next car. Pale Horse jumped back to help him up.

“Aim for the light!” Miller shouted. He wasn’t sure what it was, but thought it was some kind of sensor, probably tracking body heat. And now that it was blind, the thing couldn’t see him, and thus, didn’t detonate when it came within range. It was his best guess, anyway.

As Vesely was pulled into a sitting position, he whipped out his pistol and squeezed off a single round. The bullet streaked past three cars, sailed past the red light sensor on the front, and struck the domed disk in the middle.

The explosion knocked Pale Horse and Vesely down. Though it was farther away, the force of the blast wasn’t dulled by a vehicle. Miller ran back and yanked both men up. There were still five of the little bastards on the way.

“I said aim for the sensor,” Miller said to Vesely.

Vesely shook his head, clearing it. “Aim can’t be perfect every time.”

“Thought you were gunslinger?” Miller said.

He took aim in the direction of a distant whir and fired twice. When Miller peeked around the man, he saw two disabled robo-bombs, fifty feet away.

Before Vesely could gloat, several more whirring engines grew louder. The sound came from the direction of the National Security Sciences Building. Miller realized the vehicles were approaching from beneath the cars. They’d only be visible for a fraction of a second as they passed through the open space between cars. “Go back!”

The trio jumped back over the next line of cars. As Miller slid over the hood of a black Corvette, he rolled onto the ground and quickly saw a single red light approaching in the shadow of a car just twenty feet away. He pulled the trigger four times before the red light winked out. It was replaced by two more, coming in fast.

Miller jumped up, scrambled over an old Chevy station wagon. He dove from the back of the wagon, sailing over the cab of a Ford F150. The station wagon exploded a moment later, its front end lifting off the ground. As Miller moved to the back of the F150, the wagon’s gas tank exploded. The jolt knocked Miller from the back of the truck. He couldn’t see the last of the robo-bombs through the smoke, but he could hear it closing in. He turned left and bolted down the alley between cars.

The robo-bomb entered the alley just seconds later and accelerated. Miller had just seconds before the thing slid up behind him and blew him to pieces. He fired several rounds over his shoulder as he ran, but none found the mark.

“Survivor!” Vesely shouted.

Miller turned forward. Vesely stood over the alley, each foot on a car to either side. He lifted his gun, aiming toward Miller’s head.

Miller dove forward, rolling beneath Vesely as he pulled the trigger.

The loud report of the .38 Super drowned out the sound of the robo-bomb’s engine, but Miller knew Vesely’s aim had been true when the thing rolled to a stop against his leg.

Miller bent down to look at the robot and several things happened at once.

A breeze kicked up just over his head.

The car next to him imploded.

And he heard a very loud, rapid buzz that sounded an awful lot like a minigun.

53

Contrary to how it sounds, the minigun is anything but small. The heavy machine gun’s six rotating barrels can fire up to six thousand high-caliber rounds per minute. And judging by the sound of it, Miller thought that there were actually two miniguns firing in tandem. A glance at the ruined car confirmed it. Twin streaks of destroyed metal ran from back to front. If Miller hadn’t ducked to look at the robot, he’d be missing the top half of his body.

“Down!” he shouted as he dove to the pavement and slid beneath a truck. Vesely dove beneath the truck with him. Miller searched the area for any small red lights and found Pale Horse beneath a vehicle two rows over.

A loud pulsating electric hum filled the air. It sounded like the Beehive, but crackled with energy. The hum grew louder, passing above them.

“Is Bell,” Vesely whispered, pointing up.

The thing was airborne.

Movement to the side caught Miller’s attention. He turned as Pale Horse rolled from one car to the next. The hum grew louder for a moment and then the two miniguns opened up on the pavement where Pale Horse had just been.

“Don’t move!” Miller said.

While the little robo-bombs seemed to be attracted to body heat, zeroing in on the source before exploding, whatever patrolled the air above them responded to motion.

While the thing wouldn’t climb under the cars looking for them, they couldn’t move.

Unless,
Miller thought,
it can’t see us.

The air was already thick with red flakes and smoke from a number of burning vehicles, but the wind was blowing in the wrong direction. What they needed was a fire in the other direction.

Miller shifted back toward the alley.

“Survivor,” Vesely whispered loudly. “What are you doing?”

But Miller didn’t respond. The hum was off to the side and Miller didn’t think the thing would have a good line of sight. At the edge of the vehicle, he peeked out and glanced at the now red sky. Nothing. He rolled out from beneath the truck, grabbed the robo-bomb, and rolled back. The maneuver took just two seconds, but had somehow attracted the sentinel’s attention. It hummed loudly as it closed in.

Miller moved back under the truck and slid up next to Vesely. “I’m going to take this a few cars down and—”

“Give to me,” Vesely said, reaching for the robot. “I build things. Electronics. Will start motor.”

Miller let him take the device. The Cowboy seemed to understand his plan.

