CHAPTER 31

“Hold up,” Epps said, gesturing for Jack and Lennox to come close, and to keep it quiet. “Listen. There’s something we need to discuss. I’m no expert on this alien robot business, but with what we just saw? It looks to me like Big Buddha’s taken some serious heat.”

They’d caught up to Optimus and Megatron just in time to find the Autobot leader charging off down the street, leaving shattered asphalt and astounded bystanders in his wake. It didn’t take a genius, Jack knew, to figure that Optimus was in pursuit of Megatron who was, as ever, in pursuit of the AllSpark. Which meant the white building. Which meant Sam.

Which meant everything had been FUBAR’d.

“What do you mean?” Jack asked.

“Guy was limping,” Epps replied. “Didn’t get a good look at his chest, but it sure seems like he took a bad hit. Must’ve thrown him right into that building,” Epps added, pointing down the way. “So, if that cannon gets pointed in our direction...”

“Then we’ll be fine,” Lennox said, grinning, “because we probably won’t even have time to realize it. If the big truck is still in the fight, then so are we. Which means we need to get moving and close this thing out.” And, as Jack got ready to move, Lennox squinted at Epps.

“Big Buddha—that’s what you’re going with?”

“Yeah, well, it’s quicker to say than Optimus Primal or whatever it is.”

“Uh-huh,” Lennox replied. “Come on, people, let’s go! We’ve got a date with destiny, and I’ve heard she hates to be kept waiting! I want all eyes up and looking for that chopper!”

There was thirteen of them left. Jack couldn’t quite quash the stupid thought that it was an unlucky number as they hustled through the streets, towards the white building, where everything would be decided. It’d been a stupid, desperate thought that they had assumed they could outwit Megatron. But what other option did they have?

They’d taken out Brawl, but Blackout was still nearby. The oppressive thump-thump of his rotors sounded like it could be anywhere, and it didn’t sound like anyone had reported him engaging anyone yet. So, Jack tightened his grip on his M32 and kept his eyes up. But somehow, the Pave Low remained out of sight. Arcee had called him Megatron’s best hunter. It sure felt like he was stalking them now.

“Hey, Darby,” Lennox said, falling into pace alongside him. “You good?”

A part of Jack wanted to lie. Now wasn’t the time to be bringing up trauma, but if Lennox was asking them he probably saw something. “Not sure, Captain.”

“This about the helicopter?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah.”

Lennox cased the skies for a moment, then said, “Well, between you and me, I’m not worried.”

The shock almost brought Jack up short. But only almost.

“What, Captain? Why?”

“Way I see it,” Lennox replied, without breaking stride, “is that the helicopter has already failed to kill us once before. So, I’m not too scared if he wants to go for a rematch. Won’t even have the element of surprise, this time, huh?”

Jack felt a small, slight smile tug at his lips. In spite of everything, in spite of simple battlefield logic, of everything they had both seen and experienced half the world away.

“Sure, Captain. When you put it that way...”

Lennox slapped him on the shoulder, then quickened his pace to reach the head of the pack again. It’d helped, a little. But maybe that was enough. Still, the thought of facing Blackout without Arcee—

He hoped she was okay.

A pair of Raptors streaked overhead, engines roaring as they broke formation and split up. For a moment, he thought it was Starscream, two Starscreams, but then, Epps let out a loud whoop. “We’ve got planes! It’s the Air Force!”

“Banachek actually did it,” Jack murmured.

A missile caught the Raptor breaking left, blasting it apart, and Starscream swept through the air like a silver bird of prey, burning hard and banking right in pursuit of the second Raptor. Whatever relief Jack had felt was gone before the wreck of the first Raptor vanished out of sight.

“Yeah,” Lennox muttered. “And that one’s ripping them apart. Epps! What’ve we got?”

“Three waves!” Epps shouted, radio in hand. “First wave’s trying to keep that jet busy! Second wave’s hitting in five mikes! Third’ll be about five after that!”

“How close are we from the objective?” Jack asked.

“Close,” Lennox replied, pointing to a parking lot. “We’ll head through there. There’ll be an alley which’ll allow us to get an angle on the building. I don’t like the idea of heading right down the street if we can help it. Alright, people, huddle up! Eyes and ears!”

They did. “I’ll make this quick,” Lennox said. “We’ve got air support coming in under five minutes, and we’re about three hundred meters from the target. Epps is going to designate the bad guys to cut through their jamming. Once they’re softened up, we’re going to do everything we can to bring them down. And if you see the girl with the cube, you get her out of the line of fire, got it?”

Jack glanced at the others, nodding and responding in the affirmative. Thirteen people against Megatron, and probably Blackout. Starscream, too, if it went bad. And so far, everything had been trending worse. People said things had to get worse before they got better, but Jack wasn’t so sure of the certainty of that anymore.

