Another vision, this one featuring the whimpers of a thin man with his face pressed against a prison wall, began to form. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of his cell mate’s sweat as the much smaller man tried to resist. But before the memory could take hold of him, the office door pitched open.
“Sir,” a Warden with greasy hair and a skull-like face said. “There’s movement at the front line.”
Napp opened his eyes. “What is it?”
“Drones, sir. Dozens of them.”
“Are they weaponized?”
The bony man shook his head. “They don’t appear to be.”
Napp closed his eyes again. “Then they are no threat. The fools in Hillcrest are trying to measure the size of our force, but it will do them no good. Leave me in peace until morning.”
The Warden nodded. “Yes sir, I will return at dawn to—”
But his words were cut off by an explosion that shook the building.
Napp turned toward the window and snatched up a pair of thermal optics. He peered through the lenses and observed the far end of the street, where an SUV was rolling into view. He sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth, left the window, and ran toward the stairwell. “Carver.”
A round struck the SUV’s bulletproof windshield with a snare drum’s clap, and Eugene began to question if using himself as bait was a good idea.
Gripping the wheel with his left hand, he mounted the curb and sped along the sidewalk, plowing through Afflicted soldiers who were trying to take shelter next to the buildings lining the street.
Farther down, five of the Afflicted mounted the roof of a compact car and aimed semi-automatic rifles at him. He flinched as lead hail splintered the glass around him and dented the SUV’s paneling. “You’ll have to do better than that,” he muttered as he threw the SUV into reverse and flattened the Afflicted who were gathering behind him. With his right hand, he punched a button on the dashboard and launched three grenades into the crowd. Several of the Afflicted were torn apart by the explosions, and dozens more were cut down by fragmentation. But the mass of soldiers with hungry eyes and a relentless sense of purpose continued to surround him.
“That’s it, get a little closer.” He stomped on the brakes and came to a stop, and the Afflicted immediately slammed against the SUV. They pummeled the windows with steel pipes, threw their weight against the doors, and grasped the bumpers. Many of them were trying to overturn the vehicle—and they probably would have if the right side of the SUV hadn’t been resting against a building.
Eugene glanced over his shoulder at the raging mass of Borya’s puppets. They really did hate him. Which was good—he hoped to use that hate to his advantage. Tapping the Remote Weapon System interface, he brought up the controls for the minigun mounted behind the back seat. As it began to spin up, Eugene ducked his head, lowered the rear windows and tapped the “fire” button.
The noise rattled his teeth and shook his internal organs as it turned the SUV into a paint mixer. The burst only lasted a few seconds, but the minigun’s 7.62 millimeter rounds cut a crimson swathe through the Afflicted. Eugene let off the brake and pinned the accelerator, spinning the wheel to guide the SUV through a wide “J.”
As the armored vehicle rolled across the street, Eugene pulsed the minigun, cutting down dozens of the suicidal soldiers. And with every passing second, his nerves wound tighter and tighter. Soon, the Afflicted would switch tactics and bring out the big guns. And Eugene would either watch his plan unfold or die in a ball of flames.
“Do you see anything?” he shouted above the roar of the minigun.
“Affirmative,” a level, genteel voice responded. “Moving to intercept.”
“Make it quick.” Eugene glanced at the red bar that indicated his remaining ammunition. “I’m almost dry, and I need to get the hell off this street.”
He finished the wide turn by backing into the building across the street from where he had started, and when he lurched to a stop, he slammed the transmission into “drive” and emptied the minigun’s remaining ammunition.
“Time to go,” he said to himself as he hit the button to roll up the rear window and stomped on the gas pedal. The SUV lurched forward, but before it could build up speed, an Afflicted soldier with explosives strapped to his chest dove beneath the front bumper.
“Well…shit.”
There was nothing he could do but hold on as the front of the vehicle rocked upward before crashing back down. Eugene shook his head to clear his vision and glanced out the window. From his perspective, the level street seemed to be skewed at a downward angle, and he realized that the explosion had splintered the front axle.
Within seconds, the furious clap of bullets and blunt objects striking the SUV resumed. Eugene slid his BN-36 rifle out from between the seats and leaned away from the door. “Charlies Four, Five, Six, and Seven—are the rooftops clear?”
“Negative. Three hostiles with Rocket-Propelled-Grenades remain. Charlies Five and Six are down.”
“Keep at it, Four—” A round broke through the rear window, ricocheting off the minigun before embedding itself in the roof. “But I’m out of time. Chuck, move in for extraction.” A shotgun blast peppered the windshield, only a few inches away from his head. He swallowed. “And please, hurry.”
It will all be over soon, Henry Napp thought.
He stood in front of the second-story window, watching the battle unfold. Carver was trapped in a disabled SUV—trapped by his own arrogance—and two of the irritating battle droids had already been destroyed. The attack, though bold, was ultimately pointless. Carver and the androids had killed perhaps twelve hundred of his Wardens, which was a small price to pay for Carver’s head.
Napp glanced across the street at the rooftop opposite him where one of the androids was attempting to disarm a Warden armed with a rocket launcher. Without hesitation, the Warden aimed the weapon at his feet and pulled the trigger, killing himself in order to disable the android.
Breathing deeply, Napp turned his attention back to the SUV. “Never underestimate the dedication of your enemy, Mr. Carver,” he said in a low voice. “It is a lesson you should have learned by now.”
At least three hundred Wardens had surrounded the disabled vehicle. The Wardens in the front slashed at and fired upon the SUV until they grew tired or ran out of bullets, then they cut through the crowd, allowing other Wardens to resume the assault.
Victory was, at most, fifteen seconds away, and Napp leaned closer to the window.
“Sir!” the man with the gaunt face said.
Napp held up his index finger and continued staring out the window. “Whatever it is, it can wait. I want to cherish this.”
But the thin man wouldn’t wait. He ran to Napp’s side and pointed. “Scouts report something coming from Hillcrest. Something new.”
Napp glanced toward the end of the street and scoffed at the sight of three more battle droids. “Those aren’t new, they’re just…just…”
The androids were galloping on four legs toward the Wardens. Their black titanium armor made them difficult to distinguish in the dwindling light, but there was something strange about their silhouettes. These androids seemed bulkier than the others, and elongated rods sat atop their shoulders.