“Wow. Powerful stuff. Can you get out of my head now please?” I say.

  He nods and picks me up.

  We leave.

  Using the door as an exit to get out of here.

  Chapter 15

  We’re in a dark corridor.

  It’s punctuated by bright shafts of light. They’re bleeding out from cracks at the bottom of every cell door we walk past.

  I say walk, but I’m actually being carried.

  Autotruck is walking. Or rather – limping.

  “How are we going to find Sarah and Kyle?” I ask.

  We walk past another cell.

  “Oh, that’s easy. I already put on the same show for them. Minus all the shooting.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, the Manager wanted to put some pressure on them. Make them stop sniffing around this whole ‘the Missing’ rumor.”

  “It’s not a rumor. It’s real. We’re talking about thousands of people here. And you probably drove a bunch of them to the cemetery.”

  “I didn’t ask questions. Bodies are bodies. And a job is a job. Yes – I had to drive those bubbleskin bodies to the cemetery. And earlier today I had to pretend to be a scary trooper.”

  We come to the end of the corridor and head down a stairwell.

  “But you hacked your way into this job. Why did you even bother?”

  “Because, like I said, they give me lots of money and fun weapons.”

  “So, where are they?”

  “Oh, I don’t get to keep them. I have to hand them back at the end of my shift.”

  “Not the weapons! Sarah and Kyle.”

  Autotruck clanks down the stairs. I jiggle in his arms with every step.

  “Oh, gotcha. They’re cell neighbors. How cute is that? You were all alone in the ‘psychos and droids of mass destruction annex.’”

  “Is that its official title?”

  “No, it’s called B Wing.”

  “Oh, damn it. I thought I finally had something good to add to my resume.”

  We reach the bottom of the stairs.

  There’s a sign on the wall with arrows and cell numbers, like a macabre hotel.

  “Your friends are in this one. A Wing, Cells 117 and 118.”

  “Holy shit! How many people are in this place?”

  “One hundred and forty-nine people. And one droid of mass destruction.”

  We plonk along the corridor to Cell 117. Autotruck comes to a stop and puts his head to the door.

  “Is this Sarah’s cell or Kyle’s?” I ask.

  “Kyle’s. I’m just checking he hasn’t got visitors. It’s quiet. I think we’re okay.”

  “You got a key card or something?” I ask.

  “No, the door scans my head remotely. By the way, you probably didn’t pick up on my intonation a moment ago. You know, when I said ‘visitors’ I didn’t mean family visitors or friend visitors of course, I—”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “I meant perhaps some guards or some—”

  “Yes, I get it.”

  “Or some troopers. You know, those kinds of visitors. That’s what I was referring to. Not the type of visitors that—”

  “Open the door!” I shout. “We haven’t got all day.”

  “Righty ho, Tedd.”

  We walk in and it’s a goddamn awful mess.

  Kyle is asleep or unconscious in his cage.

  He’s pissed himself.

  His face is caked with dry blood from a gash on his forehead. And he’s missing a couple of fingernails.

  He must’ve tried to claw his way out of the cage.

  “I swear he didn’t look like this when I left him,” says Autotruck.

  “Well, you and the Special Needs Division must have shit him up pretty bad.”

  I zoom in on Kyle’s chest to make sure he’s still breathing.

  It’s rising and falling, but his breaths are shallow.

  “I had to play the role,” says Autotruck. “Didn’t want to raise suspicion. I did the whole twitching thing on the back row. It looks like he took it worse than you.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “No, I do say. Look at him – he obviously reacted negatively to my display of unbridled force and psychopathic tendencies.”

  “Just get him out of the cage, please,” I say.

  “Tally ho, Tedd!”

  He puts me down and reaches to his back for his whale prod.

  “Son of a ditch! I left my tasing fork in your cell. Brace yourself!”

  He picks me up and bowls me, underarm, toward the cage.

  I barrel along the floor, rolling and bouncing.

  I slam into the metal bars with my head.

  “What the fuck?” I yell.

