“Wait! Grab its col—”
My warning comes too late and the dog shoots past Jonah’s outstretched arms and into the walkway. I stretch to snag its collar as it bounds by, but my fingertips merely graze its fur. The dog vanishes up the corridor heading toward the bow.
“Damn it,” I mutter. I lead the other dog over to the walkway.
“We have to go get her!” Jonah exclaims. He begins to pursue the German Shepherd but I grab the back of his shirt.
“No. Whoa, buddy.”
He struggles and gestures toward the narrow hallway. “She’s going to get lost! We have to save her!”
I turn the boy toward the dog in my hand. “Here. You get a good grip on this one. Get him to your friends in the engine bay. Hold tight to his collar and don’t let go. I’ll go get Ulla.”
“You promise?”
“I promise. We just need to get out of this hallway.” I lead the brindle dog and Jonah to the intersection of the lateral walkways and point them toward the port side engine. I make sure Jonah has a good grip on the dog’s collar before letting go. “This thing is going to catch fire any minute now. You get down that hallway and, no matter what, you make sure you get clear. Once the fire starts we only have seconds to get out.”
“I think it’s thirty-six.”
“What?”
“Seconds. It takes thirty-six seconds to crash. I looked it up.”
“Oh, good. That makes my point then.” I step around the boy and dog and let them start working their way toward the engine. “Hurry. I’ll see you outside.”
“Okay.” The boy concentrates on guiding the dog, who seems plenty eager to get out. I watch them reach the upward slope of the walkway and then turn my attention to my own task. I scramble along the corridor past more fuel and water tanks and into another cargo area searching for any sign of the missing dog. This larger cargo area is in the heart of the airship with nothing but aluminum girders and cables in view around it. There are a hundred places a dog could wriggle through if it left the walkway, but no windows or escape routes out of the ship. Damn dog could be anywhere. I glance at my chronometer. Unless I never give it a chance. I step off the main walkway so I’m out of sight of where Jonah found the crates, and I set my chronometer for a three-minute backward jump. I double-check my setting and push the pin. The jump is barely noticeable. I peek my head around the corner and, along the passage I can just make out the earlier Jonah speaking toward the other me. I only have to wait a few seconds for the German Shepherd to come shooting down the walkway. I stay out of sight till the dog is almost to me, then lunge out and seize it by the scruff of the neck. The dog lets out a surprised little yelp but lets me pull her off the walkway and out of sight without much struggle. I keep my arm around the dog’s neck to keep her calm and she licks my face in response.
I lean cautiously toward the walkway and peek at my earlier self trying to get Jonah to take the other dog. “All right, Ulla. That’s our cue.” The dog licks me again and lets me lead her into the walkway and rapidly toward the bow. Thankfully, the constant curve of the airship’s hull reduces the visibility beyond short distances and we are quickly out of potential view from my other self.
We pass a dozen more fluid tanks and a second lateral walkway that leads to the forward engine bays. Beyond that we encounter more spaces that are used by the crew for engineering purposes of some kind. A variety of electrical equipment shares space with some generators, as well as more cargo storage. Beyond that are more crew bunks. I’m grateful to find the spaces vacant, making me believe that the message has been delivered for everybody to get out of the hull.
I’m making my way back into the B deck when a boom resonates through the ship and the walkway rigging shudders. My stomach sinks as the back of the airship plummets and the bow pitches up, forcing me to hang onto the handle of the gangway stairs door.
Holy shit. Here we go!
