Sherry Ficklin - Extracted

“Really?” I ask, immediately rethinking the wisdom of having her with us.

I look at her more closely. She might be fourteen, at most, and is still green around the gills. Mentally, I curse. The last thing I need is to get distracted trying to save a rookie.

“Relax, I do stuff like this all the time,” Sisson adds from across the room.

I want to say something—something profound and wise that will inspire my team—but nothing comes to mind.

Nobel runs ahead thirty yards and sets down a device that we call Miss Liberty. She has a face made out of gears and her torch is a small windmill. As the windmill turns with the slight cave breeze, the face gears click, indicating that she is functioning. These gears activate a small projector. The camera lens illuminates the floor with white light.

I approach the apparatus and hear Nobel talking to his machine.

“Good girl, that’s it, keep going,” he whispers.

The white light takes shape into the form of an arrow and points down the mine tunnel.

“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is our compass,” Nobel announces with great pride.

“So all we have to do is follow the arrow?” Bruce asks. My metal leg is nothing compared to the overhaul he got after an explosion on a subway a few years back. He was supposed to go in and grab a kid, a Rifter like us, whom Claymore had located. He got the kid, but neither of them came out completely intact. One arm is made of brass, and half his face is metal burned into skin. A large monocle covers one eye, and his ear is missing on that side. In its place is a tiny transmitter that allows him to hear by echolocation, like a bat.

“Well, sort of,” Nobel replies. “The arrow points to Tesla kinda like how a compass points north. So we need to pick the tunnels that head in that direction.”

“We’ve input all the data from my maps into her memory,” Journey adds proudly.

At every intersection and fork in the mine tunnel, Nobel sets up Miss Liberty. She keeps our bearings. Finally we find it—the sweet spot. Miss Liberty’s light shines on a section of wall that’s partially caved in.

Journey presses her ear against the rock and taps, then gives Slap Stick a thumbs up. We all run down the dirt tunnel a ways as he sets the charge. He’s whistling when he joins us. We crouch and cover our ears. Slap Stick’s whistle hits a high note that echoes through the chamber a second before the blast.

Everything is going smoothly. Too smoothly, I realize. We’re creeping silently through the old cargo tunnel. As we turn the next corner, the hair on the back of my neck stands at attention. Journey’s earlier words echo again in my head. Too easy.

“Guys, stop,” Sisson whispers harshly. “Did you hear that?”

As if by unspoken command, we all douse our lights. Bruce nods, and Sisson doesn’t hesitate. Her mini Steam Cannon crackles in the darkness as she pulls it from her thigh holster. Donning her night-vision goggles, she takes off down the tunnel to recon, able to navigate her way through the pitch darkness easily.

We hear the sound of her body hitting the ground, and then all hell breaks loose.

The darkness becomes a war zone. A blast of air blows past my face and I jerk to the side. Rapid puffs fill the tunnel. Then more familiar sounds—tiny metal legs running in our direction, and dirt crumbling from the walls around us.

“Lights!” I yell and the cavern around us illuminates as we reignite our lights.

My mind races. Forward or back? Do we push farther into Tesla or retreat now with my team mostly intact?

“Fall back.” I give the order even as Journey is running forward, into the line of fire. Journey is at Sisson’s side, pressing two fingers against her neck.

“She’s still alive,” Journey yells back into the chaos. “She got hit with a tranq dart.”

“Get her out of here,” I order. “Rift her back to Wardenclyffe!”

Journey complies, dragging Sisson past our line and back into the tunnel. Bruce shoves a Contra into Sisson’s mouth.

Journey pulls a Contra from a pocket on her shirt and swallows it quickly. The two girls vanish to safety.

“Take cover!” I order to the remaining team.

Bruce jumps behind a mound of rocks and packed dirt. Slap Stick kneels in the middle of the passageway and holds up a homemade pipe bomb, silently asking permission to light it. I nod as the first wave of Gear Heads crawls up the walls of the dirt cavern.

“Do it!” I yell.

“Good thing we packed the heavy artillery!” Bruce grins, tossing me a telescoping electric baton. I flick my wrist and it expands to four feet long. A small ball at the end crackles with electricity. I mouth, “Thanks,” just in time to hear Slap Stick cry out.

He slumps to the floor with the unlit explosive still in his hand. I don’t have time to think. I quickly slide to where he lies and press my index and middle finger against his neck. He still has a pulse.

TING, TING, TING, TING. I look down and see what has taken out two members of my team. Four red, feathered darts have hit my machine leg. I pick one up and roll it between my fingers. Gear Heads don’t fire darts, I realize, looking up. There are two small turrets mounted in the tunnel, and both are firing rapidly. Without thinking, I grab two bricks of C-4 off Slap Stick’s belt and throw them at the turrets. They hit with thick slaps and cover the barrels. That threat is taken care of, but the darts are only part of the problem. There’s something a lot bigger than Gear Heads blocking our way. I catch a glimpse of it as it slips behind the next corner.

“Nobel! Bruce!” I yell back to where the others are crouched. “Get over here! And bring Miss Liberty!”

They hurry down the tunnel wall and cross over to the intersection where I still kneel.

“Here, give me Miss Liberty,” I order. “And take this. Keep the Gear Heads off me.”

I hand over the prod and Nobel passes me the sculpture. He and Bruce step forward in the tunnel and continue chopping away at the onslaught of Gear Heads.

I break off the windmill, earning me a horrified gasp from Nobel.

“Oh man, why did you have to do that?”

“Because we’re low on weapons, three members of our team are down, and this mission is circling the toilet in a hurry.”

I take the small pipe and scramble over to where the darts fell after hitting my fake leg. I grab all four and crawl back to the intersection, stuffing one of the feathers into the hollow windmill post.

“Now we have a leg up,” I say, holding up my makeshift weapon and tossing the unusable body aside.

I see the creature turn and face us. It’s carrying a syringe full of clear liquid. It’s only sort of a person. It’s wearing a long white lab coat and a mask of brass and leather. Bits of thin, brown hair poke out around the edges of the mask, which looks not unlike Bruce’s. As a matter of fact, I have to glance over at him to see if he knows the strange creature. The stunned look on his face suggests he doesn’t. I leap forward, blowing on the small hollow rod. THUP…I load another…THUP…reload… THUP. Finally, I load the last dart and wait. A hiss of steam escapes the clockwork gears in the center of its chest and the creature crumples to the ground.

“Wow, nice shot,” Bruce says as he steps forward, kicking the creature with the toe of his boot.

“What is it?” I ask.

He shrugs.

Just then the room shimmers and Journey reappears. “I left Sisson back at Wardenclyffe. Figured you might still need me. So, what now?”

As we wait for Slap Stick to wake up, I try to fix Miss Liberty. Not my best work—we’ll have to manually crank it, but hey, believe it or not, it actually works. I hand it to Nobel, hoping his payback won’t be as bad now. Bruce hunches over Slap Stick, who is beginning to stir. He then comes to, wildly swinging his fists. Bruce has to dodge a few punches to keep from getting slugged.