  I look back, and Autotruck just shrugs.

  “Tedd … Tedd, is that you?” says Kyle, croakily.

  He half opens his eyes, his head lolling.

  The impact of my head bent the bars a little, but only enough for him to reach an arm through.

  “Yes, it’s me,” I say. “We’ll get you out of here in a sec, don’t you worry.”

  His eyes gaze hazily into mine. But then he looks past me, toward Autotruck in the shadows.

  His pupils shrink to a trembling black dot.

  “No! Get that monster away from me!” he screams.

  “It’s okay, Kyle,” I say. “Kyle, listen to me. You need to stay quiet.”

  But he screams and shouts.

  He scrabbles at the bars with his bloodied fingers.

  Autotruck backs away to the door.

  “One of the other troopers must have done something bad. It wasn’t me. I swear.”

  Kyle rocks back and forth in his cage, banging his fist on the bars.

  “How were my bowling skills anyway? Did I get a strike?” asks Autotruck.

  “Not exactly, maybe a spare? These two bars are pretty bent. Come and see if you can force them open.”

  He lumbers over but Kyle sees him approaching and completely loses it.

  He spits, snarls, and growls like a feral cat.

  Autotruck keeps his distance and stretches his arms over to the cage.

  He pulls the two bent bars apart a little more.

  Kyle squeezes through them and breaks free.

  He runs around the cell like a man possessed. Howling and screaming, his eyes crazed.

  Then the whole room flashes red, and a warning klaxon blares.

  The Manager’s voice comes through the speakers.

  “Alert. Alert. Security breach in A Wing. The droid has escaped. Lockdown initiated.”

  “That can’t be good,” I say.

  “I think it is good that you escaped,” says Autotruck.

  “No, I mean – oh, never mind. Pick me up – let’s go!”

  Autotruck scoops me up.

  “Kyle, come on, man,” I say. “We need to get out of here. We have to get Sarah.”

  It’s as if the word Sarah is a switch. He stops mid-stride, his eyes resetting to neutral.

  “Okay, Tedd,” he says.

  We head to the door, and Autotruck waits for the scanner to read his head. And do absolutely nothing.

  Because the Gulag is in lockdown.

  I roll my eyes.

  “The door won’t open,” says Autotruck.

  “Yes, thank you. I can see that.”

  “It’s because they’ve initiated the lockdown protocol,” he says.

  “Yep. Got that, too.”

  “So, I will use you as a battering ram.”

  “Oh, for fu—”

  It’s too late. My head is already slamming against the door.

  Over and over.

  And over.

  The glass screen smashes. The LEDs smash. My head hurts like shit.

  And the door is still locked.

  “Watch out!” yells Kyle from behind us.

  He sprints toward the door with one of the long metal bars from the cage.

  He rams it into the thin gap around the door frame and tries to lever it open.

  “Help him out!” I shout.

  Autotruck puts me down and grabs the metal bar with both arms and pulls. The door pops open.

  Sirens blare from the corridor.

  “Don’t forget me!” I yell.

  Autotruck runs back, scoops me up and we dart out of the cell.

  Enforcers and troopers file up the stairs in a stomping horde at the end of the corridor – party in A Wing.

  I’ll give that one a rain check.

  We race to the next cell over – Sarah’s.

  Autotruck takes a run-up and does a power kick at the door, almost busting it off its hinges.

  It bangs on the inside of the cell, rebounding and nearly hitting us both in the face.

  The three of us go inside.

  “Tedd! Kyle!” says Sarah. “And one of those evil fuckers?”

  She shoots a death stare toward Autotruck.

  “It’s okay, he’s with us,” I say.

  The sirens pause, and the speakers crackle.

  “Urgent update,” says the Manager. “All units to B Wing. Repeat – all units to B Wing!”

  “Screwed,” says Autotruck.

  “No, we’re not screwed. We just have to—”

  “Screwed,” he says again, pointing at the screws at the base of Sarah’s cage.

