Secondborn

We come to a wrought iron archway. Passing through it, we’re on the sidewalk of a city street. Hawthorne hails a hovertaxi. We pile inside it, and the automated driver says, “Please scan your moniker.” Frustration infuses Hawthorne’s features. We’re about to jump out when a shadow blots out the light from the streetlamp. A maginot broadsides the car with its thick head. The door crushes in, shattering glass all over us. The impact drives the hovertaxi from the curb into the middle of the street.

The automated driver garbles, “Please scan your moniker.” The black beast with the silver markings circles the car. Its yellow eyes stalk me. Its open mouth drips with saliva. Hawthorne yanks me out the opposite side of the vehicle. Brandishing his fusionblade, he pulls me behind his back.

The maginot leaps onto the roof of the hovercar. Hawthorne slashes at it, but the cyborg deftly avoids the thrust. It poises on its haunches. Before it can pounce, a fast-moving hovercar slams into the disabled hovertaxi. Sparks and smoke blast from the wreckage. The maginot is thrown from the roof, and the hovertaxi explodes in a ball of fire.

The wolfish creature rolls. The fur on its left flank shears off, revealing its metal frame. A lopsided ear twitches as it gets to its feet, shaking its body, rebooting its systems.

A lumbering garbage vehicle trundles up a side street, driven by an elderly man. We rush to the passenger side of the hovertruck’s cab. Yanking the door open, Hawthorne climbs inside. The fusionblade in his hand is enough incentive to convince the sanitation worker to vacate the cab. He jumps out. Hawthorne reaches down and hoists me up before sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Do you know how to drive this thing?” I ask.

“No.” He notches the gears, eliciting a horrible grinding sound. “You?”

“No!” I panic because he usually knows how to do everything. He shifts a lever and we lurch forward. The hovertruck lists into the vehicles parked on the side of the street. Sparks fly. Hawthorne corrects the levers and guides us back into the center of the channel. “This thing is like driving a humpback whale,” he complains. “Can you see the maginot?”

I open my window. Cold air blows inside the cab. Sticking my head out, I search the area behind us. At first, the blackness is complete, but as my eyes adjust, the darkness takes the shape of a wolf, and it’s gaining ground. “Give me your sword”—Hawthorne tosses me the fusionblade—“and just keep moving.” Hoisting myself up, I sit on the edge of the open window. Holding the handrail on the side of the cab, I climb onto the roof. I brace my feet and ignite the fusionblade. It glows golden in the moonlight.

The yellow-eyed maginot is just a few paces back. It moves alongside us for a few strides, then leaps upward, almost making it to the roof. It falls back into the channel and continues without breaking stride.

I jump the small gap from the cab to the top of the garbage collector. Tapping my heel against the metal of the humpback, I hear a hollow ring. Wielding Hawthorne’s sword, I slash through the metal roof, cutting as I run to the other end. I make a right-angle turn, carving a perpendicular line. Reaching the flank, I pause. The creature running below hurdles onto the top of a parked hovercar beside us and crashes over other vehicles that line the channel until it pulls abreast of us.

I make another right-angle turn and continue to slice through the rooftop. The metal glows orange, melting away. I run back toward the front, a spine-chilling howl shivering the air behind me.

Suddenly the whole vehicle shakes as the maginot lands on the roof near the tailgate. We sway, and my thighs burn with the strain of maintaining my balance, but Hawthorne keeps us in the channel. Hackles on the cyborg’s crest stand straight up. The flews on the sides of its mouth rise, exposing its sharp fangs. Its massive forepaw steps toward me. Steely claws grip the surface of the humpback. I hold Hawthorne’s sword in my sweaty hand, the burning blade angled toward my feet. I wait. One breath. Two.

The maginot lowers its head and rushes toward me. I plant the fusionblade into the roof and rake it across the hold, creating the final seam. The back of the rectangle falls first. The cyborg slides backward, its razor-sharp claws digging into the metal, trying to find purchase. Then the rest of the ceiling gives way. The beast falls, disappearing inside the belly of the whale.

An angry yowl comes from inside the humpback, and the rampaging maginot rams the side. The hovertruck careens. I sprawl onto my stomach, dropping Hawthorne’s sword. It slides away. I reach for it, but another cataclysmic jolt to the flank of the hovertruck throws me toward the edge. I stop just short of falling over. The sword slides toward me. I stretch out and catch it.