Grunt Traitor (38 page)

I cut her off. “Make sure there’s no incoming. I’m going to take care of this.”

I marched over to where Sula was standing. Sebring stood behind her, tiny next to the EXO. He wore a yellow hazmat suit a little nicer than the ones his cronies had worn. Question was, how had he gotten the better of Sula?

“Sula, report.”

Her eyes were wide and glassy. Her lips trembled as she spoke. Gone was the sure woman grunt I’d come to know. This was someone else entirely. “I was watching the battle and he came up on me. He says he has a claymore attached to the nuke and that if he presses the switch, it will kill us all.” She paused as she struggled to speak. “Do you think it’s true?”

“Probably. I see you hiding there, Sebring. Why don’t you come out so I can see you?”

“So you can shoot me? No way.”

“It takes a worm to assume everyone is a worm.”

“You can call me whatever you want, tough guy in the superhuman suit, but I’m a survivor. Now give me your suit.”

“This old thing?” I toggled a secure line to Ohirra. “Can you get a shot on this guy?”

“Negative. He’s too close to Sula.”

“Any inbound?”

“There’s activity above the hive, but nothing moving this way.”

“Keep monitoring.” Back to the public address system. “I don’t know if this is your size.”

Sebring laughed. “You’re one of the funny ones. Dewhurst already told me that it’s pretty much one size fits all.”

“Ahh, that Dewhurst. Always full of surprises.” I held out a hand. “I don’t suppose you’ll let us continue our mission to save L.A., would you?”

He laughed. “What makes you think I want L.A. saved?”

I had no answer to that.

“I had power on television. I could make or break a new act. I resurrected careers and became bigger than Casey Kasem. Then the world changed and left me with the only thing I have of value—my ability to convince others of the value in something... in this case,
me
. I require chaos. I curate strife. I need something to point my finger at and to tell my people that it’s the reason for all of their hunger, pain, and misery. I need that, like I need your suit and this nuke. Now, give me the damn suit.”

I began to unlatch my helmet. “Well, if you put it that way...”

“Two more incoming,” Ohirra said.

“Mind taking care of them, dear? I’m a little busy right now.”

“Lieutenant, you don’t have to do this,” Sula began.

I gave her a smile that stopped her from saying anything else. I climbed out of the remainder of the suit and stood in the cool fall evening, wearing only a pair of toe shoes and Kevlar skivvies.

“Now what, Mr. Sebring?”

He glanced from the suit to me. It was obvious that he’d never thought past his threat. He had a Claymore detonator in his right hand and now he could have my EXO. But how was he going to get into it without putting himself in harm’s way?

Finally, he gestured behind him, towards the dark entrance to the stadium’s kiosk.

“You want me to carry these there?”

“That’s right,” he said.

I picked up the EXO with two hands and managed to drag it towards him. I got two feet before I had to adjust my grip and turn around and pull it. The EXO with ammo weighed well over three hundred pounds. It took everything in me to move it.

“Easy,” said Sebring.

“Suit’s too heavy for me to do anything,” I grunted as I passed him, pulling the EXO behind me. I craned to see his left hand. I paused, wiped my brow, then glanced again. I could just make it out in the shadow between the rear of Sula’s EXO and the wall. He carried a pistol. It looked like a pocket 9mm, like a P238. Just big enough to fit in his palm while retaining the stopping power of a 9mm, using .380 ACP ammo.

I resumed heaving and pulling the EXO into the darkness.

“Hey,” Sebring called. “You went in too far.”

“Sorry man.”

“Bring it back out. To where I can see it.”

I walked to the edge of the darkness, my hands on my knees, feigning exhaustion. “Can’t do it. It’s too heavy.”

I could see him peering into the darkness. Finally he said, “Just don’t move. Get it?”

“Got it.” Just come a little closer, asshole.

He moved towards me, squinting into the darkness.

He took another step and as he moved away from Sula, I could see the wire running from the firing device to the claymore. He’d looped it; it could have been ten meters long. I could shout for Sula to cut it, but it might be too late. Better to work through my own solution.

Another step. He waggled the pistol towards me. “Don’t move.”

“Not even thinking of it,” I said as if each word weighed a thousand pounds. Every nerve fired in preparation.

He took another step. I could see the space between the lever on the firing device and the device itself and knew what to do.

One more step and I lunged forward. I shoved my left hand into that space, then gripped the firing device, trapping his fingers, the skin between my thumb and forefinger blocking the contacts. He let out an angry croak, then brought his pistol around. He was so eager to kill me that he’d fired before he realized it. The round passed harmlessly between us. The sound of the round and the kick of the pistol shocked him, and in that microsecond’s hesitation, I jammed my thumb under his and twisted my hand counterclockwise. If he didn’t release the weapon, I’d break his thumb.

The pistol skittered into the darkness.

His eyes went wide.

I headbutted him once, twice, three times.

Fucking rookie-wanna-be-terrorist-cult-leader.

He fell to his knees, dazed.

I stood over him, a vulture, the Angel of Death, an eagle prepared to deliver the final blow. Breathing heavily at the release of my dammed up adrenaline, I was prepared to kill him right there.

Blood tricked in my left eye and I wiped it away.

I yanked the clacker from his hand, flipped the bail to put it on safe, then went to the mine. It was attached with hundred-mile-an-hour tape. I ripped it free, then shoved the mine down the back of Sebring’s pants. Finally I gave the firing device to Sula.

“Use it if you need to.”

She stared at it for a moment, then her tight lips slid into a dark little smile.

