Only Tibbs Hoyt knew. And President Jack, who had kept it a secret. Until now.
I stood there in stunned silence.
President Jack cleared his throat then sipped more of his sparkling water. “You know your Greek mythology Ms. Weller, and I assume you know your Hindu mythology as well. What was your friend’s name? Some nice Indian girl, I believe. That’s one thing I did well, brought in as many Indians as wanted to come. Yay, me.” He grinned at me again. “I say that a lot. Self-esteem was never one of my issues.”
“Cut to the chase, Jack. And my friend’s name was Anjushri.”
He nodded. “I’m not as sharp as you, but I love them Hindu tales where a strong woman is wronged, and she sits down and meditates, prays so hard, gets so much shakti, that the gods in Heaven start quaking in their boots. A woman like that can destroy the universe.”
I shrugged. “So?”
“You’re going to destroy Tibbs Hoyt, and the world will be better for it. What’s that new LeAnna Wright song?”
I knew it, right off. It would become one of my favorites. That whole album would be. I quoted the lyrics. “’Cause worlds die when women hunt gods.”
The old guy nodded. “All the children cry when women hunt gods. So you go get ’em, Cavatica Weller. You take your shakti and you end him before he hurts my family with his goddamn monsters.”
“I plan to, Jack. But you can’t tell anyone where I’m at, or my friends will die. And you can’t have Eibling tell. Hoyt thinks I’m in Kansas.”
“You have my word.”
It was my turn to grin. “That’s not worth much coming from a damn Texan democrat.”
The words had barely left my mouth when the zeppelin ripped almost in half. The pressure had been too much for the infrastructure of the airship. President Jack nearly went tumbling to the ground. I caught him and pulled him away from the cracked foundations of the Evermore.
I caught hold of a curtain near a porthole. He gripped my leg. We were both given a view of the ground.
Coors Field had become a charnel house. Gamma bodies lay in huge piles of death, dripping gore. Outlaw bodies were sprawled next to them. Piles and piles of Octos and Regios lay unmoving. The smoking wrecks of Stanleys filled the landscape. Only two stood, the Marilyn Monroe and the Angelina Cash, but both were damaged, out of ammo, swinging their great arms to protect the last Cargador anchoring the front half of the Jonesy even as the Heartbreaker anchored the back.
Dizzymona crouched next to them, her great bulk holding that M134 Minigun, decimating Regios coming for them. It looked like she was the last of the Gammas. I blinked. Her legs were gone. She was fighting even though her legs had been blown from her body.
She glanced up as the minigun spun empty of bullets. Her grotesque face, twisted and yet so powerful and beautiful, gave me a last grin.
Enemy rounds riddled her ruined body, hit her head, and she slumped over.
A fresh batch of Octos swept past her and clambered onto the last two Stanleys.
The Octos latched onto to the car-part robots with their tentacles and machine gunned the women inside. I watched Nichola Nichols die just as I’d watched Dizzymona die.
We’d sacrificed everything to get our intel.
But I had what we’d fought for: the location of the secret ARK facility and the wretched truth about the Sterility Epidemic.
Where were Wren, Sharlotte, June Mai, Pilate, and Baptista? I didn’t see them in the riot of death below.
President Jack’s fingers were a bit too painful on my leg. “Ouch, Jack. We need to get off this bird. Can’t do that if you break my legs.”
The Evermore continued to pop and crack, coming apart in the sky. Almost tearing in half, but not yet.
And our problems were just beginning.
The ARK had brought a Rico Device onboard, a nuclear bomb destined to blow Denver into nothing but dust and sorrow.
Chapter Twenty-One
AND SHE WAS PARTED from them about a stone's cast; and she kneeled down and prayed, saying, “Mother, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but thine, be done.” And there appeared unto her an angel from heaven, strengthening her. And being in an agony she prayed more earnestly; and her sweat became as it were great drops of blood falling down upon the ground.
—The Gospel of Luke, Chapter 22, Verses 41-44, The Lincoln-Omaha Translation of the New Testament, Copyright 2061
(i)
Jack and I staggered into the main hallway. His suite and all of the other luxurious rooms were gone. Around me, Kevlar slapped and flapped in the wind—the air cells above were visible. Only the central corridor remained but it might come loose at any minute.
Bullets struck one of the only remaining walls around us. I dropped to the floor then pulled Jack down. He was white, trembling, scared for his life. I could relate.
A grappling hook chunked next to me, embedding itself into the neofiber frame of the Evermore. An Octo started up the line. Hundreds followed. Hundreds. Damn, but Hoyt had gotten good with his home-brew.
They left the husks of the Marilyn and the Angelina. Tentacles lashed out, fingers and monkey-feet gripped the cable, all crawling toward me, their black eyes sprinkled across their faces like licorice drops. Mouths grim slits.
Bootsteps pounded down the swaying, creaking corridor. Swiveling, I was met with a welcome sight: Sharlotte’s prosthetic leg and her real one, her boot encrusted with snow, mud, and blood. My sister had somehow managed to get onboard the damaged airship.
She bent and fired Tina Machinegun. In a rattle of bullets, the first of the Octos was sent falling.
Sharlotte hadn’t come alone. Baptista, June Mai, and several of her outlaws ran up next to her, returning fire.
