Extracted

SEVEN

LEX

Something isn’t right. The room is different somehow. We have been to the Amber Room before, but this time it feels like there is something missing. Not in the room itself, but in the air around us. There is a void in the time stream, like the air in the room is going to implode on itself. I glance into the corner of the room, searching for the source of my discomfort. A crack that was never there before splinters down the wall. Subconsciously I reach back, taking Stein by the hand as I watch. The crack widens, and a small metal leg struggles through, tearing the crack into a small hole. It emerges like a mechanical chick bursting through an egg. I take the brush and shove it in my pocket. When I look back it’s not just one Gear Head, but three of them making their way through the crack.

“Run!” I scream.

Picking up the ornate chair from the vanity table, I chuck it through the window.

“I really hope Gloves doesn’t need that,” I say, urging Stein out. As I dive out the window behind her, a piece of glass grazes my shoulder. Instantly blood flows down my arm, soaking my sleeve as I fall.

We land on the main deck of the airship. The wind gusts across the steel bow, forcing us toward the railing. Stein grabs my uninjured arm and tugs me to the back of the ship, where long ropes tie it to the rocky cliffs below.

“Why are there Gear Heads?” Stein gasps, leaning forward over the rail. “They weren’t here last time.”

“I don’t know,” I answer, shaking my head. It doesn’t make any sense. Somehow they have tracked us to this place, and I have no idea how we are going to get past them.

I swear under my breath. “How could Claymore miss the disturbance in the time stream?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the Serum didn’t fix the problem and he’s still not functioning at one hundred percent,” Stein suggests, breathing hard. She holds my arm and peeks around my shoulder, looking more freaked out than I’ve ever seen her. She grabs me by the sleeve, “Lex, my Contra. It’s gone.” I glance down and see her vest torn, the pocket where she keeps her Contra hanging open.

“We need to move,” I say, ushering her forward. “If we can get far enough away, you can take mine and go for help.”

She nods grimly. “I don’t see them. Can you see them?”

I’m about to say no, but out of the corner of my eye I see movement. They are coming. And there are so many of them I can’t even count. I look back at Stein; her face is resigned. I nod over the edge to the ropes draped between the giant brass propellers.

“Remind me again how hiding the Amber Room fifty stories above the Grand Canyon was a good idea?” Stein says, climbing over the edge as she speaks.

The Gear Heads are advancing, chewing up the deck with their sharp pincers as they move. Sparks fly off the deck as the little robots rev the saws affixed to their other arms.

“They are going to tear through this thing like a can opener,” I say, clinging to the thick lead.

I look to Stein. A Gear Head leaps to the deck inches from where she holds the other rope. It turns its saw on the cleat holding her rope.

I lurch back onto the rail and swat the machine over the edge. It hits the propeller and red liquid from its domed head splatters across the bottom of the ship.

Cursing Gloves in the most colorful ways we can think of, we coil our legs around the ropes and begin our impromptu descent.

The heavy wind pushes at us as we dangle helplessly. “I don’t think this was covered in the orientation manual,” I say.

Stein laughs. “There was a manual?”

Once we are close enough to the ground, we let go, landing with a puff of dust near the edge of a deep chasm.

I look up to where the Gear Heads are climbing down the ropes behind us. “I’ll cut these tethers. You get the ones over there.”

Steins sprints to the cliff edge to untie the lashes holding the front down while I tackle the ones right around the base of it.

Untying one of the leads in front of a large outcropping of rocks, I pull the other one free from the sand. Just then I hear Stein scream.

“Lex, help!”

I look up and Stein is surrounded by more Gear Heads. They are pushing her to the edge of the cliff. “I’m coming!”

Dropping the last rope, I run to her. I don’t see it happen, but one of the updrafts from the cliff twists the large rope and it somehow wraps around my ankle. I trip, sprawling forward onto my face. As I flail to catch myself, I manage to push one of the Gear Heads right off the cliff. I wrap my hand around a chunk of root, which is poking up from the ground, to catch myself from going over. Dazed from smacking my head against the dirt, I look up, focusing on Stein. She loses her foothold as the Gear Heads drive her back again, and she kicks at them, but they are too quick. She tilts off-balance, falling backward off the cliff.

Screaming, I lunge forward from my knees to see that she’s got a one-handed grasp on a jagged rock just over the edge. I reach out, barely able to snatch hold of her before she slides over completely. She reaches up, trying to get a grip on my arm, but it’s slick with blood and she slips off, unable to get a firm hold.

