Fugitive X (20 page)

“That’s good,” Nick said, blinking hard to fight back the sudden sting in his eyes. “That’s really good.”

Cass sat up and looked at Nick. He sat up too. “But listen, Nick,” she said. “My family in the City—those really are my birth parents, and that is my sister.”

“Okay, Cass,” said Nick. “I believe you.” He wasn’t sure if he did, but it was possible, and Cass certainly believed it. There was no point in arguing with her now, not with things moving in the right direction.

Cass lay back down. “They’re not the enemy,” she said. “They’re family . . . like you.”

“Okay, Cass,” Nick said. “Get some sleep.”

Nick watched the sky and the swaying leaves in the
moonlight until he heard his sister’s breathing deepen and slow, and then he shut his eyes, feeling the most hopeful that he had let himself feel in a while. His sister was coming back to him. She had called him family. Kevin would be next. He’d be in a group of refugees, or they’d find someone who knew where he was, or they’d walk into a Freepost and he’d been waiting there, probably tinkering with the grid. . . . Nick had to believe it. He had to. Slowly, he drifted to sleep.

“Bots!” Nick was woken by Erica yelling, seemingly in his ear. “Bots from the south, half mile, closing fast!”

Nick felt a moment of fuzzy confusion—was he dreaming? But then he woke fully. He scrambled to his feet as the other rebels did the same. He grabbed the burst rifle that Ro had let him keep. Then he froze. What to do about Cass? And Lexi? Lexi and Farryn came running up with pistols in their hands. They were both terrible shots, and could barely hit a tree from ten yards away, Nick knew, but still, better to be armed than completely defenseless. “Stay with Cass!” he said. Farryn nodded.

Nick turned to run south, but Lexi grabbed his shirt. “Stay alive!” she said. “I’m not done being mad at you!” She tugged him toward her and pressed a quick, hard kiss onto his lips, then pushed him away.

He grinned—and then he turned and ran into the trees to the south.

Soon he slowed to a fast walk. Even with the strong
moonlight, it wasn’t bright enough to be running full speed through the trees; he’d break his neck. He also didn’t know what he was heading into.

There was an explosion of light and sound to his left and a tree shattered into flame and Nick flung himself to the ground. To his left and right he could see, now in flickering firelight, that other rebels had done the same. Nick didn’t have a comm bracelet, so he wasn’t patched into their communication—there was no way for him to know if there was any plan, any organization, any sense yet of what they were up against. He peered into the trees to the south, looking for the bot that had lased the tree, but saw nothing. He tried sighting through the scope of his rifle, but that was the same, just trees in the murky light, and then something in his robot eye adjusted with an audible whirr, leaving him dizzy and queasy for a moment.

The forest, through his bot eye, was brightly lit with a bluish tint. There—yes, he could see two scout spheres, and behind them, a soldier bot. He thumbed his rifle to medium burst, took aim, and quickly squeezed off two shots, taking down the spheres. The night was lit by their flaming shells, exposing the soldier bot, which ducked behind tree cover as nearby rebels opened fire.

Two bursts from the rebels hit the tree sheltering the bot, shattering the trunk, and the bot rushed forward, lases blasting from both arms. One shot burst short and to the right of Nick, plowing a shower of dirt into the air; another blast connected
a mere fifteen feet to his left. Nick felt the heat, and there was a brief scream and a rebel stood, bathed in flames. His clothes, his hair, his face—the flames were eating him like a log in a bonfire. He staggered forward ten feet, arms out wide, mouth open in a silent scream, and then fell forward onto his face. The flames continued to flicker on the body, and the smell hit Nick. It was a combination of smoke, burned hair, and—this made Nick fight not to retch—charred meat.

The rebels nearby returned the bot’s fire, and a few shots hit their mark, staggering but not stopping the soldier bot. Nick forced the thought of the burned man out of his mind and focused on the bot. It was moving quickly, but Nick’s bot eye had no trouble tracking it. He flicked his rifle to autoburst and held down the trigger, releasing five shots in rapid succession. The first shot hit the bot in the arm and didn’t even slow it; the second and third hit the bot’s legs, staggering it; the fourth and fifth hit the bot square in the chest, knocking it down. As it struggled to rise it became an easy target, and a flurry of rebel fire slammed it from four or five different guns. The bot almost rose, despite the barrage, and then fell back to the ground. The onslaught continued on the now defenseless bot, and after a few more moments of rifle bursts detonating, its armor cracked and the bot exploded with a roar and a scattering rain of neo-plas and metal.

