Killswitch (17 page)

“Sparky, how could you leave me like this?” He laughed. “Seriously. God, how could you leave me? I thought the whole point of me being a transhuman was to help your people. Now I'm nothing. And they're in more danger than ever. How could you?”

Loss of blood and being yanked from his power supply began to affect him. He tried to spark every processor. To reverse the killswitch. He crawled to the door and tried to lift it, then to bust through it. He had no strength. Not even that of a normal man. He went limp onto the floor of the cargo box. His useless eyes fell shut in the darkness.

“Charles Redding,” the voice called.

It was the voice of his dreams. Chase reached to the side, expecting to find a metal bowl beside him in the darkness. But he wasn't in the place of his previous encounters.

He opened his eyes. “Here I am.” He lay in a green field. The brilliant blue sky filled his vision.

“Don't be afraid.”

Chase sat straight. His heart raced and he clutched at his chest.

“What's the matter?”

“My heart rate hasn't varied since I got…”

“Turned into a transhuman?”

“It's gone—the exoself. I can't help the underground anymore. I'm useless. And there's a bomb. And I can't stop it.” Chase looked upward and squinted at the brightness.

“Your heart rate didn't increase. It's the same bio-designed pump they put in you. It's your mind telling you that your heart is beating too fast. Don't be afraid.”

“How can you say that?” Chase yelled. “People are going to die, and I can't stop it.”

“No, you can't. Don't be afraid,” the voice said.

Chase gazed across the vast green hillside. “I didn't know I had a killswitch. How could You let them unplug me?”

“It's what you wanted. Remember?”

“Well, I changed my mind when you sent my dead father to tell me to come here and help these people!”

“Why do you always call them that?”

“What?” Chase asked.

“Why do you call them ‘these people'? As if they're freaks. As if you're not one of them.”

“I'm not one of them. I don't know
how
to be one of them. Because they won't tell me.”

The voice didn't respond to this. Chase waited, sitting in the grass, watching the cloudless sky. A soft breeze cooled his brow and somehow eased the trepidation inside him. He almost smiled before he closed his eyes.

“Don't be afraid,” the voice said.

Chase awoke sliding across the cold steel floor of the truck. The man driving this thing had found a reason to increase his speed and leave the main highway. The ragged beat of a country road kept Chase from landing too long in one place, and he cried out when he banged his injured shoulder into the side of the cargo box.

This could only mean one thing—the Feds had found them.

He lay flat on his stomach in a vain attempt to keep from being tossed like a rag doll. Even his inferior hearing could tell there was more than one vehicle closing in. Light filtered in through the door of the bay. He tried to spark the code—32-7. Nothing. If he didn't die in this pursuit, his captors would return him to the desert.

The truck veered off the road, it seemed, and the terrain got rougher. Chase flipped onto his back and hit hard against the floor, then flew to one side and crashed into the wall. The men up front yelled loud enough for Chase to hear them. One cursed. One prayed.

The transport rolled. Then rolled again. Chase went flying. He lost count of the rotations. At last the turning stopped. Chase landed on his back. He couldn't move. No sound. No light flashed in through the door. He didn't even know where the door was anymore. The truck could be upside-down. It creaked as it swayed. Then there was no sound at all.

But the tracker wouldn't have been disabled by a fall down a cliff. They'd be coming for him. He wished for the green hillside he'd known only moments ago. For the breeze that passed him by and almost made him hopeful that all this would somehow work out. But there was no hope. As in the dream, he imagined his heartbeat had ramped to meet his fear. But that was impossible. A lab-grown heart remained forever constant.

“Don't be afraid,” he said into the darkness. Then he lifted one hand into the void. “Don't be afraid.”

28

What was taking so long? They'd have to pull him out of the wreckage before they forced him onto a jet and returned him to the Helgen. Maybe the truck was positioned in such a way that they couldn't get him without risking his life.

But did they even care if he lived or died? They'd be coming soon.

