“Well, we’re approximately 25 or 30 feet down, give or take. Probably wouldn’t hurt to go deeper if...”
“But we’re under the building, if my orientation sensors are correct. That would then be enough to wait it out here, right? And when the solar incidence shifts, we can shift with the building’s shadow as the time progresses.”
“Probably. But it may be better to consult this,” the Commander said, pulling a radiation meter out of his pocket.
“Fine. Go ahead and rely on modern instrumentation when we could just rely on my perfectly good organic calculator…” Seven teased.
The Commander consulted the meter then his watch. “Looking good, folks,” he said to the assembled group. “It appears as though we may be adequately shielded after all.”
“I won’t say I told you so… this time…” Seven continued.
“Okay, we are dry and we are …” Desmond began, then was interrupted by a static filled, portable radio transmission.
“… Middlerth party, this is Damian Cook, do you read me? Over.”
They looked at one another with total surprise. Then the Commander keyed his radio. “Go ahead.”
There was a pause. “I’m parked here at your aircraft with a truck load of aviation fuel. Sorry I’m late - had some difficulty gettin’ here. Can you please escort me to shelter?”
“Damn!” the Commander swore. “It’s too late to go back to the surface! And just who the hell is Damian Cook?”
Seven bolted over to the Commander and snatched the radio out of his hand. “Do you have another one of these?” he asked.
“I do,” Leighter said, raising one into the air.
“You can borrow his,” Seven said to the Commander, heading toward the shaft he had just come out of.
“Wait! I forbid this!” Desmond responded. “I cannot afford to lose anyone, much less you. We have no idea who has transmitted this message. It could very well be a trap.”
“With all due respect, sir, we don’t have any time to find out; no time to go looking for fuel tomorrow; no time or resources to guard our aircraft at sunset against a city full of interested parties. We must find out what this is all about. We really don’t have any choice and no time to argue.”
Desmond’s face was clouded with anger and uncertainty. “Go ahead then,” he snapped, turning away. “But I’m not responsible for what may happen.”
Seven felt a tug at his arm. Serea stood and faced him. “I’m going with you,” she whispered defiantly.
Seven looked back at her, then nodded. He knew that if he did not agree, he would waste more long, fruitless seconds arguing with her.
“Wait for me,” sighed the Commander in resignation. He had spent his whole life looking after Serea, and he was not going to stop now.
“Fine, let’s just make a convoy out of this dashing out into the storm routine,” Seven complained. “We’re on our way, Damian, hang in there,” he said into the radio as he slipped into the shaft.
As they hurriedly made their way back to the surface, Seven managed to direct Damian to the entrance of the sewer shaft and down to the first horizontal, sludge filled chamber by radio. As he emerged, he saw him leaning against a wall. Seven leapt out of the shaft and turned around to face Serea. “Go back… go back! I found him and I’m bringing him down.”
But the moment Serea saw the youth, she also leapt out into the sewer, closely followed by the Commander.
Seven shook his head in resigned annoyance and turned to face the young man. He was a tall, lanky teen, probably no more than 18. His wore green aviation coveralls that were torn, completely soiled and, in places, burned. His face was dirty and pale, his eyes yellowed, his brown hair thin and mostly gone. His lips were blue and he shivered uncontrollably.
“I knew you would make it,” he said weakly, then collapsed and fell face down into the sewer.
Seven picked him up as Serea wiped his face clean. “Chronic radiation sickness,” Seven said quickly.
The Commander stepped over and slung Damian Cook’s slight frame over his wide shoulder. “We need to get out of here and back down fast!” he barked. With a remarkable agility for a large framed man, the Commander handed Cook off to Seven, then lunged back toward the shaft and inserted himself into it feet first. “You push and I’ll pull,” he said inching backward and reaching his arms out for Cook.
Seven lifted the young man up by the rear of his pants and stuffed him headfirst into the shaft. Then he pushed his frame inside as the Commander pulled. By the time he and Serea had reached the vertical shaft down, the Commander had already slung Cook over his shoulder and was halfway down the ladder. Seven and Serea followed them to the next, dry horizontal shaft. When they arrived at the exact spot where they had left the others, Desmond and party were nowhere to be seen.
“Oh my God, where are they?” Serea asked with wide eyes.
“Shhh,” Seven said listening carefully in the great concrete catacomb. “I hear something.”