I ran to Stranz, who was almost recovered. I helped him out of his suit and to his feet. He stood shakily. I steadied him. There was a danger in him being outside the suit, but there were no fungees or alien vines near the stadium. He couldn’t continue in his suit, so he’d have to take mine.

He started to protest, but I shook my head to cut him off.

“I’m immune to the spores. Whatever they did changed my DNA.”

We heard a scream, then the sound of metal pounding concrete, over and over and over.

Both Stranz and I ran to where Sula was stomping on Sebring’s dead body. She’d started on his chest and moved to his head, using the full might of the servos to slam into the flesh and bone of what had once been a man.

“Dear God,” Stranz said.

“Sula,” I whispered.

She whirled. “What? I can’t kill him? He would have certainly killed us.”

I shook my head at the savagery. “Is this what we’ve become?”

“Nothing more than what you did with Dewhurst,” Stranz noted. He stepped over a pool of flesh and blood to grab the claymore. He removed the blasting cap, rendering it inert, then tossed the mine aside.

“But he was a traitor. He put us in jeopardy. We trusted him.” Even as I said it, I realized how pointless the argument was; in the end, they were both still dead.

Stranz did something then that I’d thought beyond him. He put both his hands on Sula’s EXO’s torso and spoke quietly to her. I couldn’t hear everything he said, but I heard enough to know that he was calming her down. I nodded in appreciation. He’d only ever wanted to be a sergeant, and I’d made him one almost out of pity. Now it looked as if he’d truly earned it.

A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool.

William Shakespeare

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

T
HE HELICOPTER PILOT
had been hiding in the shadow of the infield. Ohirra leaped down the stadium and caught up to him just as he was trying to turn the engine over. She jerked him out of the seat and waited for me. I spent several minutes stripping dead men, scrounging clothes. I didn’t for a second want to continue the mission in nothing but my underwear. Luckily, between those who’d been shot and those who’d been tossed by the explosions, I was able to find boots and a pair of fatigues to wear.

I also found two 9mm pistols and eight full magazines.

Stranz came up beside me, wearing my EXO. Fresh sergeant stripes had been painted on his arms—I’d done it myself, with Sebring’s blood. He handed me a sheathed harmonic blade, scrounged from his old EXO. He’d fashioned a rope around it so I could carry it across my back. Not that I thought I had any chance of winning against the Cray in melee combat, but it might keep me alive long enough to continue the mission.

Down on the field, I spoke to the pilot. It turned out that they had more than enough fuel for us to escape if need be. I took him in the back of the Chinook, then hog tied him.

I hoped we’d be able to use the helicopter to get back in time after the nuke had been planted.

Now with just Sula, Ohirra and Stranz still in EXOs, we headed towards the 101 Freeway. We had a little over six miles to go before we reached our next decision point—the Metro station at Hollywood and Highland. That would put us just north and less than a mile away from the hive.

The trick would be to get there without me getting killed. If I found that I was at all a distraction or detriment to the mission, then I’d find a way to solve the problem, even if it meant my death, and I told them so. None of them tried to argue, which was a mark of their dedication to the mission. They knew and understood, simple as that. A lesser version of me would have been hurt, but I knew better. This was it. Whether I set the detonator or one of them did, it had to be done. My dying had absolutely nothing to do with it.

The order of march was Stranz, Sula, and Ohirra. Sula carried me in her arms like an awkward, giant ugly baby, as all three EXOs jogged through the snarled mass of cars that now made up the 101. I kept my eyes to the canopy above us and watched as the needlers flew back and forth, doing their business of pollination. Twice one flew towards me in an aggressive manner, but when it came near, it merely hovered, inspected me, then flew away.

We passed the exit to Filipino Town and Echo Park. What had once been home to drifters, half-price hookers, and dealers was now a deadman’s land of fungees. I spied a mass of them surrounding the water of Echo Park Lake in four deep rows, swaying in unison to an unfelt wind. We kept to the freeway, but I wondered if I’d experience strange memories if we got closer to them. What had that been about? Then I remembered how HMID Salinas had used my brain for computational space. What had they said? Each human brain had a capacity to hold 2.5 petabytes of binary data. Were these groups of fungees the same as neurons in the human body? Were they being used by the Hypocrealiacs as external brain space, or storage space for something important? I remembered the reports of groups of fungees surrounding a hive. They weren’t there to protect anything. They were there for their brains.

This new information seemed incredibly important, but I had no way to send it. We were too far for FM transmissions, and nothing could have survived the constant EMP pulses this side of the 605. I sent out a thought to Ethridge but got nothing in return. Either he wasn’t in range or I just didn’t have the knack for this.

You could try and use the fungees as a conduit for your transmission.

Where had that come from? Was it Thompson?
Thompson, is that you?
No response.

Could it be true? Could I tap into their brains and use it to slingshot, much like FM retransmission stations were used to boost the feed?

I realized we were slowing.

Ahead of us was the off ramp to Melrose. A mass of fungees six rows deep stood across both north and southbound lanes of the 101.

To Sula I said, “Tell Stranz to stop and wait for further orders.”

We stopped, and I closed my eyes to concentrate better. The voice had recommended I use the fungees. It only made sense. I reached out to them with my mind. My DNA had been changed so I was more like them than not. If only I could—

I was hit with an avalanche of memories—colors, smells, feelings filled me to bursting. I was laughing and crying, yelling and babbling. Christmas dinner and dog shit and burned marshmallows filled my nostrils. I felt love and despondency, as titanic mountains of emotion collided into me, reducing me to the sum of my parts. I felt myself slipping away, falling, losing myself, forgetting who I was. I drifted in a sea of everyone’s sorrow, life a half-remembered dream.