‘When you link with the energy flow through the machine,’ he said as an idea formed, ‘can you still sense the world around you?’
‘Yes,’ Sidona replied. ‘Everything that is physical affects the flow, alive or not. I can feel it.’
‘Even in the air?’
‘Yes—’ She stopped as she understood his meaning. ‘I can bring them down,’ she said, awed at the realisation that her powers no longer had limits. ‘I can destroy them!’
‘Go,’ Gadreel ordered. She ran for the mausoleum as he watched the two aircraft close in.
The chair lift carried Nina up the slope. She looked back. No sign of her pursuers – yet. Through the glass wall she spotted a handful of people fleeing through the mall, heading away from her fiery entry point. The slope’s top appeared through the haze. A fairy-tale castle stood at the summit, surrounded by fir trees draped with twinkling lights—
A bang from behind. She turned – and saw one of the armoured giants duck through the entrance. He looked around in confusion at the sudden climate change, then spotted the retreating figure on the lift.
His baraka came up – and fired.
Trapped on the chair, Nina shrieked – but the energy blast missed, crackling past close enough for her to feel it sear the air. She fumbled the shells from her pockets and loaded the shotgun. Five cartridges slid into the tubular magazine, a sixth meeting resistance. She racked the slide with a menacing yet satisfying ka-chak to chamber a round, then pushed the last shell into the mag.
Below, the second warrior caught up with his companion and sent a blast of his own after her. The bolt missed by a wider margin than before, though it still made Nina flinch.
The lift had by now swept her halfway up the hill. Even if they ran after her, she had a huge head start, hopefully enough to reach an exit—
The first warrior fired again – at a new target.
The chair lift’s bottom tower blew apart, the cable snapping. Nina screamed as she plunged towards the ground—
Even with over a foot of snow to cushion her, it was still a painful landing. She rolled clear as the whipping cable twanged down on her overturned chair.
She hurriedly recovered the shotgun, then waded upwards. The two warriors started after her. The snow came halfway up Nina’s shins, but was only ankle-deep to the giants. Their ascent was much faster.
She pounded on, breath steaming out in increasingly hoarse gasps. A small rise lay ahead, a hump to give those descending the chance to catch some air. She dived behind it as a baraka came up. The blast hit the mound and showered her with snow. Even lying down, the shock wave still felt like a kick to her chest.
Anger joined fear. She rolled to the steaming bite taken out of the snow and fired the shotgun. The two Nephilim were sixty yards away – beyond her gun’s effective lethal range, but still well within its maximum. They reacted with shock and pain as buckshot smacked against their armour, hot fragments stabbing through gaps between the plates. One cried out and tore off his helmet, clawing at a piece of searing metal buried just below his eye.
‘Welcome to the twenty-first century, assholes!’ Nina shouted, pumping the slide and firing again. The helmetless warrior screamed as more shot struck his head. Both Nephilim dropped, scrambling through the snow to find cover.
She ran uphill, staying low. The trees and castle rose into view as she neared the summit. A look back. The Nephilim were moving again. She fired a third time. The shot fell short, throwing up a spray of snow ahead of them, but was enough to force them down once more.
At the top of the wrecked ski lift was a platform where riders could dismount. She reached it, and searched for an exit. Ski tracks and footprints showed the attraction was in use, even if only by the staff. She followed a trail of boot prints through the trees towards the castle, now revealed as a café selling hot drinks and snacks – then halted as an idea came to her.
The helicopter that had collected Major Wu from the excavation site headed for the city. Wu herself was on the radio to the incoming fighter jets. Their report was not welcome. ‘What do you mean, you can’t attack it?’ she demanded. ‘It’s huge!’
‘We can’t get a missile lock,’ replied the lead pilot. ‘It’s not showing up on our radar.’
‘Then use heat-seekers!’
‘It isn’t giving off any heat, Major. It doesn’t have engines; there’s nothing we can lock on to.’
