by David Coy
“We can’t,” he replied. “We’ll have to work our way out and around through the jungle. We’ll come in behind the rig. Then it should be no problem to get on board. It’s quite a ways. Can you make it?”
“I don’t have a choice, do I?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll make it,” she said.
They doubled back and went south then turned west until they came to the road. The rain and passing truck’s tires had churned the road into a river of mud. They watched as one enormous truck slogged through the morass, its huge tires occasionally spinning and throwing buckets of mud high into the air. When it was far enough down the road, John chanced another look. He could see the distant lights of a coming truck way down the road, but it was too far away to be of any consequence.
They dashed across the road like wet animals, slipping and splashing through the deep, thin mud. They clamored into the foliage on the other side of the road and turned north, paralleling it. Soon they were at the edge of the clearing, and the rig was visible again, closer this time. Though stopped now, the rain had turned the entire area into a sea of slop. The lifts and trucks plowed through it, their tires caked heavy with brown mud.
They moved west again for a while, then turned north, following the edge of the clearing until they were directly in back of the rig. From there, they could traverse the distance easily, completely hidden from view of the activity on the other side. Soon they would be safe and dry, and he could get Rachel fed. Her hunger was no small matter. He’d seen the stress of it spawn a seizure.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“If you include the mud on my feet?”
“Yeah. With mud.”
“Very hungry.”
He smiled. Humor was a good sign. She’d never had a seizure anywhere near a humorous remark she’d made. “We’ll be there soon,” he said, “and I’ll spoon feed you.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
They climbed up the rig’s giant track then down the stairs on the inside until they came to the gangway that led to the storage locker. John pried the door open.
The mid-morning sun was coming out from behind the clouds to the east. Soon the heat would mix with the wet and the air would turn to steam. They went inside.
“Home, sweet home,” he said.
“Feed me,” she said.
* * *
Habershaw was getting much better at it. He could turn without dipping down into the canopy and could stop and hover without drifting too much. Donna wasn’t nearly as impressed with his progress as he was.
“Did you see that?” he asked. “I just barely touched that tree limb. Just like I planned.”
She’d just tried to raise John on the radio again, without success. They’d have to get closer, park the shuttle and try again. If Mayflower hadn’t reported the shuttle stolen, he was probably thinking about it because the longer he waited, the worse it looked for him. She wasn’t sure, but she thought that thing about the transponder gizmo might get them into trouble without John to take care of it. She mentioned it to Habershaw.
“You’re probably right,” he said.
They had moved to the coastline just before dawn and were now moving slowly north along the shore, just a few meters above the water and deep in the shadows.
“How far are we from the monolith now?” she asked.
“Maybe two kilometers,” he said.
“That’s close enough. Set the shuttle down on the beach. I’ll try him again.”
The narrow strip of beach was just barely wide enough to land on. Habershaw pulled up, stopped and put the shuttle down with a hard bump. “Whoops,” he said. He shut the power off.
Donna adjusted the microphone and turned the transmitter on.
“John? Come in, John.”
There was a burst of static, and Donna heard a faint voice through the headphones. She adjusted the volume.
“I hear you,” John’s voice said through a crackle of static.
“There he is,” Habershaw said.
“Hey! You’re still breathing,” Donna said. “How’s Rachel doing?”
“She’s fine. Dirty and damp, but fine. We’re in the rig.”
“How did you get out?” Habershaw asked.
“Rachel’s idea. Come and get us. Let’s get out of here.”
“We’re on our way,” she said. “Don’t get too comfortable.”
“Just hurry up!” she heard Rachel say in the background.
“Tell her to relax!” Donna said with a smile.
“No way—she’s still hungry,” John said.
“Oh, shit,” Donna said. “I hope she doesn’t decide to eat you before we get there.”
“Where’s your pal, Lavachek?” John asked. “We’ve been here for an hour and haven’t seen him. I don’t think he’s on the rig.
“That’s damned odd,” Habershaw said. “He should be. He usually sticks to the rig like glue.”
Donna knitted her brow. “We’re on our way,” she said.
Habershaw turned the shuttle on and lifted off. He veered out away from shore for a hundred meters, then began to climb. As soon as they rose above tree level, they could see the monolith to the northeast, towering above the jungle’s solid green mass. Keeping as close to the canopy as he dared, Habershaw headed straight for it.
“They’re gonna be here in a minute or two,” John said to Rachel. “Let’s go.”
Rachel cocked her head. “Did you hear something?” she asked.
John listened.
“Like what?”
“Voices.”
He listened again.
“No,” he said still listening. “Let’s go.”
He put his hand on the latch mechanism and turned it. The door opened a little with a creak. He put his ear to the opening and listened a moment more.
“I don’t hear anything,” he said.
“I heard voices,” she whispered.
He unslung the rifle and using the muzzle, pushed the door open some more.
There was a pop sound then a clang as the canister hit the inside of the door. It bounced around the room, then spun, hissing madly, in a tight circle on the floor. The room was filled with a heavy, acrid scent.
“Gas!” John yelled.
“Oh, no, no,” Rachel moaned.
