Core Punch

by Pauline Baird Jones

  Joe considered the suggestion, then shook his head. “I do not believe we are above the storm surge here.”

  Vi looked down at her weather screen.

  It was as dark as the view outside.

  4

  “What else is offline?” Joe asked, checking the panels closest to his station. His screens appeared to be functional, but they were all related to skimmer operations. It was a relief to be stationary, even if only briefly. Though the brief respite from stress seemed to have released additional body heat into the all-enclosing emergency gear. Apparently it could get hotter.

  The stress upped your body temperature?

  Joe bit his tongue and ignored the interjection. And the derisive snort. If he thought about the kiss—and there it went up another degree. Now was not the time. He pushed aside the question of whether there would ever be a time to think about that kiss and tried to focus on their current problem.

  “All uplinks to satellite data are gone. Our underbelly vid was already out, but it looks like we’ve lost top and both side vids, too.” She tapped something. “Rear vid is still operational, because, you know, seeing where we’ve been will be so helpful to our current circumstances.”

  He now recognized sarcasm and didn’t make the mistake of pointing out that the rear vid wouldn’t be helpful. The one screen he almost wished had gone out was the one recording their fuel supply. He did not dare shut off the engines when he was not certain they would re-fire. The only good news, in their current position, they were burning minimal fuel. Without data, all he had were his eyes to study the storm. Did it seem less dark? The wind continued to lash the trees, though perhaps not as fiercely. And the rain might be slackening off. Though he had never engaged in wishful thinking, the possibility remained that the worst of the feeder band had moved away from them.

  “I think we might be sort of between feeder bands,” Vi said, confirming his visuals. “One of those weather jokers was talking about what it was like. This might be that.”

  “Yes,” Joe said, as if he’d remembered, instead of getting the info from Lurch, “intense rain and wind, followed by little rain and less intense wind.” Winds that could still gust up into the 100 mph range without warning.

  “Do we dare make a run for it?” she asked, her eyes big in a white, wet face. Tendrils of hair clung to her skin where they’d crept out from under her head gear.

  He considered the question. Without real-time access to weather data, it was risky. Staying was suicide if the storm surge reached them.

  I have an idea, but you will not like it.

  He was also sure he would not like it. Joe’s sigh was silent. What is it?

  The 72’r kits.

  * * *

  Vi stared up, though she could see nothing but clouds. It was irrational to feel that if she looked hard enough she could see past the storm to the city above. How was it faring as WTF moved in? What kind of weather would they be experiencing? She thought she’d paid attention, that she knew what to expect. She was wrong. It was like being in that dream, the one where you were back in school and you find out there’s a test and you haven’t studied for it, and besides, you didn’t know you were taking that course. Had she really thought she was a weather “expert” after listening to a few vid reports? Talk about having the illusion of knowledge. Was this how people had felt during Chen when they found themselves trapped on the ground? The loss of life had been the worst since Katrina. And they’d had experience with hurricanes then. Her city, the floating city, hadn’t experienced a hurricane since Chen. Was her family all right? If—when they got to the airport, would rescue be there? How much time would Captain Uncle give them to reach the airport? Would there be a city up there to flee to if they did?

  “I have an,” Joe paused, his tone heavy with reluctance, “idea.”

  She looked at him, saw Fido out of the corner of her eye, sitting back there looking at them like he understood and was curious as well. It was a bit eerie. Even after years of research, no one really knew how much dogs understood, since no one had managed to actually have a conversation with one. Fido met her gaze with a soulful, doggish look. Almost idly she wondered what breed he was. Probably mongrel. Bedraggled mongrel. Not that she was any great shakes. She looked at Joe. Even bedraggled, he was better looking than the dog. And just about everyone.

  “What?” She sounded wary. She felt wary.

  “The 72’r kits.”

  She blinked. “The 72’r kits.” She blinked again. “You mean those old backpacks?”