Screaming erupts from the other side of the door. The tail hits the ground and the ship shudders. I swing the door open and climb forward toward the gangway stairs which have already been lowered. Genesis has pairs of passengers lined up on the stairs ready to run as soon as the ship nears the ground. Ahead in the corridor, the boy I saw putting away dishes in the crew mess has emerged into the hallway. He is gaping back in my direction, and I turn to see what he’s looking at and nearly fall over as a thundering ball of fire shoots through the axial walkway and starts consuming the gasbags above us. Ulla bolts out of my hands and leaps between a pair of passengers on the stairs, wriggling her way toward the freedom of the open gangway. She plunges the dozen feet off the end of the stairs and lands in the sandy dirt. The dog crumples to the ground on the landing, but the next moment she’s back up and running. Some of the more limber passengers start to follow her example and jump. I scramble forward past the kitchen where more cooks and passengers are leaping from windows and I get suddenly splashed by water from somewhere ahead of me.
Wow that’s cold.
One of the water tanks in the bow has come loose and is lying partially in view in the walkway beyond the B deck. The surprise drenching helps me focus on the task at hand. The young boy from the galley has pried open some sort of access hatch in the floor and gestures for me to follow him as he jumps down the hole. The airship is moaning and screeching, and as the bow levels out, I sprint the last couple of yards and leap after him. I land hard in the sand and start to turn to the right, but the boy has just turned around from that way—recognizing that the wind is hurling fire that direction. The bow of the ship bounces on its massive nose tire under the control car, giving us a few extra moments to flee. The boy grabs my arm and helps me to my feet, and we sprint out from under the collapsing hull as it crashes back down, raining melting metal and canvas around us.
I’m in good company as I race out from under the wreck. The officers and the Admiral have fled the control car ahead of me, while thirty-odd passengers and another dozen crew have made it out the main deck windows. Jettison, Milo, and a handful of crew must have found a way out of the bow even before the ship caught fire because they are teaming with ground crew from the air station to help get people free of the wreck. Genesis has cleverly fashioned ropes out of the dining room tablecloths to help people escape the windows. I rush to the aid of a limping elderly couple that she is guiding away from the gangway stairs, throwing the old man’s arm over my shoulders and pulling him out from under the massive blaze. As we hustle through the sand, I spot Tad Masterson with a woman hefted over his shoulder moving toward a group of naval sailors. He sets her down in front of them and then turns to look for more. Once I am a safe distance from the blaze, I hand the elderly man in my charge off to some naval crewmen and go back looking for anyone else in need of assistance. Thankfully, there is no one left to save.
Despite the enormity of the hydrogen fire, most of the flames have shot upward with the gas and not outward, giving us enough time to get all the personnel free. The aircraft of course is a total loss. The metal shell of the airship is melting and collapsing from the heat and the fuel tanks have caught fire, sending thick black smoke billowing into the night sky.
As I stand in awe of the sight, a hand rests on my shoulder and I turn to find Jettison standing next to me.
“Not bad, huh Travers?” Jettison’s face is smeared with soot and there are burn marks on his suit, but his expression is joyous. “See, this sort of mission I can get with—saving lives and keeping people safe. As soon as we had the bow lines out I had the crew start sliding down them. I think they had a few rope burns, but we were on the ground before the ship was.” He slaps my shoulder, then lifts up my wrist and checks my bracelet. “What did you get for a placement?”
The display on my bracelet is blinking an eleven.
“Our objectives registered as soon as our people hit the ground, apparently,” Jettison explains. “Total hodgepodge since we were all getting each others’ people free, but we passed the level. I figure that’s the m
ain thing.”
I nod along, but my attention is suddenly distracted by someone in the crowd.
Jettison keeps talking. “All we have to do now is get to the gate and we’re good. I think it’s near the infirmary. . .”
It’s him.
Past a pair of naval sailors and a concerned group of crew is a cluster of other civilians and, standing among them, seemingly without interest in the proceedings, is Ivan’s killer. He’s staring at the smoking wreck with his hands in his jacket pockets.
Taking in your handiwork, bastard?
I slip away from Jettison without bothering with an explanation and edge my way into the crowd of onlookers. My fists are clenched at my sides and I ignore the pain in my scalded left hand as the anger boils up in me. I keep my eyes locked on my target and work my way past rain-soaked men and women who are conversing in excited tones or staring in shock at the sight of the burning wreck. Just as I’m nearing the man’s position, he turns away from the view of the airship and begins walking toward the rest of the airbase. I curse inwardly and follow him, weaving my way among more onlookers who are now crowding onto the airfield.
