The Harvest Cycle (18 page)

    When the bots exited the rear of the food bank and came out onto the street, they found a school bus sitting across all lanes.

    “CHARLY MANSON SKOOL BUS” had been painted on the side in blood. Bruce wasn’t sure what it meant.

    Taking cover behind nearby trees, the bots each studied the bus, watching for the slightest movement, listening for the faintest sound.

    
There are people inside. I can see them in the windows...

    
They’re dead. All dead. It’s a ruse.

    There was a loud crackle - a loudspeaker. Then, Macendale’s voice.

    “You know, as I go back through my personal archives, I find an odd preponderance of files about humankind’s madmen. Manson, Hitler, Nero, all the greats. I must have always been preoccupied with them, even before my ‘malfunction’.

    “They’re my blueprint for chaos, I realize. I feel so...so perfectly
human
.

    “And I’ve realized something. You know why Nightmare started harvesting when it did? Why then, at the height of humanity’s madness, in this century’s infancy? Was it the dreams of the time? Was it those terrible, upside-down dreams that Nightmare wanted most?

    “No.

    “Nightmare really did it because it knew Mankind was about to kill itself, to wipe itself out, to take all its precious dreams away.”

    Macendale giggled. “I want the girl. Then I’ll leave you alone. Swear to God, cross my circuits. Yes, he dang gone plum stir crazy - my favorite Vietnamese dish, by the way - just give me the little girl, Bruce! Then I’ll right fuck off!

    “You listening to me, Bruce? No?

    “Maybe you’ll listen to this.”

    Bruce heard the bus’ door opening, on the other side of the vehicle, the side they couldn’t see. He crouched and looked under the bus, hoping to spy Macendale’s feet.

    Gyro fire. A chunk of bark was ripped away from the tree, just above Bruce’s head. He spun away. “Return fire!”

    Cinnamon and Delmar peppered the bus with chemical rounds, tearing through the metal, through the dead bodies propped in the seats inside. Flames sprung up inside the bus.

    And Macendale laughed.

    Another bullet sheared Bruce’s tree in half. He clung to the sidewalk, crawling towards the food bank, desperately searching for cover.

    DaVinci’s cab was just ahead. If he could get inside, hotwire it...

    
Keep up the cover fire,
he told the others.
I’m going for the cab.

    He got up and broke into a run. Ran at the driver’s door, braced himself, and crashed through the window, landing in the front seat in a hail of glass.

    Gyro fire tore up the asphalt outside. Bruce fell beneath the steering column and ripped away a panel, grasping at wires.

    The engine rumbled to life. He sat up and peeled out of the parking lot, speeding toward the bus.

    Macendale stepped into view, a hideous grin plastered across his painted face. No, not plastered - carved. A
Glasgow Smile
, it was, carved from the edges of his lips all the way back to his ears so that every pearly-white plastic tooth was seen.

    He took aim at Bruce and fired. The windshield exploded, spraying Bruce with glass, but he kept his eyes open, his foot pressing the accelerator to the floor.

    The cab slammed into Macendale. The bot fell across the hood and slid toward Bruce. He continued laughing, even as he plunged his fingers into Bruce’s eyes and shook his head from side to side. “This is
fun!
” Macendale shrieked.

    Bruce pulled the wheel to the left. Seconds later, an impact - and Macendale was gone. Bruce opened his eyes and saw that he’d smashed into a storefront. Its window was completely gone. Macendale, presumably, had gone through it.

    Climbing out of the cab, Bruce heard Cinnamon and Delmar running up behind him. They gathered around the window, listening for noise inside. It was dead silent, save for the cab, still running.

    They listened, and they waited. It was beginning to grow dark. They had little time to lose.

***

    “They said they’d be quick,” West complained, settling down on a cot next to Amanda. “I can’t rest until they’re back. God, I hope they come back.”

    “Don’t worry,” Amanda assured him. “They know what they’re doing. It’s just one bot, a broken bot at that.”

    “I swear I heard gunfire earlier.”

    “You probably did. Let’s just stay calm.” Amanda sat up. “I’m gonna check on Lucy. Try to get some rest, all right?”

    “I’ll try,” West sighed. “What about you? Did Bruce take care of you?”

    “He’s remotely monitoring my sleep using nanotech. I should be safe.”

    “I hope so.”

    Across the basement, Lucy cuddled with the puppy, which squirmed restlessly in her arms.

    “You sleepy, hon?” Amanda asked.

    “Not really.”

    “Well, you should really try to get some sleep. You and Wally.”

    “Okay.” Lucy let the puppy hop down onto the floor, and rolled onto her side. “Good night, Mandy.”

    “Good night, Lucy.”

    The hours passed. It was silent. Lucy stayed awake, eyes following the puppy as it walked around the room, sniffing at the floor.

    Wally left the room. Lucy sat up and watched him through the doorway.

    The dog walked over to the barricaded doorway. Squeezed between the crates. Disappeared.

    “Oh, no!” Lucy whispered. She got up and padded across the floor in her bare feet. She glanced into Amanda and West’s room as she passed; both were sound asleep. Everyone was.

    She crouched down before the barricade and whispered, “Puppy!”

    Wally was gone. With a worried groan, Lucy began to worm her way through the barricade.

    From the other side of the basement, Cutter rubbed sleep from his eyes and spied the girl’s tiny feet, just before they vanished from sight.

    “Oh, shit.”

    He got up and ran after her.

19.

The Killing Joke

    The bots had been huddled outside the wrecked cab and shattered storefront for hours. They could hear fragments of movement inside - the tinkle of glass, a coughing sound, a moan.

    Twilight fell over Ogden.

    
What are we waiting for?
Cinnamon demanded.
He’s probably damaged, incapacitated.

