I Am Automaton: A Military Science Fiction Novel (25 page)

Peter popped up next to him, gasping, choking, and clawing at Carl.

“P-Pete. We…did…it.”

Pete held onto Carl as if his life depended on it. Carl backstroked over to rock, dragging his brother with him. They waited until they caught their breath, and then they pulled themselves and each other up onto the cold, jagged rock.

Peter put his head back on the rock while Carl looked around. “You were right, Pete. It’s another cave.”

Peter was panting, but he sat up and surveyed their surroundings. A few heads popped up in the water. Some others had made it through.

All in
all, there were now eight of them left. The other SWEEPER had made it through with his apparatus too. It was their training. Army did not part easily with their equipment during combat. In total, there was Peter, Carl, Mirabella, Barnes, Munger, Hasbro, Smithe, and Longo.

Peter looked up and saw daylight. It was a way out. But this opening couldn’t have been much farther away from the original cenote.

“Sir, what do we do now? The platoon’s wiped out.” Private Barnes asked.

But before Peter could answer, there was a loud boom that shook the cave.

“What the hell was that?” Carl shouted, his ears ringing.

“That’s Lorenzo tying up loose ends,” explained Peter. “We’ve got to get out of here before he figures out that he didn’t get all of us.”

“How would he know?” asked Private Mirabella, the other SWEEPER.

“Trust me, he’s checking right now. We have to scale the sides.” He pointed to the far right wall. “The wall is jagged. It should be easy to climb.”

The other side was too smooth. There were a few jutting rocks, but none that formed a natural spelunking trail out of the cave.

Peter led the way, grabbing a hand and
foothold and hoisting himself up. The others followed one at a time. All Carl could think of again was Victory Tower.

Lorenzo was peeking in the hole and counting silently with one finger. “Nope. I don’t think that was all of them.”

“Come on,
senor,” coaxed one of the Navajas, a short but stout man in beige pants and a sweat stained wife beater. “There’s no way anyone could’ve made it out.”

Lorenzo was about to give in to his compadre’s wheedling when he caught movement in his peripheral vision. He looked over and saw eight men climbing out of an adjacent cenote.

“Well I’ll be damned…PETER, I SWEAR YOU MUST HAVE NINE LIVES.”

Peter looked over at Lorenzo startled.

“Okay, men. MOVE,” he ordered.

They began to take off into the brush. They ran as fast as their weary legs would take them. They heard shouting in Spanish right at their backs and bullets flew over their shoulders as the wind picked up.

Peter looked down at his watch. The storm was coming. They didn’t have much time.

“Pete…where are we…going?” Carl panted.

“There’s three hotels…around here…I’m aiming for…the closest one. If we can…get shelter before the storm hits…it might buy us some time.”

“Time…for what?”

“To formulate…a plan.”

“But won’t that…be putting civilians…in jeopardy, sir?” Mirabella ventured, running alongside.

“Do you have…another idea? Because I’d love…to hear it.”

No one answered him. It was the best plan they had. Maybe the Navajas would not risk exposing themselves. But he wasn’t so sure about Lorenzo.

Lorenzo ran behind the Navajas with the stout man.

“They’re headed for one of the hotels,” the stout man shouted.

Lorenzo picked up his Mini-com Muti-tasker. “Halt your men, Vargas.”

Vargas looked at him questioningly.

“Do it.”

Vargas whistled loudly and shouted for the men to stop.

“Lockwood, come in.”

“Lockwood, here.”

“We’re coming to meet you. There’s been a wrinkle.”

“Copy that. Will await your arrival.”

Vargas was glaring at Lorenzo. Lorenzo was growing tired of him. “Oh, what are you looking at me like that for?”

“We could have had them, you stupid gringo.”

Lorenzo snapped. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a freaking category four hurricane ready to drop right on top of us. We’ll never catch up to them in time.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“The ID are going on their next mission.”

Vargas’ eyes grew wide, and he had an expression of disgust on his face. “There are tourists down there.”

Lorenzo mocked him. “Why Vargas, it’s not your reputation to be so squeamish. You don’t want them getting away so they can rat out our whole operation, do you?”

Vargas just glared at him. “I am not squeamish, senor. It just seems very…messy.”

“We don’t have any other choice. This storm will wipe us off the face of the Yucatan. Besides, it’s practice. Just think of it as another field test for the ID. Whatever is left when the ID are done, we’ll deal with personally…
after the storm
. Comprende?”

Vargas shoved past him, bumping shoulders very pointedly, in a silent rage.

“Patience, my stupid friend,” Lorenzo said to himself. “All good things come to those who wait.”

Peter and what was left of his platoon tore through the wilderness as the storm descended on Xcaret. The wind fought their efforts, slowing them down.

But, as Peter fathomed it, at least they had the Navajas off their backs. All they had to do was find a hotel. He consulted his Muti-tasker, which showed the Yucatan Grande Resort to be only a few clicks away.

They were assailed with various indigenous debris—palm fronds, branches, even pebbles—as the winds picked up. If they didn’t make it to the hotel, they were history.

They came upon a
chain link, perimeter fence on the outer boundary of the resort. They scaled it in quick order, nearly being blown over at the top.

The grounds looked deserted. The winds were tearing apart the thatched roofs, and debris cracked exterior windows and glass sliding doors. The surface of a large, amoeba-shaped in-ground swimming pool was tossing and foaming like the great sea itself in miniature, and lawn chairs were thrown to and fro.

They crossed the grounds slowly, arms locked in a tight huddle, their course zig-zagged as the wind pushed them back and forth.

