Chapter 39
Colt led Oz and Danielle back down the stairs and through the foyer to a set of glass doors, where they caught up with the rest of Phantom Squad. But they all stopped short when they saw a Tracker standing in the parking lot.
Covered in what looked like reclaimed metal from German panzer tanks, it was thick and lumbering, with a gun turret in place of a head and two spotlights mounted to its chest. One arm was an actual cannon, the other a claw that it used to pick up a car and throw it at the school.
“Get down!” The wall shook and glass cracked as Colt shielded Danielle.
“That thing has to be thirty feet tall.” Pierce reached as though he was going to push the door open, but Oz pulled him back.
“What are you doing?”
“I want to get a closer look,” Pierce said. “Besides, it’s not like it can see us. It doesn’t have any eyes.”
“It doesn’t need eyes,” Oz said. “It has sensors.”
“What are those?” Grey asked as three armored vehicles with mechanical legs instead of tires skittered toward the Tracker. Soldiers manning .50-caliber machine guns mounted to the top of each vehicle opened fire on the Tracker.
“Class 1 Armored Walkers,” Oz said. “But the only one I’ve seen was a prototype.”
The Tracker tried to stomp on the nearest Walker, but the Walker was too fast. It dodged out of the way and crawled up the Tracker’s leg and onto its back and then its shoulder. The other Walkers followed suit, and the Tracker lashed out in vain with its clawed hand.
Colt spotted a yellow school bus on the other side of the parking lot. “Does anybody know how to hotwire a car?” he asked.
“Is that a trick question?” Oz said. He followed Colt’s gaze until he saw the bus. “You can’t be serious.”
“I don’t see anything else big enough to carry all of us.”
Oz shook his head. “Yeah, I can hotwire a bus.”
“Good, because this might be our only chance.” Colt burst out the door and into the parking lot, weaving between the vehicles.
“Here comes another one!” Pierce shouted.
A tremor shook the ground, and when Colt looked up he saw a second Tracker. It had an actual head with glowing eyes, and instead of a claw or a cannon it had articulated hands with five fingers. And it was heading right for them.
“Run!” Colt shouted. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he jumped up on the trunk of a Toyota Camry, leapt onto the roof, and then jumped back down to the asphalt.
The bus was only a hundred yards away, but the Tracker was closing in fast.
“Hurry!” Colt shouted. He looked back over his shoulder and saw a tentacle shoot out from the Tracker’s palm and lash around Pierce, hefting him off the ground. Pierce shouted, his arms and legs waving.
Oz stopped next to a fallen soldier and picked up his assault rifle.
“What are you doing?” Colt shouted. “Hotwire the bus. I’ll get Pierce.”
For a moment Oz hesitated, then he turned and ran as the shoulder of one of the Trackers opened. A cannon emerged, and the barrel flared to life as gunfire lit the sky, chewing up the asphalt and ripping through cars.
Colt felt power surge through his body as a flood of adrenaline raged. His chest heaved and a feeling of euphoria overtook him as the world slowed down. He ran toward the Tracker and leapt, grabbing hold of the tentacle that held Pierce. Colt pulled and metal groaned and the casing bent as it lashed back and forth, taking Colt on a dizzying ride. He squeezed harder, every fiber of every muscle straining. A second tentacle shot out and caught him on the side of the head.
“Get out of here!” Pierce yelled.
Colt let go, rolling as he hit the ground. In a series of motions he fished five magnetic grenades out of his ammo belt, set the detonators, and threw them at the juncture where the tentacles were connected to the hand of the Tracker. There was a short delay before the explosions, then the tentacle released Pierce before it fell away. He dropped to the ground, landing awkwardly and rolling his ankle.
“Hey! Over here!” Colt waved his arms up and down.
“What are you doing?” Pierce asked.
“It’s called a distraction—now go!”
“I can’t get up!”
“Go!”
Pierce forced himself to his feet, half limping and half running toward the bus.
The Tracker stepped toward Colt and the ground shook. Its head swiveled as it reached out a massive hand. Tentacles coiled around Colt’s shoulders, pinning his arms to his chest as it turned and headed for the football field.
Colt fought against the bonds, but despite his strength he couldn’t break free. The Tracker deposited him in the middle of the football field where five Thule transport ships were docked.
Thule warriors with massive guns stood watch over at least two dozen prisoners, including Sheriff Sutherland. There were too many Thule to try to escape, so Colt made his way to the sheriff to see if he could get any information.
“What happened?” he asked.
“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure,” the sheriff said. “Near as I can tell, the mayor must have coordinated the strike with Koenig, and we lost.”
“Now what?”
“They take us back to Gathmara where we’ll be declared traitors. Then, depending on Koenig’s mood, we’ll either be sent to labor camps or executed.”