They crossed the parking lot, past people clustered behind their cars. They turned into the alley, and the sounds of combat echoed toward them—metal on metal, grunting and growling, the junkyard-blender symphony of Cybertronians throwing down.

And then, the high-pitched whine of a motorcycle—and the thump-thump-thump of a Pave Low. Like it was right on top of them. “Back,” Lennox hissed, waving them back, away from the exit of the alley. “Back, back, back!”

Blackout swept in so low that, had they been standing in the street, it was like Jack could’ve reached up and touched him. They really weren’t simple machines. Blackout landed with an impossible grace for such a large machine, on his three-toed feet like an assassin dropping from the rafters, somehow seeming quiet. The Grim Reaper returning for the few souls he’d missed.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Jack’s breath caught in his throat.

But Blackout hadn’t seen him. Hadn’t come for him. Hadn’t seen any of them. The Decepticon had his back to them. He wasn’t there for them, the hunter had other prey. He turned left, looking back up the street, his primary rotor folding behind him like a six-bladed cape, and then right, toward the sound of violence. What had to be the brawl between

Optimus and Megatron. Arcee nudged him with her front tire, just gently, and it was like he could breathe again.

“Fighter jets in sixty seconds,” Epps said.

“Captain,” Jack hissed. “We’ve got—”

Lennox nodded, unable to believe it, either, the opportunity they had. “The surprise.”

Blackout stomped away from them, down the street, igniting his secondary rotor like a wrist-mounted buzzsaw. Beyond him, Jack got a glimpse of red-and-blue clashing with dark gunmetal. Lennox tapped Epps on the shoulder, then pointed for everyone to spread out. “Bring the rain. Let’s kill these things.”

“Raptors, we’ve got friendlies mixed with bad guys,” Epps said, into the radio, and raised his laser designator. “Targets will be marked.”

The team slipped across the street. Took up position in doorways and behind abandoned vehicles. “Remember, aim low,” Lennox said. “Armor’s weak under the chest.” Not all of them had grenade launchers anymore, Jack noticed, it was like half had switched to rifles and sub-machine guns. They’d spent so much ordnance against Brawl, and Blackout was larger. To run out into the middle of the street, to expose himself to Blackout’s firepower—Jack shook his head, he couldn’t compel his body to move. Somewhere, Lennox was hissing, “Darby! Darby!”

“Jack,” Arcee said. “Hop on.”

She’d taken a few hits, her paintwork closer to how he’d first seen her, but her headlights had all the intensity of her optics.

“Arcee,” Jack said. “I don’t know— I can’t—”

“Fighter jets in twenty seconds,” Epps reported.

“Jack,” Arcee said, again. “I won’t let him hurt you. I will die before he hurts you. But if you trust me, if you’ve ever trusted me, then hop on.”

Somehow, he did. His body answered him again, and he threw his legs over Arcee and settled into her seat, grenade launcher slung under his arm.

For some reason, he thought of knights, and warhorses...

“F-22s,” Epps said. “We’re still waiting.”

Beyond Blackout, Optimus and Megatron were more of a frenzy of colors than anything coherent. Jack didn’t have a clue who was winning. They were equals and opposites—the unstoppable force and the immovable object—but one of them would crack first. Blackout stalked toward the fight. Jack wasn’t stupid enough to assume that meant Megatron felt he was outmatched.

Then, Blackout stopped. Pausing, like he’d heard something.

He turned, raising his left arm, deploying a cannon—

“Incoming!” Epps shouted, and Blackout’s first shot, a bright blue bolt, sent a parked car into the air and soldiers scrabbling for cover.

Arcee gunned her engine, and floored it. Charging Blackout. The Decepticon’s minigun scythed left and right, bullets churning up the asphalt.

“Jack!” Arcee shouted. “Do you trust me?!”

“Arcee! We’re—” Blackout’s red-sun optics bore down on them, on him, like he recognized him. He raised his right arm, igniting that weapon that’d ripped across the desert sand like fire hitting an oil slick, and tore everything apart like an inch-high avalanche, had crumpled C-130s like they were made of tinfoil—

“Yes! But for the love of God, evade!”

Arcee held her course, speeding up.

“We’re not evading!” she called, laughing. “Seriously, do not let go!”

“Arcee, what—”

Arcee transformed.

She came apart under Jack, and he was riding a mass of moving metal, and every part of him wanted to scream and leap clear because there was no goddamn way—and then he was clutching her right arm, an angel emerging from fractal madness, and she hurled him down the street like she was slinging a hockey puck.