  He places me down on the floor and kneels next to Sarah.

  The tip of his index finger flips open revealing a power multi-tool.

  He unscrews the cage from the floor.

  “Now we’re not screwed,” he says.

  He hoists Sarah and the cage onto his shoulder and walks toward the door.

  Sarah’s hair sways against the bars, moving in rhythm with his steps.

  “Kyle, can you gimme a hand?” I ask.

  He picks me up, and we follow behind.

  Autotruck is barreling down the corridor. Kyle wheezes trying to keep up.

  “Exit this way!” says Autotruck. “Follow me!”

  We run past the stairwell. Shouts and footsteps echo down from the upper level.

  We take innumerable turns down seemingly endless corridors until finally I see it up ahead.

  A beautiful fire door.

  A halo of daylight glowing at its edges.

  Autotruck boots it open without breaking stride, and we’re outside.

  In a parking lot – but not for cars.

  Chapter 16

  Attack helicopters.

  Three shiny black attack helicopters.

  Each one has stubby wings loaded with missiles. And swivel-mounted miniguns on either side of the rear cabin.

  “Who can drive stick?” says Autotruck.

  Kyle, Sarah, and I look at each other.

  “I’m joking, of course,” says Autotruck. “None of you can. These are helicopters. But I used to drive trucks, I’m sure they’re very similar.”

  “Can I be the first one to say – absolutely no fucking way?” says Sarah.

  “Don’t panic,” says Autotruck. “They’re largely automated. I can hack them and get us in.”

  “Well, can you get a move on?” I say, looking toward the building doors.

  A phalanx of troopers and Enforcers burst out.

  They open fire.

  “I’m patching in,” he says.

  He places his palm connector onto the pilot-side door. Bullets ricochet off the ground and sides of the helicopters.

  “Patch faster,” I yell.

  The helicopter blades spin up in a loud rumble, and the pilot door pops open.

  Autotruck gets in.

  Kyle runs to the left rear door and slides it backwards on its rails.

  He lifts me up and places me onto the metal floor of the chopper, then clambers in and slams the door shut.

  Several bullets strike the reinforced window in a series of loud thuds.

  Kyle reaches over and slides the other door open for Sarah. She jumps in.

  “State your destination,” says the helicopter.

  “Far, far away,” says Autotruck.

  More shots ding off our metal sides.

  Outside, the troopers form a semi-circle around us. Some Enforcers are getting into one of the other helicopters.

  “Destination unknown. State your destination,” repeats the chopper.

  “For fuck’s sake. Just fly!” I say.

  The rumbling of the blades turns into a roar.

  We’re airborne.

  We lurch forward and skim over the parking lot, buzzing over the heads of the troopers and Enforcers.

  More shots ping at us.

  One pierces the windshield with a loud crack.

  “Trucky, are we good?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer. Kyle taps him on the shoulder.

  No response.

  He shoves Autotruck but his body just slumps sideways, landing on the central console and control stick.

  The chopper banks hard right.

  Lights flash.

  Warnings beep.

  “Shit!” yells Sarah. “We’re gonna die!”

  “No, we’re not,” says Autotruck. His voice is coming through the sound system. “I can fly!”

  The helicopter levels out.

  “Huh?” says Sarah.

  “I am one with the helicopter,” he says.

  “Well, technically,” I say to Sarah, “He is the helicopter. He’s transferred himself. It’s kinda his thing.”

  Kyle’s gone green.

  He peeks out of the window at the ground falling away beneath, then looks away, shaking his head.

  “Are you sure you can fly this thing?” asks Sarah.

  “Yes,” says Autotruck. “I downloaded a bunch of flight sim manuals from the dark web. It’s as easy as die.”

  Sarah and Kyle exchange a look of horror.

  “Pie, man! You mean as easy as pie! Don’t worry, guys,” I say. “You get used to it.”

  “What about the flashing red warning light?” asks Sarah.

  “Oh, that just means there are several air-to-air missiles in-bound,” says Autotruck. “Nothing a bit of chaff and some flares can’t sort out.”

