Jeremy Robinson - SecondWorld

While he and Vesely had never been to the NSSB before, the building had been constructed in 2005, which was when the rumors of the underground rail began to surface from workers who’d been hastily laid off. No one ever investigated their claims. Until today, Miller thought.

He started through the parking lot, weaving his way through the endless sea of vehicles. The first cars to arrive had parked in the designated spaces, but as more and more cars and trucks arrived, the vehicles parked in the roads between the rows of early birds. The vehicles slowed their approach, but the organized parking job created long alleys through which to move.

Halfway to the National Security Sciences Building a shrill buzzer sounded and froze the trio in their tracks.

“Sounds like a halftime basketball buzzer,” Pale Horse said.

Miller shushed the man and listened. A distinctive whirring sound reached his ears. It approached from the right. Pale Horse was right in a sense, the game was changing. Miller was about to order the men to run when the thing shot into the thin, car-lined alley.

“Faster than Antarctic variety,” Vesely said as they all stared at the now-motionless robotic weapon. It looked essentially the same as the robo-Bettys they’d encountered before, but instead of a flat disk at the center, it was a semicircle. The thing looked like a bona fide UFO on wheels.

“What’s it doing?” Pale Horse asked.

“Nothing good,” Miller said. “Time to go.”

As Miller turned to run the other direction, a second robot rolled to a stop, thirty feet in front of him. These things were being coordinated. But by whom? Or what? “We’re boxed in!”

The two robo-Bettys zipped toward them in unison.

“Over the cars!” Miller shouted. The three men leapt over the nearest vehicles—a new compact car and an old pickup.

The whirring grew closer still. The robo-Bettys could drive beneath the vehicles! Miller jumped from the hood of the compact car onto the back of a big black SUV, and threw himself on top. A moment later, the compact car exploded from beneath. The impact flung him onto the hood of the SUV, knocking the wind out of him.

The pickup truck exploded a moment later. Vesely, who had reached the front of the next car, was spared the majority of the impact. Pale Horse was sent flying and landed in the gap between vehicles.

Miller rolled off the hood and saw Vesely picking Pale Horse up. “Everyone okay?”

“Fine,” Pale Horse said.

Vesely gave him a thumbs-up.

“They’re not Bouncing Bettys anymore,” Miller said.

“Too many hiding places,” Vesely said. “Ineffective.”

The problem was, the weapons had been adapted so that they could turn the vehicles into giant shrapnel bombs. If any of them had been closer to that car when it exploded, they would have been shredded. A second explosion made them all duck. “Gas tank!” Miller said.

They were surrounded by bombs, just waiting for a fuse. When he stood, Miller saw the pickup truck engulfed in flames. The blaze would soon spread to the surrounding cars, which could also explode.

The sound of several more approaching mobile bombs sent Miller into action. He climbed to the roof of the next car and searched the parking lot. The small things whizzed between and under cars as they converged toward the three men. “Stay on top of the cars, and don’t stop moving!”

Miller led the charge. They needed to cover one hundred yards over the roofs of nearly fifty cars. What could have taken fourteen seconds on flat ground would take more than a minute leaping from roof to roof. The bombs closed the distance quickly. The first exploded a little prematurely, four cars behind Vesely, who brought up the rear. The red hatchback flipped into the air. The explosion stumbled Vesely, but didn’t knock him over.

Miller glanced back to make sure the man was okay, but when he saw Vesely, the man was stabbing his finger ahead. Miller spun forward and found one of the robotic bombs tearing toward the Cadillac upon which he stood. There was no time to leap away, so he raised his sound-suppressed UMP, took aim, and squeezed off a tight three-round spread. The first two rounds found pavement. The third hit the red light dead on. The small engine fell silent and the vehicle rolled forward. It came to a stop against the wheel of the Caddy, and didn’t explode.

A car behind Vesely exploded, and this time the impact sent him sailing. He crashed onto the roof of the next car. Pale Horse jumped back to help him up.

“Aim for the light!” Miller shouted. He wasn’t sure what it was, but thought it was some kind of sensor, probably tracking body heat. And now that it was blind, the thing couldn’t see him, and thus, didn’t detonate when it came within range. It was his best guess, anyway.

As Vesely was pulled into a sitting position, he whipped out his pistol and squeezed off a single round. The bullet streaked past three cars, sailed past the red light sensor on the front, and struck the domed disk in the middle.

The explosion knocked Pale Horse and Vesely down. Though it was farther away, the force of the blast wasn’t dulled by a vehicle. Miller ran back and yanked both men up. There were still five of the little bastards on the way.

“I said aim for the sensor,” Miller said to Vesely.

Vesely shook his head, clearing it. “Aim can’t be perfect every time.”

“Thought you were gunslinger?” Miller said.

He took aim in the direction of a distant whir and fired twice. When Miller peeked around the man, he saw two disabled robo-bombs, fifty feet away.

Before Vesely could gloat, several more whirring engines grew louder. The sound came from the direction of the National Security Sciences Building. Miller realized the vehicles were approaching from beneath the cars. They’d only be visible for a fraction of a second as they passed through the open space between cars. “Go back!”

The trio jumped back over the next line of cars. As Miller slid over the hood of a black Corvette, he rolled onto the ground and quickly saw a single red light approaching in the shadow of a car just twenty feet away. He pulled the trigger four times before the red light winked out. It was replaced by two more, coming in fast.

Miller jumped up, scrambled over an old Chevy station wagon. He dove from the back of the wagon, sailing over the cab of a Ford F150. The station wagon exploded a moment later, its front end lifting off the ground. As Miller moved to the back of the F150, the wagon’s gas tank exploded. The jolt knocked Miller from the back of the truck. He couldn’t see the last of the robo-bombs through the smoke, but he could hear it closing in. He turned left and bolted down the alley between cars.

The robo-bomb entered the alley just seconds later and accelerated. Miller had just seconds before the thing slid up behind him and blew him to pieces. He fired several rounds over his shoulder as he ran, but none found the mark.

“Survivor!” Vesely shouted.

Miller turned forward. Vesely stood over the alley, each foot on a car to either side. He lifted his gun, aiming toward Miller’s head.

Miller dove forward, rolling beneath Vesely as he pulled the trigger.

The loud report of the .38 Super drowned out the sound of the robo-bomb’s engine, but Miller knew Vesely’s aim had been true when the thing rolled to a stop against his leg.

Miller bent down to look at the robot and several things happened at once.

A breeze kicked up just over his head.

The car next to him imploded.

And he heard a very loud, rapid buzz that sounded an awful lot like a minigun.

Contrary to how it sounds, the minigun is anything but small. The heavy machine gun’s six rotating barrels can fire up to six thousand high-caliber rounds per minute. And judging by the sound of it, Miller thought that there were actually two miniguns firing in tandem. A glance at the ruined car confirmed it. Twin streaks of destroyed metal ran from back to front. If Miller hadn’t ducked to look at the robot, he’d be missing the top half of his body.