Every part of him hurt. Even the man-made stuff ached, it seemed. His left leg, he was certain, had snapped in two. Even if he managed to sit up he couldn't walk. He moved to one side of the groaning truck, and then he lay still. His eyelids demanded to shut and he slipped between awareness of his predicament and dreams of the green field. The voice seemed to follow him through both worlds, telling him not to fear. He figured he was too delirious to be afraid. He laughed. No hope…and he was laughing.

Hours must have passed. No one came. His leg throbbed and he stayed awake for longer periods. His stomach growled. Getting up was not an option. He remained as still as possible, though he felt he could move now.

Still no sound other than the occasional squeak of the truck and the call of a bird that must be in a nearby tree. A singing bird and the slight glow inside the box of the truck meant the sun had risen. “What's taking so long?” he yelled. “I'm right here. Come get me.”

Mel would be looking for him in the dining hall by now. She'd have no idea what happened. No word from him. No response if she tried to contact him.

“Don't even think about coming to look for me. I'll be gone soon. I'm sorry, Melody. Mom. All of you.” His eyes fell shut again. “I'm sorry.”

Then he remembered the bomb. Was there even anything left of Blue Sky Field? A tear slid from the corner of his eye. “Don't be afraid,” he told himself again. But he sobbed just the same until the merciful sleep returned.

The next time he opened his eyes, the bird songs had fallen silent to the restless mutter of crickets and the cry of a distant wolf. Darkness had robbed the cargo box of its daylight glow. He'd been here about twenty-four hours, as far as he could tell.

“Why haven't you come for me?” he yelled. “What's going on out there?”

He had to move, to try something to get out of this box. He couldn't just wait to die. Sliding on his side, he dragged his broken leg and reached what he knew to be the roll-down door. He'd seen the sunlight filtering through it. The door was no longer vertical, but horizontal. The truck was on its side. It creaked and moaned, threatening to shift its position on the side of whatever sloped spot it had landed on.

Chase banged on the door. He found the handle and pulled with all his strength. Then he lay back and breathed out puffs of frigid air. The temperature had dropped. If he didn't starve, he'd freeze. He nearly laughed as he remembered his mother chiding his choice of jacket and her concern that he might get lost in the woods.

“Somebody get me out of here!”

Then he heard a faint reply.

“Boss? We're coming. Call out again so we can find you.”

This had to be a dream. “Mel?” he yelled. “I'm here.” He banged against the metal door. “I'm here.”

Soon footsteps neared. Branches cracked and the truck moaned again.

“He's over here,” a voice called.

How was this happening? “Mel?”

A knock rattled the side of the truck. “I'm right here.” Her soft laugh filled the night and hushed the crickets. “I found you,” she said. “Thank God.”

“Mel, listen to me. There's a bomb in a truck just like this one. It's parked next to the museum.”

“No, Chase, we went up after dark and walked right out the front door. There was no truck.”

“So, everybody's OK back there?”

“Everybody's fine. Just worried about
you
, that's all. I don't know how you got yourself into this mess.”

“Long story. How did you know where to find me?”

She laughed again. “Long story. We're bracing the truck so you won't slide any farther down. It's gonna be a long walk back. Can you make it?”

“My leg is broken.”

The door flew open. “Then I'll just have to carry you,” Switchblade said.

Chase smiled. “How on earth? I thought you'd be in the EU by now.”

“No such luck, Charlie.” The man eased into the box and lifted Chase with his strong arms. The truck swayed a bit, but Switchblade kept his balance as he stepped out onto the ground. He laid Chase on top of a blanket, and Chase sat up enough for Mel to get her arms around him. He pulled her close and held on for his life.

After a moment, he lifted his face from her shoulder and met her eyes. “How did you know I was here?” Then he lifted his head to find Switchblade, who stood over him with his arms folded and a smile on his face. “And how did you…?”

“Pilot lady circled back. I made such a stink about going to the EU that she got me over the countryside near town and slapped a parachute on my back. Said she didn't need no angry, knife-wielding criminal-type following her around while she was trying to get established in new territory.”

