Blast Protocol

Chapter 5

Maybe less of an explosion and more of a violent splitting, or crumbling. But the effect is the same.

Bits of concrete debris careen through the air. Some are small, the size of a thumb or hand, clustered like shotgun pellets.

I bring up an arm, deflecting a dozen concrete projectiles away from my face. Others rattle harmlessly against my torso and legs.

It's the bigger chunks I'm worried about. Most of them land several yards off and slide to a stop. But the largest, the size of a four-door sedan, seems to have a lot of momentum behind it. It rolls, spins, and bounces, heading directly toward us.

There's no time to react. And yet, Frosty the Robogirl does, throwing herself to the floor. The massive block flips at just the precise moment, passing over and past her, only managing to just barely touch a few locks of her still-falling hair.

I dive to the side, catching myself on one knee. There's an incredible whoosh in my left ear as it passes, crashing into several shelves and orchestrating a cacophony that will likely continue for several seconds, as a hundred objects crash and collide, clattering on the floor.

I rise to my feet.

Robogirl pushes herself up upright with her arms, flipping her hair out of her face so she can look over at the shattered section of the wall.

It happens so fast. But the moment is stretched out. Slowed down. A scene played frame by agonizing frame.

Little pieces of detritus fall, landing and dancing across the floor, like hail on a back lawn.

There's a thick, chalky cloud suffusing the room. Not enough to obscure the source of the commotion, but enough that I have to squint, and even wonder, briefly and distantly, if what I'm seeing isn't just some trick of the light.

Some different parallels come to mind. I think of certain quadruped mechs in Metal Gear; the ones from Peace Walker. I think of the Destroyer Droids in the Star Wars prequels. But even more than that, I think of that robot in The Incredibles, the one they have to fight at the end of the movie. It's eerily similar, with its round, ball-like body, and four retractable legs. Right now the massive legs are extended and taut, holding the orb-like hull up in the air, so high it appears to be partially stuck in the ceiling. Caught, somehow.

The girl's up and running. She grabs my hand, pulling me, torquing my body sideways. I run to keep up with her, but I keep the robot in the corner of my eye. Not sure I could stop looking at it if I tried.

There are two horizontal slits through the hull, splitting it into thirds, with one big section in the middle, and two outer sections, which can rotate independently. As the girl and I run, the bottom part of the hull—that part which isn't stuck—turns, and a panel underneath opens up. A twin-barreled turret emerges. Each barrel flashes intermittently as gunfire sunders the air in a deafening barrage. Bullets pass by us, sounding like sped-up hummingbirds. Shards of concrete rubble jump up like sentient things from the floor.

The girl is looking back at me, yelling something I can't make out. There's so much noise, visual and audio both.

Suddenly she digs in her heels. I veer to one side so I don't slam into her.

She reaches out, grabs the rifle looped over my shoulder by the strap, pulling the strap through and off my arm.

She aims at the robotic intruder and starts firing. It's automatic, and the recoil looks pretty intense, but she's handling it alright. Bright muzzle flashes light up her hair and face. She's hitting the hull and legs, generating sparks as metal collides with metal. She's aiming for the turret, trying to disable it.