Prototype D (Prototype D Series Book 1)

  Contents

  Title Page

  Books By Jason D. Morrow

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

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  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  Prototype Exodus

  Other Books By Jason D. Morrow

  Links

  About Jason D. Morrow

  Prototype D

  By

  Jason D. Morrow

  Edited by Beth Morrow & Emily Simpson Morrow

  Copyright © 2015 Jason D. Morrow

  All rights reserved.

  Books by Jason D. Morrow

  The Starborn Ascension

  Prototype D

  Prototype Exodus

  The Starborn Ascension

  Anywhere But Here

  Away From The Sun

  Into The Shadows

  The Starborn Uprising

  Out Of Darkness

  If It Kills Me

  Even In Death

  The Marenon Chronicles

  The Deliverer

  The Gatekeeper

  The Reckoning

  1

  His eyes glowed and the clouds above him came into focus. The sky was mostly flat and gray, overcast with a bleakness that engulfed the sun. Of course, he had never seen the sun before. He could have scanned the archives embedded in his memory, but having knowledge of the sun and actually experiencing its warmth were two different things.

  He lay on his back and had no memory of how he had gotten there. One by one his fingers started to twitch. From there they began to curl, and as they did he could feel the pressure sensors in his digits groping at the earth beneath him. With his right hand he made a fist and pulled the grainy substance away from the ground and held it above his face. Tiny red particles escaped his grip by the hundreds between the gaps in his fingers.

  Dirt.

  This time he did scan the archives in his mind and confirmed that yes, this was dirt. He let his fingers relax and the rest of the particles fell freely. Immediately his vision was impaired by the small cloud of dust and his body jolted upward into a sitting position. He shook his head quickly, trying his best to make the dirt fall away from his eyes. He looked at the ground next to him and then at his hands, a cold, hard metal. They felt strong as he tightened his grip on another fistful of dirt. This time he held up both hands in the air and let the grains fall slowly. The clouds of dust were bigger this time and he had to wave a hand in front of his face to clear the air. Clear vision, however, did little to present new information. The red floor went on endlessly in every direction until it collided with the gray sky. And he was completely alone.

  He bent his metal legs and pressed his feet firmly into the ground and pushed until he stood upright. With his eyes scanning the terrain, his visual sensors determined that he stood at exactly two meters high. This height did nothing to extend his view, nor did it help his perspective. It didn’t matter what direction he looked, the horizon went on into infinity.

  He thought he should take a step, but in which direction? There was no variation in the landscape but for a single dune toward the north, no reason to go one way over another. Whatever direction he took would be random and meaningless. But the action of doing so wouldn’t be. At least a step would take him somewhere, though by the looks of it perhaps there was nowhere to go. He lifted his heavy foot, took one step forward, and stopped. It wasn’t something he saw, for nothing in the landscape had changed, but instead he heard something: a short crackle followed by a low hiss. Then, a voice.

  “Prototype D, do you copy?”

  The voice was clear and he turned sharply to see if someone might have come up behind him somehow. Again he looked in every direction. Nothing. How silly was he to think that? He had already scanned the area and it was completely desolate.

  The voice came back again. “Prototype D, do you copy?”

  The noise was inside his head. Someone had tapped into his communication receptors. Until this very second, he didn’t even know he was equipped with such a system. He would have to check his full schematics later.

  “Yes,” he said. It was the first time he had ever heard his voice. It sounded strange to him like his amplifier had been built inside a hollow tin can.

  “Good, how are you feeling?” the voice asked him.

  “Who is this?” He could feel his fingers start to tense. His structure felt rigid as if he was ready to jump at any moment.

  “My name is Hazel.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t remember my name,” he said. “You called me Prototype D. Why?”

  “What if I just went with Des?” Hazel asked. “Would you like that better?”

  “I do not have a preference for my name. It just bothers me that I don’t know it.”

  “It’s Des,’ Hazel assured him.

  “Do you know where I am?” he asked.

  “I’m not allowed to tell you that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because there are powerful people who don’t want me to say.”

  “Then why are you talking to me?” He continued to look in all directions hoping something might show up if he simply looked hard enough.

  “You have an important job to do, Des.”

  He waited.

  “But first I have to know you’re willing to follow directions. Are you?”

  “That depends on the directions given,” he said. “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “Because I’m your creator.”

  He froze, finally fixated on a spot on the horizon. Had something changed? Was that movement in the distance?

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “In less than three minutes you will be overrun by a convoy and they aren’t the most pleasant crew.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Doesn’t matter. You have one job to do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Run.”

  “What? Where?”

