Machine Man - Max Barry [82]
We didn’t move. I looked at Lola and her eyes were wide open and fixed on me. She looked pale. “You’re … okay.”
“I’m fine.” I threw a glance out the rear window. Better Future guards jogged after us. Still no Carl! I couldn’t think where he could be. But we weren’t moving, and that was more urgent. “Let’s go.”
“Maybe that was a mistake. Closing my eyes.”
The car dash was dark. There was a smell in the air, sharp and hot.
Lola leaned forward until her forehead touched the steering wheel.
“Did you …” I couldn’t think of a word for it. “Discharge?”
“I thought we … hit something. I thought you might be hurt.”
“Put your hands on the dash! Do it now!”
Better Future guards encircled the car, pointing weapons at us. “Let me see your hands!” one yelled, and another said, “Now! Do it!” in case there was any confusion. They seemed more nervous than when I had been trying to drive a car through them. A guard pulled open my door and leaped back, as if I might bite. “He’s moving!”
“No legs!” said the older guy with the mustache. “He’s not wearing the legs!”
“Confirm that! Subject has no legs!”
Guns disappeared into holsters.
“Get them into the van,” said Mustache. “Double time.”
Hands reached for me. “Go away,” I said, and was ignored. Two guys got me under the armpits and pulled me out of the car. “At least bring my legs!” I twisted around and caught a glimpse of guards dragging Lola out of the driver’s seat. Another was peering through the side window.
“Here … no, they’re not the legs! They’re just crutches!”
“Where are the Contours?” said a guard carrying me. He spoke with no strain.
A black town car drew to a halt in front of us. All its doors popped open at the same time. From the rear emerged Cassandra Cautery. Her gaze flicked over me and settled on Mustache. She seemed eerily calm, her face expressionless. It made me nervous because I had no idea what she was thinking. “The legs?”
“We haven’t—”
“Find them.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And put him in the car. We have time, I think.”
“Yes, ma’am.” They carried me toward the town car. Then there was a noise, a kind of crunch from somewhere far away, and everybody stopped. A siren wailed; a car or a house alarm.
“Screw,” said Cassandra Cautery. “He’s coming.”
She looked at the guards and snapped her fingers. They bundled me into the backseat of the town car and slammed the door. I noticed it wasn’t locked, so I opened it again. A guard looked down at me and pushed it closed. This repeated twice more.
“Stop that,” the driver said. My door locked with a thunk. I saw his eyes in the rearview mirror: condescension, from a guy with one foot resting on the accelerator of a 200-horsepower vehicle.
The opposite door opened. Cassandra Cautery slid her gray-skirted butt onto the leather seat. “Go,” she told the driver. As the car pulled out, she turned to look out the rear window.
“Where’s Lola?” I got no reply, so twisted to see for myself. The white van doors were pushed closed by guards, then the vehicle peeled onto the road behind us. A few remaining gray uniforms scuttled toward Angelica’s open garage. “Who’s coming?”
Cassandra Cautery looked at my thighs. This whole time, she was yet to have an expression. “She toasted the Contours, I assume.”
“Yes.”
“Good.” She glanced out the back window again. “Do you know what my life has been like the last five weeksh?”
I peered at her, because it