Siege Read Online Free

chunks of concrete in all directions. Zia shields Shannon and me from the flying debris by clutching our Snake-bots against her armored torso. Through the dust, I catch a glimpse of the hole made by the explosion, and beyond it, the tank that fired the shell. It’s a Storm Tiger, the most modern tank in the North Korean Army. Its turret turns clockwise as it prepares to fire again, aiming the long barrel of its main gun at the War-bot.
    For a moment I think Zia’s going to charge at the Storm Tiger. She’s aggressive by nature—when she was human, Zia belonged to a gang in Los Angeles—and ripping apart a North Korean battle tank would probably appeal to her. But she can’t fight very well while carrying our Snake-bots, and besides, there are three more tanks behind the one that’s aiming at her. So Zia turns her War-bot in the opposite direction and runs.
    â€œHang on!” she radios me. “We’re gonna find the emergency exit.”
    Zia sprints alongside the assembly line, clanking and clanging as she accelerates to forty miles per hour. I look ahead but don’t see any doors or windows at the other end of the factory. There’s nothing beyond the smashed machines but a concrete wall.
    â€œThere’s no exit here!” I shout over the radio. “You’re going the wrong way!”
    Before Zia can respond, the Storm Tiger fires its main gun. Because my Snake-bot is equipped with a radar system, I can calculate the trajectory of the shell as it hurtles toward us. It’s aimed at Zia’s fleeing War-bot.
    â€œDuck, Zia! DUCK ! ”
    She waits until the shell is just twenty yards away. Then she ducks. The projectile whizzes over her War-bot and slams into the wall up ahead. The explosion buffets us again with chunks of concrete and shrapnel, but Zia doesn’t slow down.
    â€œThat’s our exit!” she shouts gleefully.
    The hole in the wall isn’t quite as large as the War-bot, but Zia tilts her torso forward and uses her armored head as a battering ram. She barrels through the gap, shattering concrete on both sides, and emerges from the factory still clutching our Snake-bots. Once she’s outside, she dashes across the military base toward the chain-link fence at the perimeter.
    But we’re not out of danger yet. The Storm Tigers steer around the factory, their treads rumbling in pursuit. Worse, my radar detects a KN-09 rocket launcher only five hundred yards away. That artillery piece can fire up to twelve rockets at once, each three times more powerful than a Storm Tiger shell.
    â€œWhat’s the plan?” I ask Zia. “Are you gonna bust through the fence?”
    â€œNo need. Our ride’s here.”
    Her War-bot skids to a halt in the middle of a grass-covered parade ground. At first I don’t understand why she’s stopping, but then I hear a mechanical hum. I point my infrared camera skyward and see a large steel disk hovering a few yards above us. It’s a quadcopter, an aircraft held aloft by four big rotors attached to the disk’s rim. The craft has no passenger compartment, but on the disk’s underside are two steel handholds and two rectangular slots. Zia raises her right arm to one of the handholds, then jackknifes her War-bot to a horizontal position and fits her legs into the slots. She clings to the bottom of the quadcopter like a stowaway, with our Snake-bots secured between the disk and her torso.
    She sends a radio message to the quadcopter’s antenna: “We’re ready to go, DeShawn. Get us out of here.”
    â€œHeard and understood. Welcome to Pioneer Airlines. Please fasten your seat belts.”
    DeShawn Johnson is inside the quadcopter’s neuromorphic control unit. He’s our resident genius, the Pioneer who designed the quadcopter and the Snake-bots. He’s also my best friend.
    The four rotors spin faster, and the quadcopter rises, straining under the added weight