The air nearby filled with lase blasts again as three more soldier bots appeared behind the remains of the destroyed bot.
Nick frantically began firing, but the bots were moving fast, and their lases were flying past and bursting against nearby trees and hitting the ground. With the deafening noise and the shaking ground, it was almost impossible to get off steady, well-aimed shots, especially since he was expecting every lase blast from the bots to hit him and turn him into a charred corpse. He forced down the panic, the instinct to run. He steadied his breathing and concentrated on his aim. Almost every one of his shots found its mark, but many of the other rebels’ shots were wild, and the bots were still advancing. As the bots drew closer, though, they presented better targets, and more rifle bursts began landing directly on the bots’ armor. The bots slowed, and Nick began to let himself think that maybe, just maybe, they’d be able to take these bots down too, and then a soldier bot appeared from the trees twenty feet to Nick’s right.

The world seemed to slow down, and Nick felt strangely calm. He knew he was about to die. The bots had distracted the rebels and flanked them while they weren’t paying attention. A rifle burst blasted the bot’s armored back, then another, and Nick saw Ro standing behind the bot, firing, but the robot didn’t even seem to notice. Nick rolled over and raised his rifle, but he knew it wouldn’t be in time, because the bot already had both lase arms aimed at him.

A red light flared from the bot’s chest and lit on Nick’s face, momentarily blinding him, and then the bot turned away from Nick.

Without firing.

Nick was still alive.

The bot aimed its lases at Ro. Blasts from the other three bots still erupted among the rebels, pinning them down, so nobody else was able to lend aid. Nick thumbed his rifle to full burst—his battery pack would be depleted for at least a minute after the shot, he knew—and released the burst into the back of the bot’s neck just as Ro, screaming angrily, released a full burst directly into the bot’s face. The combined bursts snapped the bot’s neck. It staggered, its head hanging sideways against its left shoulder, then froze and fell like a statue to the ground.

Nick crawled behind the bot, putting its armored body between himself and the three remaining bots. Ro had the same idea, and joined him behind the dead bot. “You’re a lucky bastard,” said Ro.

“You too,” said Nick.

“The bot had you and didn’t take the shot.”

Nick just shrugged. He didn’t know what had happened, why he was still alive. Ro didn’t say anything else, and they waited, the battle raging around them, while their depleted rifles recharged.

No more bots appeared, and within fifteen minutes, the three remaining bots were overcome by rebel fire thanks in large part to Nick’s deadly accurate marksmanship. Two more rebels were killed in the effort, though—a lase blast in the chest when the man ran for better cover, and a woman with
terrible luck who was crushed by a falling tree that had been felled by friendly fire.

Nick and the others returned to the camp. Nick’s adrenaline was just starting to fade—he was forming a terrible headache and was incredibly thirsty—and he kept seeing the image of the charred man, staggering forward and then smoldering in the dirt. Still, he also felt a current of excitement. He had survived. He had killed bots. More than that—without his help, the rebels probably would have all been killed.

Back at the dry creek bed, Nick’s stomach lurched when he saw a broken scout bot laying among the rocks. The bots had made it to the camp? “Cass!” he called out. “Lexi! Farryn!” There was no answer.

CASS CROUCHED BEHIND A ROCK IN THE DRY CREEK BED, FARRYN AND
Lexi next to her, nervously clutching their small weapons. Rebels ran past. She could hear the crackle of lase fire and rifle bursts and, occasionally, screams.

She looked at Farryn and Lexi. They weren’t paying attention to her; they were focused outward, huddling against the rock for cover. It would be so easy to slip away. She’d be up and running before they had a chance to react, and in the chaos of the battle they’d never find her. She could make her way back to the City, and her birth parents, and her sister . . .

But no. She stayed put. She was beginning to remember; every day, every hour, it seemed, more details of who she used to be were trickled into her mind, but everything was still
hazy. The City wasn’t home anymore. She couldn’t go back, even if they would take her. But she still didn’t feel at home in the forest, either, or like she belonged with Nick and Kevin. Certainly she didn’t belong with the rebels, who had collared her. She was in limbo, not quite belonging anywhere, with anybody.