“They’ll be holed up in the convention center,” Peter shouted over the now roaring wind. “Look around for it. It should be a large, concrete structure.”

They passed along side of an exterior fence adjoining a zoo and wildlife park. There were separate buildings with individual units for guests. They wandered into the center of the resort, in between buildings, which provided some small measure of shelter from the wind.

Carl was waving Peter over. He was standing by a sign. Peter shielded his face with his forearm and made his way over to where Carl was standing.

“Pete, it’s a map of the grounds. The convention center is right through the atrium on the left.”

Peter smiled at his brother, impressed. “Nice job, Private.”

They made their way through the atrium quickly, the very large thatch roof covered an expansive outdoor bar area and was on its way down.

There
it was on their left. A large square concrete structure, just as Peter pictured it. The main entrance was blocked by fallen beams and debris.

He gestured for the others to follow him around side. There were two steel doors on the side. Peter tried to open them, but they were locked from the inside. He took the butt of his rifle and began to bang on the door.

They waited as branches and dirt pelted them and the wind tossed them around like rag dolls.

“Maybe they’re not in there,” shouted Barnes.

“No, they’re in there,” replied Peter. “They have to be. It’s locked from the inside, and where else would they be?”

He banged on the door again. Barnes helped.

Carl scanned the area nervously. He figured the Navajas would have to be crazy to pursue them in this storm. He prayed Peter was right and that they would at least have until the end of the hurricane.

Finally,
the doors opened, slowly at first until the wind hijacked them. A terrified hotel staff person in a tacky pink outfit with a green vest gawked at them as if they were from another planet.

They pushed their way in, aided by the wind at their backs, and they helped two hotel staff push the doors back closed. The two men then rammed the bolts home.

Carl looked around and saw a crowded auditorium of scared tourists. He figured they must’ve looked like something out of a science fiction movie with their black suits and space age guns.

A small man in a green suit and a
nametag approached them. He said something in Spanish. When he saw they didn’t understand, he immediately switched to English.

“Pardon me, but who are you?”

Peter took the small man aside in confidence. He didn’t want to alarm the auditorium full of tourists. A futile gesture.

“I’m Lieutenant Peter Birdsall of the United States Army, and these are my men.”

“The United States? What are you doing here?”

“We…were sent down to provide relief.”

The man wasn’t buying it, so Peter shrugged and did his best to look sheepish. “Apparently we got caught in the storm ourselves, but we’re glad we made it. Is there anything you need?”

The diminutive man still looked like he was having difficulty swallowing Peter’s story. “You are cooperating with local authorities?”

“Just lending a helping hand.”

After a moment, the man decided to answer Peter’s question. “We have clean water and snacks for the guests, enough to last us until morning. But the bathrooms are backed up.”

“Okay,” Peter didn’t know what to say, “it looks like you have the situation under control. The plumbing is unfortunate, but it can’t be helped at the moment. We’ll just stay out of your way and help keep order.”

The man nodded uncertainly while nervously eyeing Peter’s defunct rifle. “I’ll have to announce your presence to the guests, so they don’t panic.”

Peter looked at the man’s nametag. “Absolutely, Jorge. Good move. Smart. You go do that.”

The man nodded dutifully and gathered his employees. He then got on the bullhorn and began to relay what had just happened and
who their new guests were.

While this was going on, Peter got his men into a huddle. “Alright, I told them we’re here for support. There’s no reason to tell them that
fully armed drug cartel members led by a couple of mercenaries are coming their way. We have the night to formulate a plan and either get them out of harm’s way or lead the harm away from them. This obviously isn’t a good place to make a stand.”

“Do you think they’ll come for us and involve all of these tourists?” Carl asked.

“They can’t afford to let us live, knowing what we know,” Peter explained. “Besides, tourists mean nothing to the Navajas. They are absolutely ruthless.”

“And our weapons aren’t even functioning,” Barnes added.

“Yeah, but we don’t want the people in here knowing that, Barnes,” Peter said. “It won’t inspire confidence. As long as we keep the illusion that nothing’s wrong, they should behave and stay out of our way to let us do what we need to do.”

Carl flipped on his MR.UD. It flickered, but it turned on. “Hey, my MR.UD is working.”

Peter came over to look. “But how?”

“Only flimsier electronics are blown by EMP. Heartier equipment may be unaffected. I guess Farrow knew what he was doing when he made these things.”

Peter nodded. “Good design. But these guns aren’t worth a shit.”

“Private vendor, lowest bidder
,” Carl reminded.

“Right. So how do we fight off an assault without any weapons?”

“Maybe the authorities will be here in the morning,” Carl said. “They can help us.”

Peter looked like he had seen a ghost.

“What, Pete? What’s wrong?” Carl asked, perplexed by his brother’s reaction.

“I think we may have less time than I thought,” Peter said gravely.

“What do you mean?”

“You just said it yourself. Lorenzo won’t have an opportunity tomorrow morning with the Mexican authorities around…”

Carl finished his brother’s thought. “So it’s coming tonight. But how? The storm…”

“Carl, they have two more crates of approximately sixty ID at their disposal.”

“Oh, right.”

“So you mean Lorenzo’s going to use the ID against
us
?” Barnes asked incredulously.

“Makes sense, do
esn’t it?”

Barnes was silent, his mind running through various permutations of grisly demise.

“SWEEPERS,” Peter ordered, “Sweep the walls of this convention center. Let me know if you pick anything up on the outside. Just keep going back and forth. Oh, and pretend like you’re sweeping the crowd. Keep up the illusion.”