John gasped a breath and held it, but tasted gas. Too late. The pungent gas went to work immediately, and he felt a lightness in his head. He stumbled out the door and felt Rachel fall against his back, and then he heard her hit the metal grate. The rifle fell from his hands like a feather. He looked down the catwalk and made his eyes focus. He could see a cluster of mercenaries, in assault formation, rifles pointed directly at him. Behind them was Greg Lavachek.
He expected the sound of rifle fire and the sting of bullets, but it never came. He wanted to feel anger, but he could feel nothing at all.
* * *
“Stop! Stop!” Donna said. “Pull back!”
“What?” Habershaw asked, surprised.
“Look!” she said, pointing at the rig. “Christ, they’ve killed them! Goddamnit! They’ve killed them!”
Habershaw stopped the shuttle and pulled back on the stick, putting it in reverse for a few meters until they were well back over the canopy again. Donna rose out of her seat to look. There, next to the rig, was a knot of perhaps six mercenaries standing around two fallen forms—two forms she knew well, limp and lifeless, lying in the mud.
Habershaw kept looking at the two bodies and the mercenaries standing over them and wondered if that was the way it had been the day they killed Joan. Did they just mill around Joan’s body like they were John’s and Rachel’s? Did they make small talk while his dead wife’s body lay in the dirt? He closed his eyes and swallowed, trying to keep his anger down.
“What the hell are they doing?” Donna asked.
“Waiting for a bus,” Habershaw offered.
Donna spoke for both of them. “I’m
gonna kill all of them,” she said. “So help me, God. I’m gonna kill every last one of them.”
Habershaw was the first to see it: John was moving, his arms and legs were making uncoordinated movements. Then Rachel started—her legs kicking slowly at the ground. “They’re not dead,” he said, grinning.
Donna looked. He was right. They were moving, moving, just barely, but they were alive.
“If we don’t get them out of there, they soon will be,” Donna said.
“We need a weapon,” Habershaw said, looking around.
“You’re driving it,” Donna said.
Habershaw looked at her like she was nuts. “Ram them?”
Donna pointed. “Come fast around this side of the rig, then turn into them. By the time they see us, it’ll be too late. Now’s the perfect time, while the bastards are all knotted up.”
Habershaw banked left and ran along the canopy until he was well past the rig. Then he dropped down behind, turned and got into position. Fifty meters off the other end of the giant machine was the knot of mercenaries, just out of view.
“Go!” Donna yelled.
Habershaw pushed the stick forward. Keeping the altitude steady at just a half meter, the shuttle raced down the side of the rig. He hoped John and Rachel were still flat on the ground.
The shuttle cleared the end of the rig, and Habershaw turned hard left, throwing Donna against the window. One of the mercenaries turned as the speeding shuttle approached, and Habershaw saw that the man wasn’t a soldier, but Greg Lavachek. Habershaw saw his mouth open in a silent scream as the shuttle hit him squarely.
“Shit!” Habershaw blurted out.
The hurling shuttle slammed into the bodies in a series of quick and sickening thumps, leaving blood splatters on the windscreen. It was a clean sweep and over in a literal instant.
“Yes!” Donna yelled.
Habershaw turned hard again, stopped, and then crept back toward the scene of mayhem. Bodies and guns were strewn at random, and the only bodies moving were those of Rachel and John.
“You couldn’t have done that any better,” Donna said grinning. “Look at that! Perfect!”
“Yeah . . . ”
“Oh, c’mon! Didn’t that feel good?”
Sure.
“Hey, you’ll get over it.”
“I killed Greg Lavachek.”
Donna couldn’t have cared less. “Lavachek was bad news,” she said. “My guess is he turned John and Rachel over to the Council. You did the right thing. Park right here. We’ve got to hurry.”
They opened the cargo door and jumped down into the mud to get John and Rachel. Donna did a quick appraisal of each patient, checking pupils, pulse, respiration. She could see no wounds or other apparent damage. “They don’t look injured. We’ve got to move fast.”
Habershaw took John by the arms and started to drag him toward the open door.
A few meters away, one of the soldiers stirred, then regained enough of his senses to slowly raise his rifle and point it at Habershaw.
Donna saw it. “Watch out!” she screamed, kicking at the weapon.
The rifle discharged a short burst through the open door and into the shuttle’s cockpit, missing Habershaw cleanly. Donna wrenched the rifle out of the weakened man’s hands, turned it on him and fired. The man’s body jerked once then was still.
“Hurry!” she said. “Those shots’ll bring the whole damned nest down on us!”
They wrestled John through the door, then went back for Rachel. They dragged her roughly into the shuttle’s interior, slammed the door and hustled to the cockpit.
When Habershaw put his hand on the stick, he knew they were in trouble. One of the soldier’s bullets had passed right through the shuttle’s control device, shattered it and left a mangled mess of colored wires on one side. “We got a problem,” he said.
“What?” Donna asked urgently.
“The stick’s fucked up—bullet hit it. I don’t know if this thing’ll fly.”
“Try it anyway,” she said.