  Several loud bangs and pops come from outside.

  “And I may as well throw in a few evasive maneuvers for good measure,” he says. “Hold on to your undercrackers.”

  The chopper pitches brutally upwards, pushing us all backwards.

  “I think I’m gonna hurl,” says Kyle.

  “Best to open your door,” says Autotruck. “And you may as well grab hold of the minigun while you’re out there. We’ve got some bogeys on our six.”

  “This guy,” I say, shaking my head. “He’s been a helicopter for two minutes and he’s already hitting us with the lingo.”

  “You can fly us if you’d prefer?” he says. “Oh, that’s right – you don’t have any arms or legs.”

  “No, but when I do, you’re gonna get a kicking,” I say.

  Kyle shoves me over to the right-hand side of the floor. Sarah lifts her feet up and then rests them gently on my torso.

  Kyle slides open his door. The deafening racket of the propellers and jet exhaust fumes blows in.

  The nose of a pursuing helicopter peeks forward on our left side.

  Kyle grabs hold of the minigun with two hands but quickly releases one and doubles over.

  He spews up over the side.

  The phlegm-colored fluid-splats shoot away behind us.

  “You might wanna try bullets!” shouts Sarah.

  I smile. But her quip doesn’t reach Kyle over the din.

  He wipes his mouth with his sleeve and grabs a firm hold of the minigun.

  This time he’s ready.

  He pulls the trigger.

  A guttural roar fills the cabin. It sounds like someone just opened the doors of hell.

  A golden arc of brass casings rains down like a Vegas jackpot. They bounce on the cabin floor and off into the abyss.

  But his aim is terrible.

  Fortunately, some of the bullet stream strikes the enemy’s nose cone and nav radar, sending it diving for cover.

  The red warning lights have stopped flashing on our console.

  Kyle slides the door shut, slumps back into his seat and dry heaves.

  Sarah puts her arm around him.

  “You did it,” she says. “I think we’ve lost them.”

  “Yes,” says Autotruck. “Radar is clear for two clicks. I’ll take us down low to nap-of-the-earth. That means flying low to the ground to mask our radar profile. For you civilians back there.”

  “You’re a civilian! You’re a truck, remember?”

  “Don’t be limited by labels, Tedd. You too can fly if you believe.”

  “If you weren’t hurtling in the sky over a rocky desert, I’d punch you in the control stick.”

  Sarah shakes her head.

  The red desert whizzes past below as we descend.

  Small hills fly by on either side.

  They’re higher than we are as we follow the contours of valleys and ravines.

  Kyle’s face is still a sickly green.

  “Where are we headed?” asks Autotruck.

  “We need to get to the HQ,” I say. “And forget stealth infiltration. I vote for a full-on assault.”

  “Steady on, soldier boy,” says Sarah. “I applaud the sentiment. Especially if the Manager’s in there. But we need answers, not rubble. We’ll stick to the plan.”

  “I think they might spot us coming if we park out front in a flying death tank,” I say.

  “Yeah,” says Kyle. “The sooner we get out of this thing, the better.”

  “Okay,” says Sarah. “Let’s get within a few miles of HQ, land, and move in from there.”

  “Adjusting course toward headquarters,” says Autotruck. “What’s your preferred ingress?”

  “I’d prefer it if you spoke to us in plain English, you self-righteous prick,” I say.

  “Very well, civilian. Will I land to the north, east, south, or west of HQ?”

  “East. The smelting depot. Land there. I might be able to pick up some legs.”

  “How are you gonna pick up some legs with no arms?” says Autotruck.

  “You’re discriminating against a disabled droid here. It’s not funny,” I say.

  “It kind of is,” says Sarah, smiling.

  She gives me a gentle tap with her foot. “Hey, so once you’re mobile, we’ll head to HQ and … shit.”

  “What is it?” I say.

  “The bracelet. They took it.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll be flying solo for this one then,” I say.

 

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