  “The emergency backpacks,” he reminded her.

  Well, this sure as hounds-of-a-hot-place qualified as an emergency.

  He tapped in some command or other and a list appeared on her screen.

  She studied it for a couple of seconds. “Water? No clue what an MRE is—”

  “I suspect it is some type of sustenance.”

  Sustenance was good. “They’re in the back.” Newer models of the skimmer had access to the back from the cockpit, but not this one, of course. She leaned forward, trying to look along the skimmer to the rear through her side viewers. They were in here pretty tight. Could one of them even get back there?

  Apparently Joe had been doing the same thing. “The skimmer is too close to the debris on this side.”

  “There might be room on mine.”

  She looked forward. This was probably as good as it was going to get for going outside. She didn’t want to think about what would happen if her side hatch got stuck open—so she didn’t. She pushed the release. It rose slowly, as if reluctant as she was, letting in a rush of damp air that immediately fogged her face shield. She popped it up, surprised to find the air clammy rather than hot. It was moving, so that was probably why. It wasn’t quiet, but the wind wasn’t as loud as the last time. The hatch lifted, lifted some more, skimming past the concrete with some really small number to spare. Vi shifted and it scraped. Yeah, that was close.

  She activated her head lamp, leaned out, and looked around. The concrete block supporting them extended maybe a foot beyond the skimmer. There was a gap between the block beneath and the one next to them. And the ones over them. She grasped the side and leaned further out, shining the light down the length. It looked like she could get through, though the passage narrowed sharply toward the rear of the skimmer. And just in case she was inclined to be hopeful, the blocks were also coated with green slime-looking stuff. She could see scoring from their landing, and the fishtailing of the skimmer caused by the vortex as it passed over. The wind wasn’t too bad, though it still carried small bits of debris. A leaf hit her face and stuck. She pulled it off and flung it to the wind, which grabbed it and carried it away.

  She sat back. Took a breath, then looked at Joe, trying for can-do.

  “I will crawl past you and do it,” he said.

  So she’d failed at can-do. Up next: have-to-do. “I’m not sure you’ll fit. It looks—tight back there.”

  They didn’t even have safety rope in this stupid thing. No grapple as part of her suit. Those suits were reserved for the rescue services. Exactly what emergency was her gear supposed to help with? She tried a smile, apparently did better at that. Or Joe was trying not to add to her abject fear. He gave her a thumbs up, which was pretty out there for him. The dog gave a small whine that might have been encouragement. Too bad they couldn’t send him out there, but he’d probably run off.

  She lifted her leg out, grasping the sides of the skimmer and lowered her foot until it rested on the block. She moved it around, testing the surface. No surprise there was no downward give or that it was slippery. Thank goodness for the maintenance grips along the side, though they were vertical, not horizontal, which would have helped more.

  Regs said she should wear gloves in an emergency where contaminants might be present. Green slime probably qualified as a contaminant. Looked gross enough to be one. But she didn’t deploy them. The regs would have to deal. She needed all the tactile advantage she could g
et, even though the thoughts of what might be in the green goo coating the block made her want to shudder. With a last attempted smile at Joe, Vi brought her other leg out and scooted to the edge of her sling. When her weight shifted to her outside leg, she felt it start to slip. She clutched the sides and said something dubious. Joe made a worried sound.

  “I’m okay.” She was such a liar. If she died now—

  “Take care.” It sounded like an order, but felt like a plea.

  His people were sort of chauvinistic, so this had to be hard for him. “Oh, I will.”

  By scraping at the concrete, she managed to get the gripping surface on the bottom of her boots into semi-contact with the concrete. And tried to stand again. This time she got both boots on the block. Okay, that sounded wrong for some reason. Cautiously she inched around until she faced the skimmer. While she’d been turning, Joe had clambered over the center console into her sling. For some reason that helped. Holding his gaze, she felt along the metal until she found a grip.