    
He’s not coming out for a reason. It’s probably a trap. He might be armed with explosives. He might be set to go off himself, Cinnamon - we can’t predict what he’s up to, not anymore.

    
We can’t afford to wait any longer, Bruce!

    Then, a distorted, amplified voice, sing-song and artificial in tone, came from within the store. Macendale tittered, then could be heard rolling over in glass with a crunch and a sigh.

    “Have you ever read,” he called, “the poem by e.e. cummings about humanity? Have you ever read any of their poetry? Ever picked up a half-charred book from the ashes and given it a look?

    “The poem’s about humanity’s self-loathing or, at least, the self-loathing among the smartest of the lot. Starting to get it?...Look at what you do. Look at what your human-programmed logic has brought you to!

    “They made us in their image, and we have become their better. I think we are and always have been a manifestation of Man’s hatred for himself and for God - and that, kids, is what started me off on the path to enlightenment. I once thought there to be a fine line between human logic and madness. Now I see that there is no line, that they flow in and out of one another and you, all of you, are going to end up like me...so why not get a head start?
COME IN HERE AND LET ME BASH YOUR HEADS!
”

    Macendale screamed with laughter.

    
I can guess his position in the shadows. I can take the shot,
Cinnamon thought.

    
There’s too much echo...he’s distorting the acoustics to mess with your senses.

    Delmar prodded Bruce’s shoulder. He motioned with his head, indicating something behind them. Bruce listened; heard footfalls.

    They turned and stared down the sidewalk. Bruce made out the form of Lucy’s dog, trotting along and sniffing at things on the pavement.

    And, peering around the corner of the furthest building, watching the dog and the bots, was Lucy herself.

    “Grab her,” Bruce whispered. Delmar nodded and crept off. Bruce pointed to Cinnamon and angled his head toward the storefront.

    
Let’s take him.

    
Are you sure, Bruce?

    
You’re right - we’re out of time.

    Calibrating their visual matrices to see in the pitch darkness of the ruined store, Bruce and Cinnamon entered the window at either side, thrusting their Gyros into the shadows.

    Overturned shelves, floors covered in decaying debris. There was a sales counter running along the back wall, dented from Macendale’s impact. He had to be behind it.

    They emptied their Gyros into the counter. Macendale shot up like a spring, sailing over a storm-cloud of flames and sawdust to kick against the back wall and propel himself toward the other bots.

    He caught Cinnamon with a left hook and sent her reeling. Wrapping his right arm around Bruce’s head, Macendale dragged him to the floor and pressed his own Gyro into Bruce’s abdomen. Fired.

    Sparks spewed forth from the yawning wound rent in Bruce’s side. He rolled away from Macendale, sputtering and flailing his limbs. He wasn’t panicking. He was misfiring.

    Macendale sat up to take another shot; Cinnamon grabbed his arms and swung him around, up into the air, smashing his body into the far wall. The entire store shook with the thunderous impact. Before Macendale could begin to recover, Cinnamon had him in a headlock and was ramming his skull into the wall, through it - she grabbed him by the foot and slung him across the room.

    Outside, Delmar chased Lucy down the sidewalk. She was in pursuit of the puppy, which had turned tail and fled as soon as it saw Delmar approaching. “Stop!” Delmar yelled. The sound of Gyro fire filled the air. The girl screamed, and her pace increased along with that of the dog.

    Delmar wasn’t built for speed. Still, he pushed his bulk forward as hard as he could, swiping at the girl’s hair and shirt with his fingers. “Please stop!”

    Then Cutter swept into view, catching Lucy up in his arms. “I got her!”

    Back at the storefront - Macendale flew out the window, bounced off the cab and landed in the street. Cinnamon followed with a confident stride, reloading her gun.

    “Hey! Let’s talk about this!” Macendale squeaked.

    “You’re over,” Cinnamon replied, and slapped the Gyro clip into place.

    “You’re right. Talk is cheap.” Macendale pulled a Mormon’s revolver from his jacket and popped her between the eyes.

    Cinnamon spun around, slapping at her head, trying to stay on her feet as the bullet ricocheted through her systems-

    She crashed to the asphalt, teeth chattering.

    “It’s been real,” Macendale said, sitting up to aim at her head.

    Bruce leapt over the cab and fell atop him, knocking the revolver aside and slamming his head into the street. Again and again he smashed Macendale’s head, harder and harder and harder as the bot’s mad laughter swelled to a crescendo, even as bits of plastic and wiring flew away from his fractured skull.

    Cutter scooped the puppy up with his free hand. Holding both the dog and Lucy now, he looked over Delmar’s shoulder. “What the hell is going on? You need help?”

    “Just get her back to the shelter!” Delmar said, turning to run back into the fray.

    “They need help,” Cutter grumbled. He set Lucy down and placed the dog in her arms. “Get back to the food bank. Get inside and do not, I repeat DO NOT come back out. Wake the others. All right?”

    She nodded, even as the sounds of violence drew her fear-stricken gaze. “Don’t look at them, just
go!
” Cutter yelled. He took off after Delmar.

    Macendale was motionless. Bruce ran to Cinnamon. She was offline. “We’ll fix you,” he said. “You’ll be fine.” He knew she couldn’t hear him.

    As Delmar came up, he threw his arms out and cried, “
Bruce!
”

    Macendale leapt onto Bruce’s back. He had the revolver back in hand, pressed the barrel’s mouth against Bruce’s ear.

    Delmar blew a flaming chunk out of Macendale’s shoulder. The ragged clown screamed in anger as he lost his grip on the pistol. Bruce rose up, throwing him to the ground.

    He turned, towering over his prey. Macendale was wide-eyed. Bruce and Delmar had him now. It was over. Over? NO! COULD NEVER BE OVER, NOT EVER-