I am Automaton 3: Shadow of the Automaton Page 17

  Farooq shot at the fast, zigzagging man, trying to lead the target, but he was too fast. He heard bullets fly over his head from the soldier behind the dumpster. Where was Kafka?

  Betancourt ran out of ammo and slammed in a backup clip as another zombie came around the dumpster. Farrow was on the ground writhing and convulsing. Fortunately, the mystery gunman was preoccupied with Peter.

  Betancourt aimed just as the zombie opened her mouth over the barrel. Standing over Farrow, he blew her brains out the back of her head and then focused back on the gunman.

  He didn’t believe what he saw.

  Peter was just walking right up the hill towards the gunman, slowly, like he was out for a stroll. The gunman was firing wildly to the right and left, but no one was there. Betancourt thought Peter was crazy just waltzing up the middle, but the gunman didn’t even seem to notice him.

  Farooq was now panicking as the zigzagging blur made its way up the hill. He looked to his left and saw his doppelgänger. It showed its sharp, crooked fangs as it gestured with gnarled claws. He’s coming to get you, and he’s getting closer. He’s coming up the middle.

  Farooq looked but saw nothing. It was impossible. The man was all over the place, first left, then right. It’s a trick. He’s right in front of you.

  But poor Farooq didn’t have time to react. Peter raised his rifle and, aiming high so as not to seriously damage the van, popped his head right off his shoulders. As Farooq dropped, he left a stain on the side of the white van.

  Peter waived Betancourt over. He opened the driver side door and slid in. He turned on the lights and was relieved to see the gunman’s cell phone on the passenger seat. He toggled to the car app and activated the ignition. The van’s engine turned over.

  Betancourt saw Peter walk right up to the man and shoot him in the head, but he didn’t have time to make sense of what he just saw. More zombies were barreling out the back door of the bar and Farrow was lying at his feet completely still.

  Poor bastard.

  Betancourt ran up the hill as the undead bar patrons followed closely behind. He felt fingers scratching at his back as he jogged up the hill, thankful that he kept up his daily cardiovascular regimen.

  “Come on!” shouted Peter out the driver side window of the van.

  Betancourt rounded the front as the pursing patrons came at Peter, who raised his window just in time. As they smeared blood and bile on Peter’s window, Betancourt jumped in the passenger side. “Punch it.”

  Peter hit the gas as a zombie shattered the driver side window and the van lurched forward, pulling a couple of clinging zombies with them. Peter picked up speed and swerved sharply, shaking off the hangers on.

  He saw them get up in the rear view mirror and run after the van, but they disappeared in the darkness as Peter put distance between them.

  “Farrow?”

  “He didn’t make it.”

  “The zombies?”

  “No, his wounds.”

  Peter pounded the steering wheel in frustration. He liked Farrow. “He was a good man.”

  “Yes, he was.”

  There was a brief moment of silence as the two men listened to the sound of the van’s engine.

  “We are going to come up upon one of the roadblocks,” said Betancourt. “When we do, let me handle it. You are in civilian clothing. They won’t know who you are. I have ID.”

  “Okay.”

  “How did you pull off that trick back there on the hill?”

  “What trick?” But Peter knew what Betancourt was referring to.

  “You just walked up the hill, right down the middle of the firing corridor, and shot him in the head.”

  “I lead him to believe I was elsewhere.”

  “Yeah, I saw him firing on either side of him. You have to teach me that trick some time.”

  “I’m not even sure how I did it.”

  “How’s the serum working?” asked Betancourt, changing the subject.

  “I’ve gone through some changes that I don’t fully understand, but so far I’m not turning into my brother.”

  Betancourt smiled pensively. “Good. Hopefully you never do.” He felt the tension between them. “You know, I never meant for things to happen this way to your brother and you.”

  Peter looked ahead at the road, but his expression was bitter. “Well, you know what they say about the road to hell being paved with good intentions.”

  “I didn’t agree with General Ramses’ handling of either of you.”

  “Speaking of which,” said Peter now changing the subject, “who gave you the portable RGT apparatus?”

  “Ramses.”

  “And who put this operation together?”

  “Ramses. He set this whole thing up. He’s been waiting to take me out ever since I slipped you the serum.”

  “You had to know that wasn’t going to go over well,” needled Peter.

  “It was a test. I wanted to know where he stood.”

  “Well, now you know. What I want to know is how he ordered an aerial drone to fire on the Black Hawk,” said Peter.

  “He couldn’t have. There’s safety protocols.”

  “Could he override them?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Betancourt.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To pay General Ramses a visit. I have a few questions for him.”

  Kafka stepped out the back of the bar into the night air holding his mangled face. He looked around at the dead bodies of the bar patrons and then up at the top of the hill. He slowly climbed the hill and came upon Farooq’s body.

  “I should have turned you sooner. You might have survived this,” he said to no one in particular, but he knew it differed by the individual. Although there were general principles, no two infections went the same. Farooq was not one of his stronger agents.

  He walked back down the hill and stepped back into the bar. He looked at all of the dead bodies lying on the dance floor. There were a few undead patrons and resurrected soldiers milling around with bloody mouths.

