Something moved on her right, and Krysty stopped herself from firing at J.B. at the very last second. He shoved the loaded shotgun at her, and in unison they blasted the hellish nest of flexing machinery nonstop.
Something exploded outside the lab, and the cables slowed their relentless attack. Seizing the moment, J.B. slapped the damaged Claymore mine on the console and stabbed in a timing pencil where the timer used to be. As he reached to snap off the pencil, all the robotic arms festooning the ceiling reached for the couple, slapping aside weapons and pinning them helpless. Barely able to breathe in the crushing iron bonds, J.B. and Krysty struggled madly but were still dragged toward the waiting tables.
Somewhere the speaker crackled with static. “Unauthorized personnel secured,” the monotone voice reported to its dead masters as a spinning circular saw came straight for Krysty to harvest the unborn mutie. “Commence primary procedure.”
A deafening staccato filled the lab as numerous rapidfires peppered the ceiling with hot lead. Then Ryan hosed the control board with chem flames, filling the air with the reek of condensed fuel and propane. As the liquid fire seeped into the controls, sparks flew from the switches and dials, monitors shattered and the Claymore detonated.
Louder than a shotgun blast, the directional explosion blew a tremendous hole in the console, and the rest of the board went dark. Abruptly slowing their motions, the rods and cables soon ceased to move, the serrated edge of the rusty saw indenting the shirt over the woman’s taut stomach.
Rushing to her, Ryan grabbed the machine limb in his fist and ripped it from the ceiling, then cast away the filthy surgical tool.
“You okay?” he demanded anxiously, looking for any wounds.
“Just bruised,” Krysty replied, picking up her revolver from the floor. Pieces of wiring and IC chips were scattered everywhere, hydraulic fluid dripping from above to form red puddles on the steel floor, then trickle into drains.
“That explosion was you folks trying to get in,” J.B. said, unraveling a length of cable from around his waist.
“Blew a hole in the floor above,” Mildred said, passing him the dropped Uzi. “But getting to the next level took longer than expected.”
Expertly, the Armorer checked the rapidfire for damage before draping it over a shoulder. “More droids?”
“Not anymore,” Doc boasted, grinning with his oddly perfect teeth. “We came, we saw, we conquered.”
“Thank you, Jealous Caesar,” Mildred snorted.
Stooping under a table, Dean retrieved the M-167/ M-203 and took it to Krysty. “Here you go,” the boy said. “But I don’t think it’s going to work anymore. That barrel is pinched shut.”
“So I see,” the redhead muttered, and removed the half-spent clip from the rapidfire before laying the weapon aside. The M-203 was intact, but without grens the launcher was just deadweight.
“Take ammo,” Jak suggested, holding out a hand.
Krysty tossed him the mag, and the teenager tucked it into a jacket pocket. Scavenging through the debris, the companions spent a few minutes recovering the rest of the fallen weapons and sorting out the ammo.
“What is this place, anyway?” Dean asked, walking around the destroyed laboratory, the Weatherby cradled in his left arm, his right hand resting on the checkered grip of his Browning.
“Nursery,” J.B. muttered, straightening the brim of his crushed hat before returning it to the accustomed position. “Check those X rays. The babies look just like the mutants inside a Firebird. I saw one when the bus crashed and a rocket broke apart.”
Crossing the room, Mildred removed one of the film negatives from the darkened panel and held it to the flickering ceiling light. “Merciful God,” the physician whispered, her expression turning ugly. “If this was inside a normal female, then these aren’t muties, but genetically altered human children.”
“Breed on purpose?” Jak demanded, resting a boot on a broken section of the control board.
“So it would seem.”
“Why?”
“Most likely to replace comps,” Ryan said, frowning. “The BMP blast of a nuke fries electronics unless they are heavily shielded. Shielding no missile can carry and fly. But these whatever you call them would still be able to guide a missile to the enemy.”