Project Maigo(39)

A look of unadulterated annoyance wipes across Gordon’s face a second before Woodstock pummels it with a stream of bullets. The weapon sounds like a giant, angry bee, firing ten rounds per second. Just a fraction of a second is enough to reduce the average person into a hunk of unrecognizable meat. Nasty stuff. But Gordon takes it like it’s a fire-hose blast of water. He just leans forward, arms raised to protect his face, and keeps on coming.

For me.

But then there is hope. Flecks of black start shooting away from the flesh on Gordon’s arms and chest. The high caliber bullets are punching through his skin!

And that’s when Betty runs out of bullets.

Gordon straightens up and flexes his chest. The black flesh is all torn up. As his broad chest widens, its cracks open up, revealing lines of bright orange.

Then he’s running again, his big feet pulverizing the earth with each step. At least it won’t be hard for a forensics team to put together the story of my death. Realizing that wasting more ammo on Gordon isn’t going to do anything but put us in harm’s way, I shout, “Run!” and turn to follow my own command.

I’m a pretty observant guy, so as I spin 180 degrees and move my legs, I notice the tall, green grass ahead, the way it glows yellow in the sunlight and waves in the cool ocean breeze. I also notice the grasshopper, clinging to a thick blade, perhaps watching the unfolding scene with detached curiosity. But all of this flashes in and out of my mind in a fraction of a second, overwhelmed by the appearance of a moving shadow. It slides across the grass, shrinking just above the grasshopper, until Gordon lands. He jumped clear over me.

The grasshopper is a goner.

So am I.

Before I can fully stop, Gordon reaches out and catches me around the waist with his left hand. He lifts me from the ground, and I feel like a kid again, lifted off my feet by that horrible Gravitron carnival ride, helpless and ill. He quickly drives his right fist into my stomach. The armor I’m wearing helps absorb and redirect some of the force, but I still feel like I’ve been hit by a car. And I’m promptly hit by it two more times, each impact getting closer to liquefying my insides.

A gun fires, close and fully loaded. Six shots. Collins. She manages to pause his barrage, but only long enough for him to spin around and use me like a club. When my body strikes Collins, Gordon lets go, and the two of us topple to the ground. I’m not sure if I black out or not, but before I can even think about getting up, he’s above me, blocking out the sun, the grin still on his face.

He has no quipy final words for me. He just raises his meaty fist, eyes on mine, ready to squash my head. Bruised, battered and out of breath, I don’t have the energy or ability to move anything more than my hand, which I use to find Collins’s hand, and squeeze. A silent goodbye.

The fist descends like a blunt guillotine.





20



“Stop!” The voice is distant and weak, but the effect is impressive.

Gordon’s fist freezes, cocked back, still ready to mash my face, but unmoving. That’s not entirely true. The limb shakes against the invisible force holding it. Gordon, his face scrunched tightly in anger, teeth bared, is still trying to kill me. He just can’t.

Still unable to move and save myself, I let my head loll to the side. Endo limps toward us, his weight supported by Alessi. He’s clutching his ribs and he’s soaked through, dripping tide-pool water.

Why is Gordon—the neural implant! It’s attached to his temple. And it works.

“Step away,” Endo says. It’s almost a request, but Gordon obeys. Not without some resistance though. His body shakes with agitation, revolting at the idea of obeying his former subordinate.

A deep growl builds in Gordon’s chest, escaping through his grinding teeth as a muffled roar. His yellow eyes blaze with fury. I suspect the growl is an outward sign of his mental resistance, because Endo grunts and falls to his knees, holding his head.

I push myself up, despite the pain. If Endo loses his grasp on Gordon, I don’t want to be laying down waiting for him like a loose floozy.

Alessi helps keep Endo upright. “Are you okay?” She turns to Collins. “Help me.”

Collins seems torn between helping me up and assisting Endo. It’s nice that she cares, but we kind of need Endo to stay conscious.

“Go,” I tell her, pushing myself up like I’m tough shit and quickly regretting it. My whole body hurts. Going to for days. Despite me being Gordon’s punching bag, Endo looks worse off than me.

“What’s wrong with him?” Collins asks Alessi, helping hold Endo up.

“It’s Gordon,” Endo says between gasps. His eyes are clenched shut. “He’s fighting it. He’s—”