“Here goes,” he said and turned the system on. With a lurch, the shuttle began to move forward without any assistance from Habershaw. He held his hands up off the sticks for emphasis. “That’s not good,” he said.
“You’d better make this thing fly,” she said pointing out the front window. “We got company.”
Heading straight at them was a troop transporter, mud flying off its tires in a thick wake.
Habershaw pushed the stick forward.
The shuttle lurched ahead, then began to spin violently, sending Donna against the window. When Habershaw tried to stop the spin, the shuttle’s nose plunged into the mud, sending a spray of goo over the window.
“Shit! This is impossible!” he said.
He touched the stick again and the vehicle lunged forward.
Habershaw tried to get it off the ground, but the shuttle began to dart from side to side. Struggling for balance, Donna glanced over her shoulder to see John and Rachel rolling helplessly back and forth. “Christ!” Habershaw yelled. “I can’t control it!”
The shuttle continued to lurch and buck and swing out of control, occasionally speeding forward, hopping and pounding the ground.
The transport continued to roar at them, changing its course to intercept.
“They’re gonna ram us!” Habershaw yelled, struggling for control. “Dammit!” The shuttle lurched ahead in a straight and final collision course with the transport. “Shit!”
The transport and shuttle collided with a sickening crunch that buckled metal and tossed Donna and Habershaw into the window. Stunned, they fell tangled to the floor.
Donna shook her head to gain her senses and heard hissing and hot, creaking metal and the sound of gurgling in a tank somewhere. For a moment, none of it was real.
“Damn, ” she said.
“Are you all right?” Habershaw asked.
“I . . . think so,” Donna said, grimacing and climbing off him. “We gotta get outta here . . . get John . . . Rachel . . . get out . . . get out . . . ”
There was a sound like metal being bent and torn, and she heard heavy footsteps and clamoring in the cargo bay. Through the thick haze in her head, she thought it might have been John, now awake and coming to help them, ready to help all of them. She looked up to see a ruby-cheeked and overweight soldier standing in the doorway to the cockpit, rifle pointed at her. His shirt was parted at his mid-section from the sheer size of his gut, exposing pink flesh. She looked over at Habershaw who was propped on one elbow, trying to pry himself from between the seats. The whole thing was suddenly funny to her.
“Fuck this,” she said with a wide, sardonic grin. “Fuck this.”
The sound of a single shot from the soldier’s rifle, and the explosion of Habershaw’s head were one and the same.
Habershaw now sat slumped between the seats, his arms limp and his ruined head down, blood dripping from the gaping hole in the back of his skull.
“Nice shot,” she said.
“You want one, too?” the soldier asked menacingly. His voice was high-pitched, like a girl child’s.
“I don’t care. Go ahead, Squeaky—shoot me. I just don’t give a shit.”
“Climb out of there,” he said in his mean little voice. “Get out or I’ll drag you out by your dang hair. Move it.”
Another soldier appeared behind the first. She recognized him as the gung-ho partner of Mahoney, the guard she’d killed. In addition to killing her, she figured this one would probably want to hurt her in some special way as payback for killing his buddy. What he did next shocked her. He stepped up behind the chunky soldier and lunged forward with his rifle butt, striking him in the head. The fat soldier made a high-pitched little grunt, and then fell in a soft heap to the floor. A sweet, sweaty smell reached her as if it had been puffed out of him by the impact.
Donna was confused. Her mind raced. Why? Like a ball in a roulette wheel, the thought finally came to rest.
Gr
eat. Of course. This one wants me all to himself. “Come on,” he said offering a hand. “I’ll get you out of here.”
“What?” she asked, blinking.
“Let’s go. I’m here to help you.”
“And take me just where, soldier boy?”
“Out of here. But we have to go now. Come on.”
“What about my friends? I don’t have many—and I don’t leave behind the ones I have.”
“We don’t have time,” he said. “They’re sending another transport right now. We don’t have time. We have to move. We’ll have to get them later. I know where they’re going. They’ll be all right for a while.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“Let’s just say you’ve got a friend you didn’t know you had.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. I’m Paul Kominski, Mike’s brother.”
18
Paul drove the armored transport down the road at least two kilometers; and when he was sure they wouldn’t be seen, he picked a level spot with not too many trees and turned into the jungle. The powerful transport’s six tires crunched through the thick foliage as if it weren't there. He didn’t go in far, just enough to be hidden from the road.
“This’ll do,” he said. “They’d have to be looking for us to see us in here.”
“But won’t they be?” Donna asked.
“Maybe, but I doubt it. They’ve got what they want.”
“You mean Rachel and John, don’t you?”
“Yes. Rachel especially. We have specific orders to take her alive.”
“Why?”
“Jacob. He’s obsessed with Rachel. She’s not to be hurt—not so much as a scratch.”
“I don’t get it,” Donna said, shaking her head. “What is his fascination with Rachel?”
“He’s evil.”
“He’s dead. That’s what he is,” she said with a snort of satisfaction.
“Dead?”
“That’s right. Haven’t you heard?”
“Heard what? He’s not dead.”
Donna blinked. “Of course he is.”
“You’re mistaken. He’s as alive as you or me. I saw him this morning.”