In the darkness they could hear what appeared to be whispers, and further away, a shrill scream. Seven broke into a run, removing the Colt from his belt. With a single motion, he ratcheted a shell into the chamber.
Serea followed with the Commander still holding tightly onto Cook.
The passageway took two 45 degree turns, then a 45 degree turn in another direction. They ran on another 50 feet and stopped. Before them were three separate tunnels leading in different directions.
“This way!” Seven said, pointing to the center tunnel from which the sounds emanated. He ran another 15 feet, and then stopped abruptly, holding his hand back. There was yet another passageway which he cautiously peered around. Seven walked slowly around the curve to face Desmond and Leighter lying on their stomach’s, looking down into a lower chamber that was filled with an odd, nearly randomly paced amber pulsing light. What Seven then saw horrified him and turned his stomach.
Five boys, including the one that had led them to the sewers, had cornered a weeping, tiny, frail girl and were taunting her, striking her with rocks and empty cans. One of the boys pointed a rifle at her.
“You’re gonna be our slave, little spyin’ brat,” said one of the boys. “You’re gonna do whatever we say or we’re gonna kill you and eat you.”
The tiny girl was sobbing, pleading, her face on the ground, blood dripping from a cut in her shoulder. All she wore was a long, filthy, ripped t-shirt.
Seven crawled between Desmond and Leighter, settled his elbows onto the solid surface and took careful aim with his pistol. He had never shot this particular model and did not know its peculiarities, but counted on its sighting to be accurate.
One of the boys walked over to the girl and raised a large stick over her head to club her. The moment he did so, Seven shot the rifle out of the other boy’s hands. He screamed in terror, dropped the weapon and ran, followed by the other boys, into the darkness of the sewer. Seven’s ears rang painfully with the incredibly loud report as he swung his body over the edge and dropped down into the lower chamber. He lunged to the frail little girl and swept her up into his arms, holding her tightly.
“It’s okay, little one, it’s okay now,” he said, clutching her tiny, fragile body, quivering in horrified sobs.
Serea bounded over the edge and stood beside him. “Give her to me,” she demanded with extended arms. Seven passed her over to Serea who began to hold her tightly and soothe her with quiet whispers.
“Radiation reading, please,” Seven asked the Commander.
“Nominal, for now.”
“Fine, then we stay here for a while,” he said, sitting down on the floor of the cavernous sewer pulsating with strange flashes of orange light. He sighed. It was going to be a long wait for sunset.
gh
An hour later, Serea had examined the petite child and cleaned her up as best she could. She had even removed her own undershirt and, with safety pins and creative knot-tying, made a new dress for her. But through it all, the little
girl continued to clutch and reach out for Seven. Now she lay contentedly sleeping in his strong, protective arms.
“She’s tough,” Serea reported. “They bruised her up and cut her shoulder, but that’s all. She may be slightly malnourished, but not badly, considering.”
“Did she say what her name was?” Seven asked, looking down at her peaceful face.
“Yes. Her name is Luci, and I think she likes you,” Serea said with a gentle smile. “She keeps saying, ‘It’s Daddy. I knew he would come back for me.’ How about our pal Damian Cook?”
“Not good. He’s definitely in a coma and I don’t think he’s going to wake up.”
“How can you know that?” she asked.
“I don’t. It’s just a hunch. But he has a raging fever, we can’t get any fluids down him and he doesn’t appear to be able to swallow. From my limited experience, I’d say his organs are shutting down. He must have had inadequate shelter all along, and this morning’s exercise just might’ve finished him off.”
“Who is he?”
Seven shook his head slowly. “Well, he has to be from McChord, is my best guess. If he’s driving around a truckload of aviation fuel, he must’ve received our transmission, heard our radio broadcasts and drove the fuel out to meet us. I mean, I really can’t even imagine that whole incredible ordeal, but it appears that’s what happened.”
“He could’ve driven in from Seattle-Tacoma airport or from King County,” the Commander answered from the far side of the tunnel. “There’s no telling. It’s my guess he knew where the fuel was and heard our broadcast. He probably wants to trade gas for a ride out.”
“If he has a truck load of aviation fuel out there, he gets whatever he wants,” Seven observed.
With that promise, Cook moaned lightly in his deep sleep.
Seven stood guard all night while the rest slept. He was not tired from his deep slumber on the flight over, but Serea slept curled in her father’s arms, and Leighter slept soundly. The Commander slept on and off and always with one eye open. Seven could never discern whether he was truly sleeping or not.