Wu struggled to contain her anger. ‘You have eyes, don’t you? Use your guns! If you come in from behind, it won’t be able to target you.’
‘Yes, Major,’ came the reply, faint contempt behind the pilot’s professional calm. ‘Moving in now.’
She watched as the two sleek J-20 jets made long, sweeping curves over the city’s outskirts to swing behind the fortress. ‘Come on,’ she muttered. ‘Bring those bastards down!’
Sidona took her place beside the machine. She placed one hand upon the crystal inside it, then closed her eyes and laid the other against the chamber’s glowing wall.
The world of light rose around her, her inner sense expanding to take in her surroundings on a different plane of perception. She had trained in reshaping the other world her whole life, and could affect the flow of the earth’s power with more skill than anyone . . .
And now her own power had been increased.
The machine was a strange, unnatural interloper, jagged and harsh, disturbing the energy flowing through it. But however the humans had created it, it worked. With it, the boundaries of her perception increased enormously, letting her see the channels of power far beyond her past limits. And if she could see them, she could shape them. She didn’t need to try to do so in order to know: it was a simple truth of the world of light.
She moved her mind’s eye from the fortress, looking outwards . . . and upwards. She sensed birds in the air, the towering buildings – and beyond them, something moving.
Something fast.
She focused. The two flying machines, bristling with a discordant power of their own. However they were kept in the sky, it was not the energy of the earth.
But now she could bring them down to it.
The leading pilot entered a shallow descent to line up his gunsight reticule on the UFO. Whether or not it had been built by space aliens, he didn’t know; what he did know was that being the first person ever to shoot one down would earn him a place in the history books, and hopefully money and fame besides . . .
The crosshairs found the dragon-like aircraft. It was stationary, hanging unnervingly over the city. The remains of the skyscraper it had just destroyed were nearby. The sight blew trivial thoughts of personal gain from his mind. This thing had attacked his country, killing who knew how many people. Whoever – or whatever – was inside was going to pay.
‘Four thousand metres to target,’ he reported. ‘Closing at four-fifty knots.’ He thumbed the weapon selector on his joystick. ‘Guns hot.’
His wingman confirmed she was ready to fire. The city rolled past below as the fighter descended. ‘Three thousand metres,’ he continued. ‘Two thousand.’ His cannon had a maximum effective range of eighteen hundred metres, but he wanted to be close enough to damage the target; according to Major Wu, it had some kind of shield. It sounded like something from a superhero movie, but Wu did not seem the kind to imagine such things.
Besides, he was looking at a UFO! Who knew what it could do? ‘Fifteen hundred, ready to fire.’ His finger tightened on the trigger—
The air around the target seemed to ripple, a flash illuminating the ground around it – but there was no lightning. He hesitated, confused, but recovered. Less than a kilometre—
Another flash, brighter, closer – and a searing bolt of energy tore his fighter apart.
Major Wu stared intently at the two fighters as they closed on the fortress, waiting for them to unleash their weapons upon i
t. A flash, and she held her breath in anticipation, but it had not come from the jets. What—
A thick, weaving line of lightning lanced up from the ground – and hit the leading fighter. The J-20 disintegrated into a churning plume of liquid flame. She gasped in horror.
The second fighter sought vengeance, firing a stream of cannon rounds from its external gun pod. The shield shimmered – then the shells tore into the dark hull. ‘Yes!’ Wu cried—
Another lightning flash – and the J-20’s wing blew apart as it swooped low over the dragon’s back.
The crippled aircraft spun into a corkscrewing roll towards the ground—
It hit the base of the collapsed tower – and exploded.
Eddie’s search for anything useful hit a blank – until he noticed a hatch set into the wall at the empty office’s far end. He couldn’t read the Mandarin on it, but the red-and-white graphic beneath was an international standard: a fire hose.
An idea formed. He didn’t like it, but it was all he had. ‘Okay, Macy,’ he said, ‘you stay here. Keep hold of this pillar.’