It’s a few hundred yards to the nearest buildings. I hustle over the now muddy terrain at a brisk walk, trying to close the gap between myself and my target. If he has an anchor handy, he can jump clear even with the rain, provided he’s arriving somewhere dry, but I hope he won’t risk the exposure of making a jump in public. I suspect he’s making for a more secluded jump location.
My fingers find my Swiss Army knife in my pocket. It’s not much of a weapon, but I palm it in my good hand as I walk, flipping the pointed leather punch open and letting it protrude between the middle fingers of my fist. I try to visualize what I’ll do when I catch up to my quarry. Can I subdue him somehow? Then what? Will anyone on the committee even care that he killed someone? I consider Milo’s suspicion that not all of the committee members can be in on what ever is being rigged in this race. But how will I know the good ones from the bad?
As my quarry approaches the buildings next to the airship hangar, I break into a jog. I close some of the ground between us but then have to duck to one side behind a fuel truck when the man suddenly stops and looks around. He seems to be deciding whether to head for the main hangar or one of the smaller outbuildings to the left. I’m peering around the hose reel of the fuel truck and contemplating rushing him, when a hand suddenly closes on my mouth. I jolt and spin around, ready to strike with my makeshift weapon, when I recognize the bright blue eyes and stray blonde curls peeking out from under a mechanic’s cap.
“Mym?”
“Shh.” She holds a finger to her lips and smiles. “Keep it down.”
“What are you—”
She shushes me again and I lower my voice further. “What are you doing here?”
She leans past me and gestures toward the man now walking toward the open airship hangar. “Following him.”
“How did you find him? How did—”
She puts her fingers to my lips this time and the sudden touch shuts me up. Despite the fact that she’s disguised herself in men’s clothing, I’m suddenly aware of her body so close to mine.
Mym smiles and retracts her hand but rests it on my arm. “Geo’s not the only one who can play this game. If he wants to track my friends, then I’ll track his.”
“Did you get my message?”
Her eyes brighten. “Yes. Both of them.”
Both? My mind is only on Charlie’s murder and the blonde hair in the woods and I don’t register what she’s talking about until she speaks again.
“So you want to pick up where we left off?” Her smile is playful now and I struggle for a response.
“Oh, yeah. I mean, yeah, do you?”
She grins again. “I guess we’ll see.” She turns back to the view of the airship hangar. The man we’re chasing has just reached the hangar door and vanishes inside.
“Come on. We need to hurry.” She dashes out from behind the fuel truck and runs for the hangar.
Despite not making even five and a half feet in height, Mym moves fast. I race to catch up, and I am almost to her, when a pain shoots up my left leg and causes me to lose my footing. I crash to the ground in a heap, smearing mud all over the knees and forearms of my suit. Mym turns around, hurrying back to me. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“Nothing. I just slipped.” The pain must still be registering on my face because Mym looks unconvinced. She gives me a hand up and eyes me skeptically. “Are you injured? Did you get hurt getting off the airship?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m just—I had to make a jump in the rain. I think it might have messed me up a little.”
Mym’s face goes white and she puts both hands on my chest. “Oh my God! How long ago was it? Was it out here?” She looks up at the rain falling from the clouds as if measuring its capacity for injury, then continues to probe my body and face with her hands.
“It was maybe thirty minutes ago, on top of the ship. It wasn’t raining this bad though. Just mist really.”
“Ben, you should never do that! Don’t you know what that could do?”
“Yeah, I—”
“You could burst an artery or cause brain damage or—are you dizzy or anything? Does your head hurt?”
“No just a couple pains in my legs and stomach.”