  Kafka stepped into the men’s room and leaned on both palms on the sink in front of the dirty mirror. As he took in his damaged face, he smiled as he was struck by the memory of meeting Yvette in this very bathroom. That woman had altered the course of his life forever on that fateful night.

  Reluctantly pulling himself out of that reverie, he braced himself for what he must do. He hadn’t much time before the authorities would storm the bar. He saw his outer right eye was ruined, and he traced the wounds on his face with a lithe finger.

  He traced the edge of a wound and began to dig his long nail into it. When he slipped his nail underneath, wincing, he began to pull. He slowly peeled the skin off the wound, and then off his face.

  He hissed in pain as he peeled large pieces of his face off, throwing the bloodied black shards into the sink. He was like a horror movie actor pulling latex prostheses off after the wrapping of a scene.

  When he was finished, he turned on the faucet and splashed his face with warm water. When he looked at himself again in the filthy mirror, he face looked brand new.

  Peter slowed down as the roadblock came into view. Betancourt produced his mini-com multi-tasker. “This is Colonel Betancourt, coming up on the roadblock in a white van. Acknowledge.”

  “We see you, Colonel.”

  “Police?” asked Peter.

  “And National Guard.”

  “Approach slowly, sir.”

  The officers and national guardsmen came into view. They had their weapons trained on the van.

  “Stop here,” instructed Betancourt.

  Peter stopped the van and put it in park. The sheriff walked cautiously up to the van, his hand resting on his gun. His face was tense, and when he saw Peter behind the wheel, he drew his gun.

  Peter lowered the window as he approached and put his hands on the steering wheel.

  “Who in the hell are you?” demanded the sheriff, addressing Peter.

&nb
sp; “He’s with me,” said Betancourt, leaning over Peter.

  The sheriff relaxed and holstered his weapon. “Sorry, sir. We can’t be too careful.”

  “Understood, Sheriff,” said Betancourt casually. “There was a mess at the bar. My unit was killed.”

  “Sir.”

  “I want a tight perimeter formed around the bar. But no one enters until I send over a special unit. Is that clear?”

  “Sir?”

  “Call in Hazmat. There’s been potential exposure to a chemical weapon. No one goes in until I send reinforcements. The bar is now quarantined. Anyone comes out and you shoot to kill.”

  The sheriff looked hesitant.

  “Shoot to kill,” insisted Betancourt, texting furiously on his multi-tasker. “I’ll take full responsibility. Do you understand?”

  “Y-yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now get moving and let us through. We have to report back to Fort Bliss.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The sheriff ordered the other officers to back their cars off the road, and Betancourt nodded to Peter. Peter activated the car and slowly drove through the roadblock. When they were through and down the road, Betancourt broke the silence.

  “I hope they follow my orders and wait for backup. They’re not prepared for what’s inside that bar.”

  “What if what’s inside that bar comes out to them?”

  “As long as they follow my orders they should be okay.”

  “And what about Kafka?”

  “He’s long gone by now.”

  “How would he get through the roadblocks?”

  “I don’t know, but I know he’s slipped through our fingers before. He’s too prepared. He’s been one step ahead of us the whole way.”

  His multi-tasker flashed a message. Betancourt frowned as he read it.

  “What is it?” Peter asked fearing he already knew the answer.

  “The roadblock on Eagle Ford Road is no longer responding to dispatch.”

  “Kafka.”

  “He probably used his portable RGT to turn them. They have television monitors in the black-and-whites.”

  “I don’t get it,” said Peter. “You have to be bitten by the undead to be turned. None of those bar patrons were bitten. They just changed.”

  “I think it had something to do with their phones ringing and the televisions flickering,” answered Betancourt. “Or at least that’s what I saw with our men in the bar.”

  “You didn’t look at the television?”

  “Obviously not,” replied Betancourt. “I had my eyes peeled on Kafka. Then I heard you shout not to look at the television.”

  “But how? It doesn’t make any sense.” Peter thought about those eyes he felt watching him through the television.

  “Ramses let something slip about two-way communications embedded in the RGT. Apparently, he can transmit…something from that portable headset. That was why Ramses gave it to me. He said it was to extract Kafka’s game plan from his memory so we could extract him safely.”

  “He never had any intention of you getting out of there alive,” said Peter, finishing Betancourt’s thought.

  “It would appear not.”

  “So what’s the plan? We can’t just waltz into Fort Bliss guns blazing, coming for Ramses. By now, he’s had to have heard you were coming.”

  “Generals are largely detached from missions. He usually waits to be briefed by me.”

  “But think about it, Colonel. If this was a set-up, he’s going to want confirmation that you are dead. If Kafka is still out on the loose, he has probably found some way to get word back to Ramses. My guess is that Ramses will be expecting you.”

  “But not you,” said Betancourt.

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “Ramses is going to play it business as usual. He’s not going to acknowledge that he set me up. Tonight is going to go down in the books as a mission that went wrong. He’ll want to be briefed.”

  “What about me?”

  “Remember that trick you pulled in back of the bar?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think you can do it again?”

  Chapter 9

  Fort Bliss

  Hangar 4

  00:29 HRS

  General Ramses entered the hangar looking at his watch.