Blackout’s minigun caught her in the chest, but Arcee was already leaping high, onto his chest, stabbing and shooting, blowing away one of his optics as she clambered onto his back—

And Jack, sliding on his back, realizing he was screaming or maybe laughing or both, raised his M32 and hammered the trigger, putting shot after shot into Blackout’s exposed underbelly, the joints of his hips, the gaps between his chest armor—

Missiles, striking Blackout square in the chest two by two, Arcee leaping clear, as the Raptors streaked overhead—

And Jack passed between Blackout’s feet, still firing, one grenade punching deep into the Decepticon’s chest, or maybe he just imagined it—

Then, he was through. And, oddly, the world had inverted. Blackout stood there, upside down, wreathed in fire and splashed with energon. And Jack remembered something he’d heard, that you couldn’t outrun your nightmares, that you’d just die tired...

The moment passed. Blackout fell forward, and hit the asphalt.

Jack lay there, on his back, just staring. Second by second, he swore he saw Blackout twitch or begin to rise—but he didn’t. He just lay there, smoking and burning, and Jack lay there and stared at him. His back burned, and then he laughed, because somehow the worst thing Blackout had left him with was a hellish case of road rash.

“C’mon!” Lennox shouted, waving the team onward. “Let’s go! Move!”

A shadow fell over Jack. Arcee. She held out her hand, and he took it, and he hauled him up like he weighed nothing at all. “Good work, partner,” she said, nodding to him. “Now, let’s move. To Optimus!”

They raced toward the fight. Epps had been right. Optimus was fading, and whatever second wind had been spent. Megatron struck Optimus down to his knees, but the Autobot rose in a whirling spin, his right arm ending in a blade with a bright, glowing edge.

Megatron caught Optimus’ limb, and punched the flat of his energon blade hard enough that it shattered. “You still fight for the weak, Prime!” Megatron snarled. “That is why you lose!”

Megatron twisted Optimus’ arm hard enough that sparks and energon burst from his shoulder, and tossed him aside like he weighed nothing at all. Optimus, on his hands and knees, crawling, tried to find space to get up—and Megatron gave him nothing. His kick snapped Optimus’ head back and around, with enough force to throw the Autobot across the street and onto his back.

There was something deeply personal here, in this fight. Megatron didn’t want to kill Prime. Not yet. He was taking his time. He wanted Optimus to know he’d been defeated, and why. It was a gap in Megatron’s armor, however slight—and this was their opening to exploit it.

Perhaps their only one.

“Lase him, Epps!” Lennox shouted. “Lase him! Lase him! Rest of you, hit that bastard with everything you’ve got!”

They didn’t have much left. Jack hit the trigger of his launcher, and got nothing but a click. Small arms fire spalled against Megatron’s armor like rain on a mountain. Megatron ignored all of it, even Arcee as she laid down fire from both blasters. Even Optimus who lay on his back, struggling to move. Jack swept the street for any sign of Sam, and saw her, there, on the other side. Her eyes wide and terrified, the AllSpark clutched against her chest.

Megatron stepped toward Sam, and a missile detonated against his chest. Megatron pitched back, stumbled a step, and Sam ran for it, ran for Optimus. Megatron went after her, and the Raptors swept in, rippling missile after missile like a wing of avenging angels. They struck Megatron again, and again, and again. One after the other, an unending fusillade of high-explosive projectiles, a dozen fists of God hammering him, raining down on him over and over.

And still it wasn’t enough.

Megatron, striding, stumbling, staggering. Flames enveloped him, metal running like water, sparks flying. But, as the fireballs faded, still functioning.

It’d take time for the Raptors to come around for another run. Time they didn’t have. Megatron leapt for Sam and Optimus, finally, desperately, found some strength and raised one arm, clothes-lining his nemesis at the last second. Megatron fell, rolled, and Sam tripped as she went to turn on her heel.

“I’ll kill you!” Megatron snarled, dragging himself toward her, spitting energon, seconds away from crushing her with his bare hands. “Mine! AllSpark!”

And Optimus, on the ground, only just now getting halfway upright. “Sam! Put the cube in my chest!” His great fist hammered the road. “Now, Sam!” To what, store it, hide it, make Megatron go to that much more trouble to get it?

And Sam, that girl—Jack could see her, see the decision on her face even from that distance, the way she turned toward Megatron, and Optimus’ voice as he saw it, too, shouting, oddly frantic:

“No, Sam!”

Sam Witwicky raised the AllSpark—and thrust it toward Megatron’s chest.

A golden beam, as bright as a newborn sun and as furious as a supernova, speared into Megatron’s sternum—and, impaling him, stopped. The AllSpark, held aloft, was coming apart, disintegrating, pouring into Megatron’s chest, almost as if it was caught in the wake of the beam’s eruption. Girl, cosmic cube, and alien warlord, bound together for just a few moments.

Then, Sam was holding nothing but air and Megatron staggered back, a gaping molten hole in his chest. He clutched his vast hands there, and looked down as glowing metal flowed through his fingers. It was like the realization hit him then, and he fell to his knees, gasping and twitching and babbling in Cybertronian, his whole form wracked by a terrific seizure that wrenched his whole form backward—and then nothing, as the alien titan hit the asphalt on his back—

And went still and silent.