She ducked as a lase blast crackled nearby.
For now
, she told herself,
just stay alive. Figure out your other problems later.
There was another loud burst of lase fire, followed by rifle bursts and shouting, and then a sphere bot suddenly appeared from among the trees. It headed toward them.

Cass stood to run but then saw a whir of movement to her right and Farryn yelled, “Look out!” and crashed into her, knocking her back to the ground. Her ears filled with a deafening buzzing crackle and she could hear Lexi yelling and firing her pistol. She was blinded by a flash of light, and a burst of heat washed over her body. On top of her, Farryn screamed, painfully loud right by her ear, and she felt his whole body go stiff, then limp.

“Farryn!” Cass yelled, her voice muffled with her face pressed against the ground. He didn’t move. She struggled frantically to push out from underneath him. Just as she was getting up, another explosion knocked her back down. She was dazed for a moment, and then a strong hand was lifting her up.

The first thing that registered was the sphere bot, broken
and smoking on the ground nearby. Then a woman’s face loomed in front of her. She was a rebel, with short blond hair. “You okay?” the woman said.

Cass hesitated, looking down at herself. Was she hurt? No . . . she seemed okay. She nodded. “Fine,” she said.

The woman pointed at Farryn. “Get your friend to the medic as soon as you can.” She turned away and ran into the woods.

Cass looked at Farryn. He lay facedown in the dirt. He wasn’t moving. His pants were scorched, the canvas completely burned off the right leg, the shoe and sock somehow missing, revealing a wound that made Cass suck in her breath. The calf was jaggedly cut, and burned. The burn had stopped the bleeding, but the skin was blistered and raw and peeling away, and the cut ran to the bone. Cass felt a rush of nausea that she ignored. Lexi bent over Farryn and felt his neck.

“He’s alive,” she said, looking up at Cass.

“What happened?” Cass said.

“Bot was coming right at us and Farryn shielded you, and then the rebel and I took it down.”

Farryn had indeed shielded her, Cass realized. He had saved her life. And he may be dying because of it. She wanted to cry, but now was not the time. “Come on,” she said. “We need to get him help.”

Cass and Lexi struggled to drape Farryn’s arms over their shoulders, then managed to stand, Farryn hanging limply
between them, and they began hauling him slowly toward where they hoped the medic was. His wounded leg dragged in the dirt, which made Cass wince to think about, but it couldn’t be helped.

Farryn groaned and began to feebly struggle. “Where?” he said. “What?”

“You’re hurt,” Cass said. “We’re getting you to the medic.”

“Hurts,” Farryn said. “Leg hurts so bad.”

“I know,” said Cass. “The medic will help. Can you lift the injured leg off the ground? Can you lean on us and hop on the other leg?”

Farryn managed to lift his bad leg and put some weight on his good leg. He was still leaning heavily on the girls, but they were no longer dragging deadweight and began to move faster. He even offered Cass a weak smile, which Cass thought was one of the bravest things she had ever seen.

Cass was still fighting back tears. Was she going to lose Farryn, this boy she was just starting to remember? Just when she was getting something back, something that felt important somehow, was it going to be snatched away from her, just like her sister and parents had been?

They made it to the bank of the creek bed and thankfully saw the medic twenty yards away, where she had set her bedroll for the night. She was busy bandaging a man’s arm wound. A woman lay on the ground nearby, her shirt bloody. The woman wasn’t breathing, and her mouth hung open.

The medic had finished the bandaging by the time Cass and Lexi managed to get Farryn over to her. She pointed to the ground at her feet. “Set him down,” she said.

“Help her first,” Farryn said, nodding weakly at the woman who lay on the ground.

“She’s gone,” the medic said. “Beyond any help but God’s.” She helped Lexi and Cass ease Farryn to the ground, then kneeled down to examine his leg. “If there is a God, that is,” she muttered. She took a pair of scissors from her belt pack and cut away the remaining scraps of Farryn’s pants leg. She was careful, but even her slight jostling made Farryn groan with pain.

“Sorry,” he said. “Hurts.”

“Course it does,” the medic said. “It’s a damned mess.”