  “Where the hell were you?” asked Wolff testily as he scratched behind his ear. Darcy and Matt were giggling like demented school children.

  “There’s been a wrinkle. It appears Betancourt has escaped. In fact, he’s on his way and should be here soon.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “He knows nothing of what we are doing here. I’ll bring him to the hangar, and you and these two will be waiting for him.”

  “Goodie, goodie. A tasty treat,” sang Darcy.

  “First things first,” reminded Wolff. “We have to find out what our little Seditious Blogger knows.”

  “Where is she?” asked Ramses.

  “In the center of the Labyrinth strapped to a chair,” said Wolff.

  “Is the RGT in place and ready?” asked Ramses.

  “Yes. I wanted you to be here for this.”

  “Well, I’m here, so let’s get to it.”

  Darcy and Matt looked at the large, mazelike training structure in the center of the hangar in awe. A simulation of a structure with walls but no ceiling, the Labyrinth looked like a movie set with all of the lights and cameras mounted above it.

  Ramses, Wolff, and crew entered the Labyrinth, Wolff leading the way. They entered a room where Elicia waited, blindfolded and strapped to a metal chair with a large RGT device sitting in front of her.

  “I had to requisition a truck to bring it here,” said Wolff regarding the RGT. “It took a couple of hours to set up.”

  “We could’ve, like, water boarded her or something,” said Matt gleefully.

  “Shut up,” spat Ramses, failing to conceal his contempt for the younglings, if he was even trying. Matt and Darcy grinned defiantly at each other, licking their fangs.

  “Who’s there?” asked Elicia, her voice trembling.

  “My name is General Ramses of the United States Army, and this is Assistant Director Wolff of the NSA. I believe you already know your two escorts.”

  “No names, General,” said Wolff irritated.

  “It doesn’t matter now,” snapped Ramses.

  “Why am I here?” asked Elicia.

  “You’ve been very active on your blog and podcast, Elicia. And very hard to find, may I add. I commend you on your elusiveness.”

  “Thanks,” she said tentatively.

  “What I want to know is why you’ve been telling people to drop off the grid. You’ve been talking about government surveillance technology, and frankly, I want to know what you know about it.”

  “I don’t know anything, sir,” answered Elicia quickly. “I’m just a college student. I did it…for fun. Everybody blogs about something these days,” she said sheepishly.

  Wolff smiled. “Oh, but you are so much more than a college student. Really, I expected Tronika to be a little less humble. So many of you ‘hacktivists’ crave recognition.”

  Elicia’s mouth went dry as a bone. She found it difficult to swallow. She had been afraid this day would come.

  “And for somebody who did it for fun, you garnered an awful lot of followers,” said Wolff.

  “She was very popular on campus,” added Darcy. “Her blog and podcast, I mean.”

  Wolff glared at Darcy and she shut up.

  “It was just for fun. Shits and giggles. You know,” insisted Elicia.

  “Then why did you suddenly stop?” asked Ramses.

  “There were FBI agents combing the campus,” answered Elicia truthfully. “I didn’t want to get in trouble.”

  “You didn’t want to get in trouble,” repeated Wolff thoughtfully. “Why? If it was…just for fun, then you had nothing to worry about. Besides, you’ve garnered access to major agency systems:
the CDC, FBI, CIA. You’re telling me that, in all of your hacker exploits, you never came across any sensitive information. Recently, you started preaching about Retinal Gateway Technology. No one outside the NSA or military knows about it. Not even everyone on the inside is privy to it. No, you must be hiding something.”

  She had never used that term—Retinal Gateway Technology—per se.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” she pleaded on the verge of tears. “I don’t know anything. I swear.”

  “Oh, we’re not going to hurt you…yet,” said Ramses menacingly. “You see, being the cautious type, I’m not going to take your word for it. We’re just going to extract your memories and see what in fact you do know. Then we’ll hurt you.”

  Elicia shuddered and forced back a sob. “A-a-and how are you going to ‘extract my memories’?”

  “I assure you,” said Wolff amused by her concern, “that will be the least painful part of tonight.”

  He grabbed the headset off of a small wooden table next to the large apparatus and placed it on Elicia’s head, startling her. Tears streamed down her face and her nose ran.

  “Don’t worry, Dear,” said Wolff softly, “you are being recruited into an elite group. I thought that’s what you hackers lived for. It’s a compliment, really.” He pulled off her blindfold and made sure the headset lined up with her eyes.

  “And what group is that?” stuttered Elicia.

  “Shhh. Your questions will be answered soon enough.”

  Wolff walked over to the RGT console and began to flip switches and turn dials. Suddenly, images from Elicia’s memory popped up on the monitor. Ramses stepped forward to get a closer look.

  “Cool,” gasped Darcy.

  It took a while, but they sorted through all of the memories of Elicia’s classes, her interactions with Darcy, the phone calls with her sister…the awkward exchange with Matt. Matt and Darcy tittered when that memory came on screen. Wolff shot them a dirty look.

  They saw Elicia composing her blog and recording her podcasts. They saw her research on the internet regarding government surveillance technology, but no appearance of RGT.