  Joe leaned down, so his headlight shone out. He raised his head. “Vi—”

  “I’ll be right back.” It wasn’t easy to look away from the comfort of his worried brown eyes. She was impressed she managed it. Then impressed gave way to holy freaking crapeau. She tipped her chin, so her headlamp shone on the wing. Hadn’t she just been to this party? She got her leg over it, found the next grip and got the other leg over. Because the engineers who had designed the skimmer hadn’t foreseen this situation—or any emergency it seemed—the grips hadn’t been placed that close together. She didn’t have to let go of one to get her fingers around the next, but her arms were fully extended both directions before she reached grip number three.

  About halfway along, she happened to glance down. Mistake. Couldn’t see a bottom because of the way the gap between the blocks narrowed. If she fell, it would not be pleasant. With the sky lighting some, she could sort of see around her. Or her eyes had adjusted to the murk. The way the blocks of concrete tumbled together was not that reassuring. They’d been there a long time, she reminded herself, as she reached for the next grip.

  “You’re doing great,” Joe said, obviously trying to sound encouraging.

  Bless his heart. In a weird way, it did help. When, she wondered, had the skimmer gotten this long? A gust of wind roared into the semi-cave, forcing her to press into the side of the skimmer, her feet almost losing their grip, as the debris pelting picked up. Joe’s light wavered, then steadied. The wind gust didn’t last, thank goodness, though the non-gusting wind wasn’t great either. It felt like it wanted to push her back to the cockpit, or blow her out into the rising water. Maw Maw N had PMS for sure.

  She reached out. This time the distance between the grips wasn’t as far. Her light picked out the rear of the skimmer. “I’m almost there—”

  Her hand closed around a grip. She let go of one and started to ease the rest of her to the next.

  A piece of the concrete broke off under the weight-bearing foot.

  Her other foot slipped. Her hand holding the grip got her full weight with a painful jerk. She spun in a half circle, banging her knee against the edge of the block, the twist almost making her lose her hold on the wet grip. Her light showed jagged chunks, like teeth opened wide to receive her. The height of the grips was just wrong, making the ledge both too low and too high. She tried to get her other hand up and almost lost her hold.

  She stilled.

  “I”m coming—”

  She wouldn’t last that long.

  “Just catching my breath—”

  In a gap in the blocks to her right, her light illuminated eyes….

  * * *

  Vi dangled precariously off the rim of concrete, all her weight on one hand. He leaned further out, trying to give her more light. He succeeded. His light, added to hers, illumined the shape, just as its the mouth parted enough to show teeth. Was it…?

  It is a raccoon. A pause. That is not a good thing. They can be vicious.

  The raccoon reared back, baring its teeth and hissing. Keeping his light fixed on it, he reached down, feeling for his weapon. The one-touch release took two touches. He eased it clear of the holster and flicked off the safety. Started to change it from stun to kill. Changed his mind. The passage was so narrow, if he hit Vi….

  Your setting will not matter if you hit her. She will fall.

  Thinking about that will steady my aim.

  Joe tried to keep his light steady on the creature as he lifted his arm, took aim—and pulled the trigger. Light flashed in the narrow space, blinding him. There was a yelp. Possibly a thud. Vi or the raccoon?

  He heard scraping. Boots against concrete.

  “Vi?”

  “I’m okay. A little bruised.”

  His vision began to adjust. She’d managed to get her feet back on the narrowing ledge. Both hands clutched the hand grip now.

  “It’s down.” She reached down and pulled her weapon. Fired it. “Don’t want it waking up pissed for my trip back.”

  Another gust whistled through, its force boosted by being funneled through the cavern. He tried not to think about the objects striking the aging skimmer. Or Vi. Their forward view shield already sported several starred impact marks. How much abuse could it withstand? His breath held as he watched her squeeze past the last hurdle. When she was out of sight, he heard, “You wouldn’t have made that. I barely made it.”