  “I want you to face North and sprint toward the dune in the distance.”

  “What’s there?”

  “Two minutes, forty-five seconds, Des. Go!”

  There was no time to think. He either had to stay and take his chances with the convoy of an unpleasant crew or run at full speed toward the dune. Every second he took contemplating his options was a second lost.

  One more step and he was in a sprint.

  He felt alive. He felt fast. More than these he was scared. The ground rushed past as his legs carried him one long stride at a time, kicking up a trail of dust behind him. He wasn’t foolish enough to think he could outrun a car or truck, but perhaps there was something at the top of the dune that would help him.

  For just a second, he turned his head to see the tiny black dot in the distance, only it was no longer tiny. It was much closer and had formed into distinguishable shapes. Ten large trucks with
rounded canopy tops sped along in an almost perfect line. He couldn’t understand why they would be coming for him, but he didn’t want to question Hazel.

  The dune felt bigger than the size he had calculated it to be. The closer he got to the top, the steeper the hill became. He brought himself down to all fours, walking with his hands in front of him to help keep his balance. His weight pressed deep tracks into the dirt beneath him. He wished there was something to grab onto—a rock or a branch—but there was only the fine red dirt that gave way too easily. He looked back one more time, the convoy getting ever closer. A final push and he reached the summit.

  He hadn’t expected to see what was on the other side. It was like a tiny island in a sea of sand and dirt, but instead of an oasis of trees, grass, and water, there were several large skyscrapers surrounded by smaller structures. In the middle of all of them, standing higher than the rest, was a tower. It was a building covered in windowed glass with large antennas at the top. It seemed out of place as if it had been built much more recently than all the other structures. They were lifeless and without people, like gravestones for giants that may have once walked these lands in a time when there was life. He found it hard to believe that there was ever any life here, yet the evidence was right in front of him. He looked back at the convoy, his fear growing.

  “Okay, you made it to the top,” Hazel’s voice spoke in his head. “You see that tower in the middle of the city?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Go there.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t ask questions, Des. Just go.”

  He wasn’t sure if he would make it to the tower before the convoy reached him, but he had to try. His legs carried him down the side of the dune with ease and precision, each step calculated to give him the quickest and safest route toward the tower.

  The ground leveled and he picked up more speed. Flat ground was easiest for him. He could set the quickest pace possible and not have to worry about balance.

  “On the east side of the tower,” Hazel said, “I left something for you. Go there and you will see it.”

  “I have to make it to the city first. I don’t think I’m going to outrun the convoy.”

  “You will,” she said. “Just don’t stop running.”

  He did as he was told, his metal feet hitting the dirt with loud thuds. He could hear the convoy gaining on him, engines growling in the open air. What could they want with him? Or were they simply headed in the same direction? He had only been alive for a matter of minutes, yet he couldn’t help but wonder if he was being used somehow. He knew nothing about the convoy. What if it was filled with good people—refugees seeking shelter in the graveyard of a city perhaps?

  He came to the edge of the buildings and stopped only a moment to look behind him. The convoy was close now, but somehow he had reached the cluster of abandoned skyscrapers before them.

  “No time to stop, Des, you’re almost there,” Hazel said.

  “What’s at the tower?”

  “If you go now, you will see,” she answered. “300 meters. Go.”

  Through streets of sand and loose dirt, he ran between the buildings. 250 meters. 200 meters. He ducked left behind a building and cut through an alley. 150 meters. 100 meters.

  The tower was directly in front of him, its peak grazing the sky. How he had not seen the tower on the other side of the dune eluded him. He veered right and headed for the east side as Hazel had instructed.

  “What am I looking for?” he asked.

  “At the base of the tower you will find a box,” she answered.

  “How big is it?” But before he finished the question he saw it. Just as Hazel had said, the box sat against the base of the tower. It was about five feet long and three feet deep, its contents a mystery to him. “I see it.” He stood in front of it and noticed a large stamp on the top. Three letters. DES.

  Des. My name. Me.

  He stared at the box as a flood of thoughts came to him. He tried to analyze which thought was the most important.

  “Des, you need to open it and get inside the tower,” Hazel said.

  Still he stood transfixed. The mystery box with his name on it unnerved him for some reason. This entire experience made him feel uncomfortable. Scared. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Why did he have no memory of the past? Why were there no experiences to draw upon? Could he really trust this Hazel character who gave instructions in his comm system?

  The earth shook beneath his feet as the trucks came nearer. He was running out of time. It felt like whoever was after Des was determined to get him but Des was determined to survive.