She puts an arm around me and points toward one of the buildings next to the hangar. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”
“Mym, you shouldn’t be near me. They’re hunting you for Charlie’s murder. If they find out you’re here—”
“They won’t. I’ve been tracking Traus and keeping an eye on him. He’s the one in charge of finding me.”
“Who’s Traus?”
Mym points toward the main hangar. “Traus. The guy you were following? His name’s Traus Gillian.”
“I never knew his name. So wait, you’re following him?”
Mym smiles, “Last place they’d expect me to be. Plus it’s turning out pretty well, right?” She squeezes my hand. “He led me to you.”
“Yeah, that part’s good. The part where he’s killing people is less awesome. Mym, I’m not sure you should be anywhere near this guy. He’s bad news. How did you even find him?” I limp my way forward as fast as I can manage.
“When you ended up in this race, I was mad, but I wanted to find out why. I went back to New York and found the homeless guy you saw. Only of course he wasn’t homeless. It was Traus. I ended up following him to Ireland and saw him kill Charlie. That was before I got your messages, so I didn’t know they were going to blame me yet, but I figured it out pretty quick. One of the committee members had tried to track me through the woods, and when I got your message, it all made sense.”
“I saw you. In the woods.”
“I know. I saw you, too.”
I recall the image of the blonde hair disappearing into the woods and the bloody body at my feet. “I’m so sorry about Charlie. I know he was close to your dad.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Mym replies. “But not as sorry as Traus is going to be.”
We make it under the awning of one of the air station buildings. The door is unlocked and we enter to get out of the damp. The block building contains offices and has been emptied of personnel by the sudden disaster. We duck into a room that contains a bank of filing cabinets, a broad oak desk, and a handful of chairs. Mym clears a space on the corner of the desk and places an item from her pocket gently on the wood. The knob wobbles briefly as she lets go. It’s a tarnished brass piece that might be from a drawer or cabinet. It seems to match the era we’re in rather well. Mym draws her chronometer pendant from her shirt and dials in a destination from the back of a photo of the knob.
“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” She places a finger to the knob and vanishes. She’s back within seconds carrying a satchel. The anchor clatters to the floor at my feet as she slides the satchel onto the desk.
I bend and pick up
the displaced hardware, setting it back. “Where does this take you?”
Mym is rummaging through the satchel and pulls a device out that looks like a remote control. “Dad has a place here in the thirties. It’s in Massachusetts, but that’s not far, considering.” The next item she extracts looks like a shower curtain, but as she unfolds it I notice it’s a much thinner, translucent material.
“You need to put this on,” she says.
“What is it?”
“It’s going to help us scan you.”
I fumble with the transparent sheet. “What, just throw it over myself?”
“Yeah, make sure it goes all the way to the floor.”
I slip out of my muddy jacket and toss it to the floor, then do as she asks and arrange the material over me. When I have it situated, I feel like a kid in a homemade ghost costume. Mym points the remote at me and the material illuminates.
“Try not to move.”
“Is this like some kind of MRI?”
“Stop talking.”
I shut my mouth and stand still for the next ten seconds.
“Okay. We’re done. Fold that back up.”
I slip the sheet off my head and do my best to refold it. “What’s the prognosis, doctor?”
Mym is studying data on a tablet like Jettison’s and her mouth turns down while a crinkle of concern appears between her eyebrows. I’m suddenly worried. “Is it bad?”
Finally Mym looks up. “It’s not so bad. Definitely not great, but it could have been a lot worse.” She flips the screen around and steps closer so I can see what she’s looking at. The image is an outline of my body with the tissue highlighted in different colors ranging from greens to yellows and a few pixels worth of orange. She zooms in on one of the orange areas and narrows down to a tiny spot of red. “This looks like the worst in your leg. You had a pretty big droplet fused into the tissue of your calf right near this nerve cluster. Those cells look destroyed. That’s probably where you felt the pain. Is there something wrong with your hand? It’s showing damage to your surface tissue.”
In Times Like These Boxed Set Page 82