Mel pulled the blanket around Chase and then put a bottle to his mouth. He gulped tepid water.

“Intel said the plane went down,” Mel said. “And we assumed since none of you came back, you all got on it.”

“You thought I—”

“I thought you were dead. If you weren't, I was gonna kill you for getting on that plane. I figured you'd decided to take off.”

“Not in a million years.” Chase cupped her face with his hand and leaned forward to kiss her. “I'm so sorry. I lost control of the situation pretty fast.” He winced as he tried to bend his leg.

“How's everything else?” Mel asked.

“Laser wound—right shoulder. It's not too bad.”

“Anything else? What's the report from the exoself?”

Switchblade squatted next to Mel. “Oh, you mean Sparky. Tell us, Charlie, what's the word from old Sparky?”

Mel looked from Switchblade to Chase. “You named the exoself?”

“It doesn't matter,” Chase said. “It's gone.”

Switchblade dropped to his bottom on the cold ground. “What are you talking about? How can it be gone? Even the night vision and all that stuff?”

“All of it.” He had to tell them about Kerstin. But not yet. “I didn't pick up on the DNA scanner at the drone plant. But
it
picked up on
me
. Once the Feds had my location, it was easy for the crew back at the Helgen to shut me down. There was a killswitch.”

Switchblade put his arms across his knees. “If they had your location, then why didn't they beat us out here to pick you up?”

“I don't know. I'm sure they followed us. We were being chased. That's how the truck ended up leaving the road.” Chase studied the dark woods. “There were five men in the truck. Kirel and four others. They were dissenters selling me to bounty hunters.”

Mel pulled her jacket tight. “We found two of them on the side of the drop. Both dead. No sign of Kirel or anyone else.”

“They must have gotten taken in by the Feds. I don't get it. They were tracking my location. Why would they leave without me?”

“Maybe they lost the signal,” Switchblade said.

“That's impossible,” Chase told him.

“Whatever the reason, I'm glad they didn't find you.” Mel smiled. “And I'm glad we did.”

Chase reached for her and pulled her close. He looked at Switchblade. “And you got dumped out of that jet. Can't blame the girl for wanting to get rid of you.”

“Yeah, whatever.” The man rose to his feet and joined two others, who were both on VPads.

“Who's with you, Mel? And how on earth did you know where to find me?”

“Before dawn yesterday, my computer showed a map of this area. Then a location started flashing on the map.” She pulled the small device from a backpack and showed him the old laptop with new insides. The red flash in the middle of a map was what told Mel where to find him.

“I thought it was you sending me a message,” she said. “Before I even had a chance to figure it out, we got the report about Windsong's jet going down. Only the report didn't come through the underground. You are our connection to the WR, so we didn't know where the news about the jet came from, and we didn't know why the map showed up on my computer.”

She put her hands over her cheeks and then smoothed back her hair. “But we thought you were all gone. You can imagine…” She lowered her gaze.

Chase took her hand and kissed it.

“Anyway, Kim—your mom—and I went to my room. And then people started yelling that Switchblade was back. He told us what happened.” She glanced behind her at Switchblade. “Chase, do you think the plane made it to the EU? I mean, somebody wanted it to go down.”

“Kirel wanted me to crash it. Even if I hadn't already lost my grip on the exoself, I couldn't have done it. I told him I did it, though. Planting a report to the WR that the plane crashed was the last thing I managed to do before the exoself shut down. Somehow the news got to you. I can't explain it, Mel.”

“What about the tracker sending me your location? And the Feds losing you when they almost had you?”

Chase shook his head. “Just more turns in my incomprehensible life. I give up trying to understand anything.”

“Let's just get you home and we'll figure it out,” Mel said.

“Not going home,” Switchblade said as he returned from consulting the men on their VPads. “Amos says we're going to Gagnon. Says Charlie needs a doctor.”