CHAPTER THREE
It began as an electrical tickle in the back of The Spine's head, his neural connections picking up … well, something. He frowned, causing the young female fan in front of him to hesitate as she gushed excitedly about how "youguysaresoawesomeand isn'the Jon justthe cutestand Rabbit" … breathe … "he'swellamazingan'all andMichaelhe sure canfracturethatbanjoand Sam'smoustache – "
The tickle grew more insistent and The Spine's boiler began to steam. Excusing himself from the slightly bewildered fan and giving her a gentlemanly tip of the hat and his fleeting but charming smile, he tapped Michael on the shoulder. The one-man-band was discussing diminutive chords with two other teenage female fans who seemed more intent on gazing into his eyes than learning about the intricacies of guitar-playing
"Rabbit and The Jon went back to the bus, right?"
Michael blinked. "Uh, yeah … I think so. Loading gear. Don't know if we should've let them though," he added with a wry smile. Rabbits and The Jons left to their own devices tended to make for messy. And noisy. Or disturbingly quiet, which was even worse than noisy, especially as it usually meant they were up to something. And sometimes everything became just plain weird. "I padlocked the refrigerator," he added helpfully.
"I thought you guys could kinda speak to each other," Sam said as he packed away the drum kit. "Y'know, like in your heads." He tapped the side of his own head for emphasis.
"Yes, well," muttered The Spine, "we can, normally. But this is an old building with thick walls. All I'm getting is interference. Although …" he looked puzzled, "although … I have a feeling something isn't right. I can't … quite …"
The tall automaton's head tilted sideways like a pug looking for a treat, and his demeanour suddenly changed. Green optics widened. It was just a faint whisper echoing through his neural circuits, but it was enough for him to straighten so quickly that Michael swore later that he heard The Spine's back give an audible snap.
"Nononononononononononononono nono … Spi – "
The whisper stopped abruptly. Then … silence.
"Spine?" Michael looked at the tall automaton, confused. When there was no reply, Michael dropped a concerned hand on The Spine's arm. "SPINE!"
The Spine blinked as though awakening from stasis.
Sam stopped tidying up the remnants of the drum kit and Steve glanced up from his task of coiling cable. The expression on The Spine's metal visage brought him to his feet in a moment.
The Spine looked at his friends. They looked back at him with concern. The two hovering fans took steps back, confused.
Without a word, The Spine turned on his heels and strode forcefully away towards the rear exit of the hall. By the time he had reached the doorway and broken into a heavy jog, his three friends were with him, confused, but knowing that there was something deeply wrong.
As they ran through the long corridor that led to the outside of the complex, Steve piped up, following in The Spine's wake.
"What the heck's going on, guys?" he yelled. "What's hap – "
The Spine glanced sideways, the look of determination on his face almost stopping Steve in his tracks.
"Rabbit."
That single word, and the force and worry with which it was delivered, was enough to silence all three of the humans, and they continued their way without another word. But they couldn't hear what The Spine was hearing.
The nearer they got to the doorway to the parking lot, the more The Spine picked up on the wireless. At first it was just static, a long, rawling jumble of crackles and clicks, but with every step the static cleared a little and then The Spine heard and saw … everything.
Explosions. Flares of flame-throwers in sultry jungles. The screams of children, their skin being eaten away by napalm. The stench of rotting human flesh in mud-engulfed trenches and entangled in barbed wire. The whine of Stukas as they dive-bombed refugees stumbling along unprotected railway lines. The piles of skeletal corpses outside a brick crematorium. A vision of himself through his brother's eyes, hurt and bleeding oil and lying in human-blood-soaked mud with his side blown out by shrapnel and oh God, Spine, don't die, don't die, don't die, don't die -
Rabbit's memories engulfed him. They swept through The Spine like a wave, and even as the oil trickled from his optics he heard more … an underlying glitching voice interspersed with hiccupping halts and the sense of blows and violence.
"Nononononononononononononono … s-s-s-t-t-t-o-o-o-op … helphelphelphelphelp … S-p-iiiinnnne …"
And in the background The Spine heard The Jon's babbling terror.
"Spine! They're hurting him! Help, Spine! Help Rabbit! Michael! Michael! Ya gotta come help Rabbit! Steve! SAAAAMMM! My fault! MY FAULT!"
Even as he ran, The Spine stumbled as his receptors became overloaded, Michael catching him by the elbow to steady him – not an easy task as The Spine was no lightweight, his metal chassis far more than Michael could handle. But the automaton righted himself without stopping, and within moments was exploding through the door from the dim corridor out, out into the bright sunlight to be with his brothers.
TBC
