Crisped + Sere (Immemorial Year Book 2) (40 page)

“I am
not
a monster,” SIRS said, voice harsh and broken. “I am
not
like you. I am… I
am
… corruption. Partial system failure. Mark twenty-one. Mark seventeen. Mark one, mark one, and aren’t we
all
having
fun? I
can’t
….” SIRS screamed, gears snapping and falling apart. “Cavalo! Oh, James! Check the room. It’s
behind
the watchful eyes because the boy of wood has led you there. Where has this day—Mark sixteen. Mark mark forty. Mark the square root of
pi
in your
eye,
and I am
not a monster
!”

“You are,” Patrick said, teeth bared and snarling, “whatever
I
say you are. You are metal and wires and
numbers
in code. You are
nothing
but a servant, and I
gave you an order
.”

The robot’s eyes flickered back to orange. “No,” he said. “No. No. I am
not
a monster, I am
not
a servant. I-I-I-
I
am a
friend
. I-I-
I
have
friends
, but I am
not
a puppet on strings, you motherfucker, you fucking asshole, because I-I-
I AM A REAL FUCKING BOY
!”

It happened then. Everything slowed down around them, the Dead Rabbits tensing, the snow falling, the rage-filled curve of Patrick’s lips as he reached behind his head to grab the axe. Cavalo saw Bill move out of the corner of his eye, dropping down low to the ground, moving quicker than Cavalo had ever seen him move. He brought his arm in close to his body and then flung it out. As soon as his arm crossed in front of his chest, his hands splayed wide and a dark disc flashing blue flew toward SIRS.

EMP
, Bill had said.

Electromagnetic pulse.

Cavalo tightened his grip on the robot’s arm and swung his legs
in
, then
out
because he would have only once chance at this, one chance before the EMP detonated and the robot shut down, letting him fall. One fucking chance—

SIRS held Cavalo’s face with his left hand. Without looking away, he snapped his right arm over his left and caught the disc before it struck the side of his head.

“Not quite,” SIRS said, eyes flickering between yellow and red, the disc beginning to whine high-pitched and angry, ramping up louder and louder and—

SIRS threw Cavalo up in the air, arms and legs flailing as he rose ten feet or more above the dam. Before Cavalo even reached the apex of his ascent, SIRS was spinning below him, his upper half twisting around on gears and wheels as his bottom half stayed firmly planted. As soon as he was fully facing the opposite direction, he released the disc with a snap of his arm, rocketing it up toward the helicopter. The robot kept spinning as Cavalo began to descend, and he wasn’t close enough to the edge, he wasn’t
close
, he was going to
fall the fuck down
—

SIRS grabbed Cavalo’s left arm and
pulled
him back, Cavalo’s feet scraping against the concrete edge, one foot slipping
off into nothing and
—

Through his haze of shock and panic, through the sound of the robot’s insides breaking down, through the startled grunt that came from Patrick, he heard the loud whine of the EMP device charging up.

SIRS pulled him up onto the dam, solid ground beneath his feet, and he could
breathe
—

Patrick said, “What have you done, you—”

There was a sharp electric crack from above them. Cavalo didn’t know what to expect, had never seen an EMP device before, never had even heard of such a thing. They were mystical devices from that time Before that sounded like it was nothing more than a dream, when people lost things, Charlie, and they got their kicks on Route 66. He didn’t understand things like
cars
and DEFCON 1 (though, in his head, it was
always
DEFCON 1 even if he didn’t quite grasp the concept). He couldn’t understand the
basics
, so understanding something as complicated as an electromagnetic pulse was beyond him. He didn’t know if it would explode or if there would be a flash of light or if any and all of the above would be the last thing he’d ever see.

He didn’t expect to feel lightning-struck and ozone-sharp, the snarl of electricity crawling along the helicopter above in arcing flashes of blue and white. The effect was instantaneous: the machine immediately ceased to run, engines failing and propellers slowing their rotations. For a moment nothing happened, and the machine seemed suspended in air, caught in the swirling moisture of the snow globe.

It was an illusion that did not last.

