Odin turned forward again, firing at a drone that came in from the side door. One blast from his shotgun caused it to detonate, blasting all three men off their feet and peppering the walls with shrapnel.
McKinney raced forward to grab Odin.
He shoved the auto-shotgun in her hands. “Shoot!” And crawled to assist Smokey, who was tugging at the screaming Tin Man. Blood covered Tin Man’s legs, and a metal spike protruded from his thigh. Smokey was also bleeding in several places.
McKinney raised the heavy combat shotgun as a wave of drones surged forward in a way that was all too familiar from her research. She never thought she’d be facing weavers on their own level, but now that she was, she was really beginning to hate them. She opened up, and the recoil on the auto-shotgun wasn’t as bad as she expected. She kept the trigger down and panned the hallway over the heads of Odin and Smokey, who were dragging the screaming Tin Man back.
Dozens of drones blasted apart as she fell back firing. She was surprised how satisfying it felt.
In a moment Smokey was up again, firing with his HK. “Got it, Professor.”
McKinney lowered the smoking shotgun and reached down to help Odin drag Tin Man into the garage. There, Mooch took over.
Tin Man was cursing. “Motherfucker! I fell on one and a spike went through my leg. Their legs are aluminum spikes or some shit.”
It appeared that the spike had already been pulled from his leg, and Mooch was applying pressure.
McKinney looked up to see that Odin had gone back into the hallway, but now he and Smokey were falling back into the garage again—Smokey spraying with his HK, Odin using a pistol. In a moment they pulled the door closed behind them. Odin pounded it. It sounded solid. “Fire-rated door. Should give us a few minutes.”
They were both bleeding in several places.
Almost immediately the door began to deform in points with a popping sound—bullets being fired into it from the other side.
“Maybe not that long.” Odin looked ahead to the thick wooden gates of the garage door. The sound of bots surging against them rattled the doors.
McKinney held out his shotgun, and Odin grabbed it. “Thanks, Professor. Looks like we’re even.”
“Do you smell that?”
“The pepper?”
“Yeah. I think they’re laying down a pheromone matrix—like weavers. They probably release it as an attack signal.”
Odin nodded. “Interesting.”
Mooch looked up from ministering to Tin Man. “How bad are you, Odin?”
“Bullet fragments. Nothing serious. Foxy!”
“What?”
“If you don’t get that jeep started, we are fucked.”
“I appreciate your encouragement, but the battery was dead. I’m rigging an alternate with the comm set.”
Odin pulled the Rover tablet out of a pouch and looked at a raven’s-eye image of the house—from hundreds of feet above.
McKinney watched over his shoulder. The house was almost lost beneath the black swarm. They hadn’t even made a dent in it.
“What about Huginn and Muninn?”
“Ravens can outfly eagles. I’m betting they can outfly these things.” Odin tapped the screen. “Well, your computer model seems to work, Professor.”
“I’d like to get one. Examine it.”
The team groaned.
Ripper muttered. “You can study it while it’s chewing your fucking eyeballs out.”
The jeep’s ignition suddenly cycled, and the engine roared to life.
The group let up a shout. The hallway door was suddenly penetrated with a bullet hole. The projectile whined off the garage wall.
Odin motioned. “Load up! Professor, you’re a maniac at the wheel. You drive.”
“I don’t know where I’m going—”
“Downhill. We’ll handle defense. Do it! Go!”
McKinney crawled over the side into the driver’s seat, strapping herself in.
Odin grabbed an aluminum baseball bat leaning against the wall. “Everyone grab a club. We can’t use guns if they get in close quarters.”
Smokey grabbed several hammers off a pegboard above a worktable and tossed them to teammates. “Here.” Mooch grabbed a tire iron.
Everyone piled into the jeep, and with seven people it was tight. Foxy sat up front in the passenger seat, with Ripper, Mooch, and Tin Man pressed into the small backseat. Behind them, hanging on to the roll bars, were Odin and Smokey, trying to avoid kneeling on Hoov’s bagged body.
The group with proper seats was fastening and cinching seat belts. Tightening gun slings.
“Don’t take your helmets off. We’ve still got sniper stations out there.” Odin nodded to Smokey and Mooch as he looped his combat harness around the roll bar. “And if you don’t have a seat belt, strap yourself to something—we’re going overland, and it’s going to get rough.”