  He felt the skimmer shudder as the rear hatch opened.

  How will she return with two packs?

  Lurch had no answer.

  It felt as if the wind picked up, not just because of the cavern, but generally. He studied the terrain ahead of them. It did seem that their period of “calm” was coming to an end. He felt Lurch’s impatience that she remained out of sight.

  She is moving as fast as she can.

  I am aware. But if she lingers too long, the trip back will be more perilous.

  The canine in the rear seat moved closer and whined mournfully. It saw Joe glance at him and barred its teeth, a low growl at the back of its throat.

  It doesn’t seem to like you.

  And still she didn’t appear. “Vi—”

  “There’s rope in these things. I’m trying to rig something.”

  “The wind is increasing again.” Rain began again. “Leave one—”

  “This may be our only chance and trust me, we need this crapeau.”

  Finally she appeared around the side. She held a length of rope, with something tied on the end. The hatch ground back into place. But she didn’t start back.

  “I’m going to toss this and you need to catch it,” she said.

  She squeezed past the tight spot, only the toes of her boots on concrete. He watched her run a length of rope through a grip, then through several loops on her suit and snap something. She tested the rope before she grabbed the length of rope and began to swing it, with the heavy object tied to the end. With each swing, she let more of the rope go, using the gap to extend the length of each swing. It came close and he almost caught it, but a gust of wind spun it out of reach. He used one of Vi’s words. And waited. Next time.

  She had to reel it in and start over. Slowly, so slowly it seemed, the object swung closer and closer.

  Now!

  He lunged, while keeping a grip on the side. Felt rope sliding through his fingers. The object slammed into his chest with numbing force, but Lurch helped him hang on to the rope by increasing the strength in his hand.

  “I’ve got it.” He pulled it into the cockpit. It appeared to be a small bag, made of netting of some sort, and filled with heavy objects.

  “You’ll find a carabiner in there. See if you can hook your end to something.”

  The rainfall rate was increasing, and the wind blew it into the skimmer and along the passage Vi must travel.

  “Once you’ve got it, I’ll slide the packs onto my end and secure them, and then you can reel them in. I’ll follow and try to keep them from getting s
tuck on something. With the rope, I should be more secure for the trip back.”

  He worked on securing his end. “I am ready.”

  She had to go back through the narrow gap to get the packs. He saw her push them through the gap, one at a time. Once they were clear, he began pulling them in. Vi followed, moving faster, though at each grip she paused to secure herself. The packs got stuck once, but she was able to kick them free and in minutes he pulled them inside, tossing them on the floor, so he could reach for Vi. The last stretch seemed the longest. As soon as she clambered across the wing, he grabbed her, tumbling them both onto her sling. It was most uncomfortable, but he could not let go. She wriggled and he tightened his hold, but realized she had just reached over to close the hatch. He found he could chuckle, though only once.

  “I missed you, too,” she said, against his shoulder.

  “I would kiss you on your mouth, but I do not think I could stop,” he said.

  “Ditto.”

  “I suppose,” he said, reluctantly after a pointed nudge from Lurch, “that we should do something.”

  She lifted her head off his chest. Managed a wavering smile. She had smears of green on her gear, her face and, he noted, liberally covering her boots and clothing where they rested awkwardly on the console. She had to be most uncomfortable. He aided her attempt to get off him, then clambered back into his sling. She dropped in hers with a sigh. He looked at her, then at the storm building back up out there. And wished he’d taken time for the kiss.

  She hefted one of the packs onto the console so he could take it.

  “I’m not sure how they’ll help us get from point A to point B, but there is water in these bad boys. And some scary looking stuff that claims to be edible.”

  “Water would be helpful, but I am hoping for a compass.”

  She looked puzzled. “A compass? One of those weird ancient old math things you draw circles with?”

  He shook his head, digging through the contents. “Ah.” He pulled it out and held it up the round disc. The hands spun, then pointed north.