The helicopter began to drift slightly back and forth, and Cavalo could see the pilot inside jerking the cyclic control back and forth, mouth open, shouting words that Cavalo could not hear. The machine creaked and groaned as it tilted toward its right side, nose sharply facing down. The propeller blades slowed more, spinning lazily as the helicopter began to fall.

The Dead Rabbits stared into the sky in wonder.

Patrick did not. Even as the machine plummeted toward the earth, he pulled out the axe from where it was strapped to his back.

He said, “You did this,” eyes only on Cavalo.

“The others,” Cavalo told SIRS, even as the robot’s exoskeleton began to crack and smoke, his insides breaking apart.

SIRS didn’t hesitate. Didn’t look back. Didn’t protest. He moved even as Patrick came for Cavalo, spider-fingers reaching for a clever monster, a dog, and a boy who had followed them into the dark.

The Dead Rabbits began to shout, pushing each other, trying to get away as chaos descended from above.

Cavalo grabbed the handle of the axe with both hands before Patrick could lift it above his head and cleave his skull. He could feel Patrick’s breath on his face as Patrick tried to jerk the axe away.

“You did this,” Patrick said again, voice low and concurrent with the rising screams of the Dead Rabbits amassing behind him.

Over Patrick’s shoulder, Cavalo saw SIRS knock down the Dead Rabbits who held Lucas. Lucas struggled against his grip. The robot pulled, but Lucas jerked himself away and began moving toward Cavalo.

The wind caused the helicopter to drift toward them, falling at a steep angle.

The Dead Rabbits tried to push their way out of the growing shadow. One was knocked off the edge of Dworshak, screaming into nothing, disappearing into the snow. A second fell. Then a third.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” Patrick said, and Cavalo kneed him in the stomach.

SIRS had Bad Dog now, and Cavalo heard struggling—
MasterBossLord, Tin Man, we have to get MasterBossLo—
and the rest was lost when the robot leapt for the building on the end still standing along the opposite edge of the dam.

Richie stood, unable to move with the Dead Rabbits surging around him. He raised his hands above his head to ward off the helicopter and opened his mouth to scream when—

Cavalo thought,
I’m sorry. For all the things I’ve done.

He thought of Claire. And Jamie.

Of a puppy in a bag.

Of a robot in a prison.

A town filled with lost hope.

And of Lucas. That clever monster. That clever cannibal. Who was almost at his side, reaching for him, an expression of pure terror on his face.

He thought he might lo—

The helicopter slammed into the crowd of Dead Rabbits, Richie at their middle. It burst into flames, a dull
fwump
followed by flying shrapnel and black smoke. The helicopter slid down the surface of the dam, momentum building, knocking Dead Rabbits to the side and off of Dworshak, running them over, consuming them as if alive and crawling as it died.

The helicopter fishtailed to the left, the tail section slamming into the first building, breaking off, causing the machine to whip around in circles. The first building, where SIRS had taken Bad Dog. The first building that collapsed as if it were
nothing
. The blades from the helicopter fractured and shot off, hunks of metal flying out. One piece caught a Dead Rabbit in the chest, pinning him to the ground.

Cavalo let go of Patrick and the axe, leaning back as a part of the helicopter blade sliced between them. It nicked Cavalo’s face, the barest of scratches on his cheek, a small, burning flash of pain that quickly went numb.

Lucas reached him.

Cavalo grabbed his hand and ran.

Arms and legs pumping, body groaning and aching, they ran.

Toward the crack in Dworshak, the divide that was far too wide to cross.

He felt someone behind them, next to them, running flat out, but he ignored whoever it was. There wasn’t enough time to worry about that now. All that mattered was Lucas and—

The shriek of metal and concrete screamed behind him.

They were almost there.

They were
almost there
.

They weren’t going to make it.

The jump.

It was too far, it was—

He jumped as he felt heat from behind him. Lucas’s hand was wrenched from his own, nails scraping against his skin. Snow fell around him. Acrid smoke filled his lungs. Dworshak fell away below as he leapt across the divide.

James Cavalo would not have made it across had the helicopter not slid into the large crack in Dworshak, the momentum knocking it down into the divide. He was airborne when the side of the helicopter slammed into his back, shoving him forward, head ringing, stars in his eyes.