‘Where are you going?’ she asked, afraid. ‘You can’t leave me!’
‘See that hatch? It’s a fire hose. If it’s long enough, we might be able to climb down it.’ He was simplifying his still-fluid plan for her benefit, already certain the hose would be too short to reach the ground – but the other building might be a different matter. ‘I’ll go and—’
The tower shook.
This was not another shudder of straining steel and concrete. Something had hit it, the impact a sharp hammer blow – followed by the pounding roar of multiple explosions. The broken glass wall’s framework rattled.
The soldier clinging on with one hand cried out, blood running down his wrist as the glass carved deeper into his palm. He flailed at the frame with his other hand, but couldn’t quite reach—
He fell away down the steeply sloping floor. A last futile attempt to catch the outer window frame, then he was gone.
Macy pushed her face into her father’s chest, crying. Eddie swore silently, realising the cause of the explosions. There had been a rising rumble of jet engines, but now everything was eerily quiet. One of the planes must have crashed into the tower, its ordnance blowing up with it.
He had to act now. ‘Stay here,’ he told Macy, carefully standing and bracing himself against the pillar.
‘What are you doing?’ called Cheng.
‘Seeing if I can reach that hose.’ He started across the tilted floor, using the glass wall’s base as a precarious foothold.
‘Wouldn’t it be easier if you left your guns?’
The Type 95 and the rocket launcher were still slung from his shoulders. ‘I might need the straps.’
A deep, strained moan from somewhere above. The central core was strong – it had to be to support a skyscraper’s weight – but it had gone beyond its limits. The structure was succumbing to the impossible stresses upon it, and when it finally failed, it would do so in catastrophic fashion.
The thought quickened his pace. He reached the far wall; now he had to get to the hatch, ten feet below. ‘Cheng!’ he called out. ‘I need help. The guy who’s still got his rifle – tell him to get over here.’
The student passed on the request. The soldier in question gingerly made his way past Cheng and Macy to Eddie. By the time he arrived, the Yorkshireman had unfastened his rifle’s strap. He gestured for the soldier to do the same with his own weapon, then examined the rocket launcher. Its strap was riveted to the launch tube; he would need a blade to cut it. The soldier might have one, but it would take time, and probably fray and weaken the fabric.
Instead he shouldered the launcher again and tied the two rifle straps together, making a tough canvas line almost six feet long. ‘Okay, I need him to brace himself against the frame here, then lower me to the hose,’ he said, resting his gun against the frame’s upper side.
‘Will you be able to reach it?’ said Cheng dubiously.
‘Bloody hope so, ’cause we’ve run out of rifle straps!’ He waited for the young man to translate, getting a nod from the soldier. ‘All right. Here we go . . .’
He looped one end of the strap around his left wrist and gripped it. The soldier took hold of the other end and wedged himself into the corner, then crouched. Eddie started to lower himself down.
The soldier let the strap out slowly. The knot creaked. Eddie gave it a worried look, but it held. The makeshift rope reached its full extension. The hatch was a few feet below him. He stretched out his free hand, but it was just out of reach. ‘A little more, just a bit . . .’
The man above him grunted something. Eddie looked up – if the soldier bent any lower, he risked losing his balance and sending them both to their deaths. ‘Okay, different approach,’ he said. ‘Tell him to hold on!’
He waited for Cheng to relay his message – then he swung and kicked the door as hard as he could.
Metal buckled, but the hatch remained closed. Another kick, then another. The door began to cave in.
The soldier let out a gasp of effort. Sweat beaded his face . . . and his hands.
The strap started to slip through his fingers.
Eddie redoubled his efforts, laying into the hatch like a football hooligan. The soldier groaned. The strap jerked, dropping by an inch—
A final kick – and the hatch rebounded open, revealing the red hose reel inside.