Using a knife, Vesely removed four screws from the bottom of the robot. He removed the black cover from the outer ring. The internal design was fairly straightforward, like an oddly shaped remote-control car. “Still functional,” Vesely said. “Just lacks input to tell it ‘move forward.’”

Vesely found the throttle and pushed it forward. The little wheels spun quickly as the engine whirred. He pushed the throttle all the way forward and pinned it in place using one of the free screws. The two men lay side by side, looking down a line of cars that stretched a hundred feet. Vesely lined the robo-bomb up as straight as possible.

Miller rolled to the back side of the truck. “Go!”

Vesely let the robot go and it zipped away, moving quickly beneath the line of cars. The hum grew louder as the hovering sentinel tracked the robo-bomb’s movement.

Miller rolled out from beneath the truck and got his first look at what was firing the miniguns. The black, vaguely bell-shaped craft hovered thirty feet above the parking lot. A bright light glowed at the bottom, flickering in time with the loud crackles. A minigun had been attached to either side. Miller was happy to see the weapons tracking the robo-bomb as it appeared and disappeared between each car it passed.

The guns opened fire, tearing into the line of cars as it chased the fast-moving robot.

Miller ran the other way.

Behind him, Miller heard what sounded like a war. The guns never stopped firing. Spent shell casings rained down from the craft, rattling against pavement and metal. There was a loud
whuff
as one, or more, of the vehicles ignited. And then, there was an explosion. Miller recognized the sound as the robo-bomb detonating. The sentinel had destroyed one of its own.

Miller stopped, bent down, grabbed what he needed, and sprinted back the way he came. The chaos that greeted him was far better than he’d hoped for. At least four cars were on fire and billowing thick black smoke into the air—smoke that was being pulled in his direction. In fact, his plan had worked so well that he could no longer see the minigun-wielding Bell. But he could hear it, hovering in the smoke, no doubt trying to make sense of its surroundings.

Miller reached the spot where Vesely lay hiding and continued past.

Smoke rolled over him and he held his breath. The hot grime stung his eyes, which began to tear. But he kept searching the haze for his enemy. He found the dull glow moving toward him just a moment later. He stopped, took aim at the light, and waited.

A gust of wind cleared the air around the Bell and Miller tossed his explosive payload like a discus player. The sightless, but still explosive robo-bomb sailed through the air.

Off target.

But Miller didn’t need to strike the hovering Bell, he only needed it to see the robot. A moment later it did. As the disk-shaped bomb closed to within ten feet of the Bell, both miniguns opened fire.

Miller dove beneath a car.

The bomb exploded, sending a wave of hot air over Miller.

But there was no secondary explosion. Or the sound of the Bell falling from the sky. Just the hum of the thing. But the hum was different. Instead of pulsating, it was now intermittent. The sound began to fade.

Miller came out from hiding and watched the wounded machine come down at an angle. The bright light at its base flickered. Every time the light went out, the device lost altitude. A loud crash rolled over the parking lot as the Bell slammed into, and through, the front of the NSSB. Glass shattered and exploded inward.

Vesely and Pale Horse ran up to Miller.

“Holy geez,” Pale Horse said. “What the hell was that?”

“Is Bell,” Vesely said.

“Long story,” Miller added, and ran toward the building. He wanted to be inside before any other automated security joined the party. They reached the ruined front end of the building. There was a wide hole where the Bell crashed through. “Open sesame,” Miller said, and stepped inside.

The trio entered the large, open lobby one at a time, weapons at the ready. Only Miller had training with breaching and clearing a building, but Vesely and Pale Horse had apparently seen enough movies to be competent. Or they were just following Miller’s lead as he swept his weapon back and forth, looking for targets. Convinced they were alone for the moment, Miller said, “Clear,” and relaxed his stance.

The place looked like a tornado had moved through. The once chic lobby, decorated with tall, living plants and modern art sculptures, was coated in a layer of human detritus. Food wrappers, empty bottles, strewn papers, lost luggage, even a tipped-over moped. Not to mention a smoldering Bell. Miller steered clear of the Bell and worked his way toward the back of the lobby.

“Now what?” Vesely asked.

“Now,” Miller said, pointing to a trail of trash leading down a hallway, “we follow the bread crumbs.”

The trail of debris led to a now-abandoned security check point—metal detectors for people and luggage. A second security station held rows of computer monitors connected to what looked like rows of miniature centrifuges. There were several large red trash bins marked with biohazard symbols. Each and every one was overfull with used needles. “What the hell?” Miller whispered.

Vesely pointed to the centrifuges. “DNA testing. For purity.”

“Unbelievable,” Miller said before moving on.

The floor behind the security checks had been torn up. Shattered wood and ripped-up linoleum tiles sat stacked beyond the hole. Miller slid between the metal detectors in case they were still active, and approached the hole. A staircase shot straight down several stories.