“Stein, look at me,” I order, clutching her tightly by the wrist as her feet scramble to find purchase on the rocky cliffside. I scream again from the burning pain as my shoulder is ripped out of its socket. She’s not that heavy, but the angle is bad and I can’t make my muscles cooperate.

“Lex, please don’t let go,” Stein begs. She’s gone still now, trying to make it easier to keep my grip on her, but I feel her long glove slipping through my fingers. Her silk top hat has long since blown away, leaving her dark hair to blow free. I redouble my precarious hold on the tree root beside me with my good arm. I slide closer to the edge, scraping my belly along the loose gravel.

A sharp pain rips into my leg, making me scream.

Looking over my shoulder, I see one of the Gear Heads is trying to saw off my right leg. I look away, not wanting to watch the blood as it spurts out of my calf. I kick and wriggle, but it’s no use. The thing has clawed its way into my skin and isn’t letting go. Even as the pain shoots up my thigh, I fight to focus on Stein’s face. Her grey-blue eyes are wide, her face is pale and marred with dozens of scratches, and her hair is now matted to her forehead with blood and sweat. One of the silver rings that used to loop through her eyebrow has torn free, and crimson streaks leak down her face. I start to lose my grip on her.

I will not let you die, I promise inside my head. Somehow the words don’t make it to my mouth, as if saying it aloud is impossible.

“You little—!” I look back over my shoulder, giving my leg another quick jerk. I can’t move very far anyway, as I’m caught in the net-like tether holding the small zeppelin to the ground. If I had my other hand I could fight the little metal monster off, but I can’t let go of Stein.

I won’t.

I kick again, hoping to send the Gear Head over the cliff, but it isn’t enough. It has some sort of pincer attached to my calf and it’s slowly eating through the muscle. I turn and look over my shoulder. The blood flow is slowing to a drizzle. There is nothing I can do.

“Pull, Lex. Pull!” Stein yells, still scrambling to get a grip on me with her free hand. Not commenting on these anymore.

“I’m trying!”

My arms are getting weaker every second. All my adrenaline is gone and my leg—my leg is on fire, the pain shooting all the way to my brain. I can’t concentrate. I can’t lift her. This dawns on me just as my vision begins to blur. I feel a frustrated tear roll down my cheek.

I’ve never felt so weak.

“Don’t let go. Don’t let go,” I chant under my breath to myself, but my mind keeps jumping to that thing on my leg. She looks uncertain.

“Don’t let go,” I repeat. I try to pull, but my whole body is on fire. She knows I can’t hold her. I don’t know what hurts worse—the look of absolute forgiveness on her face or Tesla’s Gear-Faced Pinocchio cutting off my leg.

Can’t it go any faster? I wonder with a half-laugh, wishing it’d just cut the freaking thing off already. I can’t stand the pain anymore. Maybe if it just cuts it off, I can give in to the fog fighting its way into my head. My breathing quickens. Maybe I can just lie here and bleed to death. Anything to numb the agony ravaging my body.

Stein’s hand is getting hard to hold onto. I squeeze tighter. It seems the tighter I squeeze, the more she slips—as if I am squeezing her to her death. I start to panic. I thrash my leg with a fleeting hope that the Gear Head will dislodge. It doesn’t. My stomach roils. It’s all I can do not to vomit from the smell of my own blood and cut flesh.

“Help me!” I scream with the last of my energy. As the words leave my body, I slump, my chin hitting the ground hard. My fingers are losing their grip on the root. Maybe we’ll both go over.

“Lex, I’m slipping,” Stein says, her voice surprisingly calm. “You need to rift out.”

I want to look at her, but I can’t manage to turn my head that far. “No. I can’t leave you.”

“Lex, my jacket tore. I lost my Contra. You have to go without me.”

The words barely register in my brain. All I want to do is close my eyes and sleep. My mind is shutting off. Did I let go? Is that Stein screaming? I can’t tell. I can’t lift my arms or my head, even though Stein’s weight is gone. Turning my head to the side, I puke into the sand.

Lying face-down in my own stomach contents, I hear a distant explosion. Charred flesh falls and hits the side of my cheek. Part of my brain wonders if it’s mine—chunks of my hamburger leg. The pain is gone. The screaming is gone. My mind is gone. I don’t hear anything. I can’t even lift my head to see what’s burning. Is it me? I don’t care. Smoke slides across the ground, sending wisps into my nose and my throat. I cough. My hand is empty, I realize. As if on pure instinct, I let go of the tree root with my left hand and reach into my pocket to remove the small pill. For a moment, I think I will throw it away, but something stops me short. I place it on my tongue and swallow. My eyes flutter closed.

“Lex,” a distant voice calls. “Lex, can you hear me?”