It was still beyond Eddie’s reach, and the soldier’s grip was failing. He would have to do something desperate—
‘Tell him to brace himself!’ he shouted, giving Cheng a moment to pass on the warning – then he let go.
He fell, feet hitting the open hatch. It tore from its hinges – but slowed him just enough to let him grab the hose reel with one hand as he dropped. It swung outwards on a heavy-duty pivot, stopping with a jolt. Eddie dangled from the reel as the broken hatch spun out of the window. Macy screamed.
He kicked at the floor, toes finding just enough purchase for him to bring his flailing hand to the red reel. He pulled himself up into the space where it had been stowed. ‘I’m okay!’ he shouted breathlessly to his daughter before checking the hose.
It was a tough plasticised fabric, flattened to allow the maximum length to be coiled around the reel. He pulled the nozzle. The reel turned, the hose coming away easily. He unfurled more, watching the flat snake jiggle to the windows below, then drop out.
How long was it? There was still a lot left on the reel. He spun it ever faster until its own weight started to pull it out. He let go as the reel whirled out of control – then banged to an abrupt halt.
Eddie assessed the situation. The hose was about fifty metres long, over a hundred and fifty feet. Roughly ten or eleven storeys. Not nearly enough to get to the ground . . . but it should reach the neighbouring tower.
‘Okay!’ he said. ‘I’m going to swing across to the other building. If I make it, I’ll secure it, then everyone else can use it like a zip-line.’
‘If you make it?’ said Cheng incredulously.
‘All right, when I make it! Let’s stay positive!’
‘I did tell you about my vertigo, didn’t I?’
‘Well, if you stay here much longer, it’ll be cured permanently! Tell your guys to use their equipment webbing as harnesses.’ He addressed Macy. ‘Once I’m across, you come here and the soldier’ll lower you down. Then you can slide over to meet me.’
His forced casualness did not fool his daughter for a moment. ‘Daddy, I’m scared!’
He dropped the pretence. ‘I know, love. I am too. But,’ he quickly went on, ‘we’re going to get down from here, and find your mum. Okay?’
‘Mom,’ she corrected, with a feeble smile.
Eddie grinned. ‘That’s my girl. Okay, I’ll see you soon.’
He manoeuvred his legs to wo
rk the hose beneath the sole of one foot and up over the top of the other, bringing them together to trap it. He lowered himself slightly. The improvised step held his weight. It would act as a brake while he descended – as long as he could maintain his grip with his hands.
He took hold of the hose. ‘Going down!’ he announced, then started his descent.
The first part, over the sloping floor, was straightforward. It did not take him long to reach the windows.
Where his task became a lot harder.
He carefully brought his legs over the edge, wary of broken glass, then perched and looked down. He was over two hundred feet up, the end of the hose swinging far below. The space between the two towers was strewn with debris, young trees flattened by broken concrete and girders. But a fall was not the only danger.
Black smoke boiled from the toppled tower’s base. The plane crash had started a fire, and it was growing fiercer. No way out that way – and the conflagration would weaken the skyscraper’s remains. One way or another, it would soon come crashing down, killing anyone still inside.
He checked the smaller building. The upper floors of his own had mashed into it, merging the two structures together in a hideous snarl of twisted steel. Windows broke as he watched, mirrored fragments hailing down to earth. The tower’s face was perhaps a hundred and twenty feet away. He should be able to reach it by swinging on the hose.
Getting into it would be another matter. Enough glass remained intact to pose a danger. Blow a hole in the windows with the rocket launcher? Maybe, but too many things could go wrong, any one of them likely to leave him as a gooey splat on the plaza far below . . .
Another option came to him. It wasn’t much less insane than firing the Type 08 while swinging through the air over a hundred feet up, but the odds of success were still higher. Slightly.
Eddie readied himself, then slipped over the edge.
The wind immediately caught him, batting him about like a cat toy. Feet together, hands clenching the hose, he descended as quickly as he dared.
The Resurrection Key Page 38