He landed wrong, on the other side of the divide. His bad arm—the right—was trapped between his body and the concrete. Something snapped in his forearm, and he shouted out hoarsely. His stomach rolled as his vision grayed, and through the crackle of fire, the creak of metal, the groan of cement, he heard people screaming. Dead Rabbits, his friends, he didn’t know. He heard them, but they were muted. Far away. He tried to roll onto his back, but his leg was stuck.

It has been a very strange day
, Cavalo thought, laying his cheek down into the snow.

Everything was Wormwood now, Cavalo knew, and he thought maybe here would be a good place to sleep. He was tired. He was so fucking—

“Hi, Daddy,” Jamie said.

Cavalo lifted his head.

He saw Mr. Fluff first, dangling from his son’s hand, little stuffed feet dragging in the snow. Mr. Fluff with his dead, knowing eyes that should have been at the bottom of a river hundreds of miles away from here.

He couldn’t lift his head any higher, but that was okay because Jaime squatted down in front of him, knees almost bumping Cavalo’s face. He reached out with a finger and brushed it over Cavalo’s eyebrows. First the left. Then the right.

He said, “I’m glad you tried.”

“Yeah,” Cavalo croaked out. “Yeah.

“You did good, Daddy.”

“Yeah.”

“Just a little bit further.”

“I’m sorry,” Cavalo said. “For everything.”

Jamie giggled, playing with Mr. Fluff’s ears. “That’s a lot to be sorry for. Why are you sorry?”

“Because I failed you. I didn’t even—”

Jamie said, “Do you remember what I told you?”

“You told me many things.”

“I know, Daddy. But this was the most important.”

“I’m tired.”

“You can’t sleep.”

“Jamie.”

“Daddy. You have to wake up.”

“Let me go.”

“Cavalo.”

“Please.

“
Cavalo
!”

He opened his eyes.

Snow fell on his face. He opened his mouth, and it melted on his tongue.

Then:

“
Richie
!”

“Bill, you
can’t
go over there!

“He’s my
son
!”

“I know. I
know
. But he’s
gone
.”

“Oh you fucking bastards. You fucking pricks! Oh. Ah God. Ah. Let me go, Hank!”

Cavalo turned his head to the left. He lay a couple of feet from the lip of the dam. He reached out with his left arm and touched the edge of Dworshak. It was freeing, almost. Sort of sweet.

He turned his head right.

Here was the fire and chaos. Here was the pain and suffering.

He wasn’t trapped under the helicopter (anymore?). It was tipped up, broken rear toward the sky, nose down into the break in the dam. Thick, black smoke poured heavily from the wreckage. Fire crackled, and metal groaned as the helicopter shifted slightly, sliding toward the river side of Dworshak and the long, long drop below.

Bill stood near the wreckage, fighting against Hank, who held him back. Both were bleeding from their heads, Bill more heavily than Hank. He couldn’t see Aubrey or Alma. He wondered if they were hurt. He wondered if they were alive.

And Lucas.

Lucas, who had run by his side.

Lucas, who had not made the jump.

Cavalo tried to push himself up, hands flat against the ground, lifting his head and back.

Everything hurt.

He groaned as his vision doubled. He took in a ragged breath. He thought he might have a busted rib or two. Or six. He tried to call out to Hank. Bill. Anyone who could hear him, but he couldn’t get his voice to work, couldn’t make sound. His throat was sore and dry. His back was cold. He didn’t think this day would ever end.

He lay back down.

Then, “You tried… to
kill
me.”

A wet cough.

Cavalo raised his head again.

Patrick was pushing himself up off the ground from near Cavalo’s feet using his axe as leverage, partially hidden in the shadows of the ruined helicopter. Sparks shot out around him, hissing on the wet concrete. Smoke curled around his body, and Cavalo could see that showman’s smile in the dark, a twisted grimace that showed bloody teeth.

Patrick stood upright.

Cavalo croaked out, “Hey,” but Hank and Bill didn’t hear him.

Patrick said, “You did this.” He took a lurching step forward. The axe dragged along the ground behind him. He stepped out from the shadows. There was a large gash on his face, curving wickedly from his forehead down to his cheek and chin. The blood dripped into his mouth. Onto his chest. His shoulders and arms. His eyes were bright and wild.