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 flashing 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 onrushing Waylon.
Quickly, I glanced down at the controller and pressed the Fire button.
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 moment—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 guard—the blond guy M-2 had knocked over with a shock—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
I could see the barrel of the guard’s machine gun flashing 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 onrushing Waylon.
Quickly, I glanced down at the controller and pressed the Fire button.
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 moment—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 guard—the blond guy M-2 had knocked over with a shock—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
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