  He took a step forward and grabbed the top of the wooden box with a firm grip and pulled. The wood fragmented into several pieces, the top coming off easily with Des’ hydraulic strength. When the top was reduced to splinters scattered in the dirt, he peered inside. Again he stood transfixed, not exactly sure what he was supposed to do.

  “Tell me what you see,” Hazel said.

  “An assault rifle. Extra ammunition and a bag.”

  “What else?”

  “A rocket launcher,” Des said. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “You are programed to know how to use these objects, Des.”

  “Yes, I know how to use them. Am I meant to take out the convoy?”

  “You can’t take them on directly. Maybe you could lead them into a trap.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Think, Des. Think.”

  “The tower. I should lead them into the tower.”

  “Good.”

  The trucks were almost there and Des had to act quickly. He reached down into the box and slung the rifle over his shoulder. He threw the extra ammo into a bag and the bag he slung over the other shoulder. Then he picked up the rocket launcher and held it firmly in his hands.

  “Get in there, Des.”

  He didn’t hesitate. The entrance was a gaping hole in the wall that could have been made by a rocket launcher like the one he carried. Inside was pitch black and his sight automatically switched to night vision. Among the debris of crumbled walls and shattered glass, a bare staircase zigzagged upward several floors before disappearing into walls still intact. He made for the stairs as quickly as he could. The noise outside the tower let him know that the convoy had come to a stop and that his pursuers weren’t far behind him.

  Des wasn’t entirely sure the stairs would support his weight as he rushed upward. The stone cracked beneath his feet as his weapons rattled against his metal body with each step.

  “When you reach the seventh floor,” Hazel said, “go to the large window on the east side.”

  Two floors. Three floors. When he reached the seventh, he slowed his pace. Gray walls, cracked and broken, barely supported the weight of the structure. He wondered if it would be safer to be outside to face the convoy head-on than to be in here. It felt like the structure could collapse at any moment and bury him under piles of rock that even he couldn’t lift. He took long strides toward the eastern side of the building until he saw the window Hazel had mentioned.

  “Good, you’re there,” she said.

  “How do you know where I am?” Des asked.

  “I’m able to track you.”

  “How?”

  “We can get into the specifics later when you survive the mission.”

  “I’m still not clear what my mission is.”

  “To listen to me. Now, walk toward the window slowly. Make sure none of them see you.”

  He held the rocket launcher with a tight grip and inched his way toward the window. Ten trucks were parked outside where Des had been just moments before. Men, soldiers it seemed, were piling out the backs, fully armed with assault rifles. It was a small army.

  “Why are they after me?” Des whispered.

  “They aren’t,” Hazel said. “They are after something at the top of the tower.”

  “What? Then why did you lead me here?”

  “You
r objective is to defend the tower and not let them get to the top floor.”

  “I don’t know if I can do that. There are a lot of soldiers.”

  “You have to try.”

  “What exactly don’t I want them to get?”

  “There’s a briefcase,” Hazel said. “Its contents are classified. This comes straight from the top, Des. Even I don’t know what’s in the briefcase.”

  “And I’m just supposed to kill these soldiers?”

  “If you don’t…” She paused and took a deep breath almost as if she didn’t want to say the words. “If you don’t then they will destroy you, Des. And worse…” Another pause. “They will get the briefcase. You can’t let that happen.”

  Des could hear shouts coming from the floors below. They were in the tower now and would be on the seventh floor any minute.

  “You’ve got a rocket launcher. Think about the best way to use it.”

  He thought about pointing the end out the window and letting the explosive rocket take out one of the trucks, but another thought made him question what good it would do. They were already in the building. He decided to move toward the stairs. The first man to show his face would get a rocket through the chest. That would show the rest of them, right?

  No. These men seemed determined. Taking out one person with a rocket seemed like a waste of firepower. The next scenario made the most sense. He took a few steps backward and pointed the rocket launcher at the staircase. Was this the right decision? He had only one rocket. Then it would be up to a few bullets.

  The shouts became louder as the angry men charged up each crumbling step. This was the right decision. It was the best use of his explosives. He aimed for what he thought was the weakest point of the staircase and pulled the trigger. Des was sturdy and unmoving as the rocket soared with perfect aim to the target. The impact, however, nearly knocked him off his feet. Smoke and debris went in every direction and Des threw the launcher to the floor as he lunged away from the falling walls. He found himself prostrate on the floor, silently hoping the entire building wouldn’t come down on top of him.

  Eventually, the walls settled and the dust began to clear. He got to his knees and peered at the staircase, now a massive heap of rock. Whoever these men were, they wouldn’t be getting to the top of the tower via the stairs.