Seven lay tightly clinging to Luci, his back resting against the curved wall of the sewer. His ears strained in the darkness to hear if anyone wanted to return and finish the fight. But apparently it was not to be so. Sooner than he would have wished, the time came to move.
“Half an hour to flight time,” he announced to the group, waking them all at once except for Luci and Cook.
“How is our friend?” Desmond asked of Cook’s condition.
Seven handed Luci to Serea and walked over to Cook. “It appears he’s still alive and looks like he may be in a deep coma,” he observed.
“Except I’d like some bacon and eggs, please,” Cook said in a weak murmur as he opened his eyes. “Actually, I’ll trade the bacon and eggs for a flight out of this hell-hole,” he said in a hoarse, barely audible whisper.
“Granted,” Seven responded with a wide smile. “You can have my seat as long as you don’t mind sitting on my lap.”
“I’d sit on the devil’s lap for a ride,” Cook responded.
“Can you sit up?” Seven asked.
He tried, but could not. “Please, please don’t leave me here!” he pleaded.
“Don’t worry, my friend. You bought the gas and you get to ride. My fine, large companion here will carry you,” Seven said, looking over to the Commander who was just sitting up.
“Fill me in on one thing,” Leighter asked. “If it took you nearly all the dark hours and minutes to get here from Dutch Harbor, then how are we going to have time to refuel and fly back? Aren’t we going to run out of time?”
“No,” Desmond responded first.
“Prevailing tailwind,” Serea added. “We pick up at least an hour flight time.”
“But we still don’t have any spare minutes,” the Commander commented. “It’ll take at least that amount of time to fuel these puppies on our own…. and that’s if our friend Damian Cook is actually on the level.”
“Just help me to the truck,” Cook offered weakly. “I’ll tell you what levers to pull and what buttons to push. I’ll help you refuel the planes in half an hour or less.”
“Hope you brought a lot of gas,” Seven stated, reminding them, “the original plan was to fly one aircraft back with only four people. Now we’ll need both planes for the trip back.”
At that moment, Luci awoke, her eyes flashing about wildly. She startled with the motions of a squirrel, caught sight of Seven, leapt out of Serea’s arms and clung to Seven’s legs, trembling. He lifted her up and held her tightly. “It’s okay, Luci. We’re all going bye-bye very soon.”
gh
They each ate from a small pack of food Leighter had been carrying, and then retraced their steps back toward the surface, ever monitoring the radiation levels as they climbed. When they stepped out onto the street, they could see from a distance that not only were the aircraft intact, but Cook’s 18 wheeled fuel tanker truck was actually parked between them. On its side was emblazoned “SEA-TAC INTERNATIONAL”.
Cook hung over the Commander’s right shoulder. “The hose should reach both aircraft,” he observed with as much energy as he could muster.
“Commander, sit Damian down on the front seat,” Seven ordered briskly. “You stand guard with your automatic weapon and Leighter and I will refuel while Dr. Desmond and Serea prep the ships for liftoff. Damian, what do we do first?”
In half an hour, true to Cook’s promise, both ships were fueled and their engines running. Meanwhile, the Commander had fired several bursts of gunfire in the direction of some interested onlookers to render them less curious.
In the first aircraft was Desmond, along with Cook and his new caretaker, Karl Leighter. In the second, identical VTOL, was Seven, who strapped himself into the seat with the still-clinging Luci in his lap, Serea and the Commander riding in the back seat.
The first plane, piloted by Desmond, lifted off the Seattle sidewalk at sunset followed moments later by the second, piloted by Serea. In a few minutes, they had both cleared the skyline headed west in formation under clear, darkening skies and horizontal flight toward Dutch Harbor. The sole survivors of Middlearth along with the rescuers from Pacifica, a young aviation assistant from Seattle, and one little girl had now joined their fates under the crystal stars of the night sky.
50
If there was ever a better-than-textbook flight, the return to Dutch Harbor was just such an excursion. The tailwind expedited the flight along with perfect weather at cruising altitude so that the two aircraft touched down in formation on runway 12 with over an hour to spare before sunrise and no sign at all of any trouble from the ground.
They were met at the point of landing by a jubilant Kevin Winsteed who personally popped Seven’s hatch open and stood facing him with a fat unlit stogie sticking out of his mouth.
“Regular as laxative, Dr. Seven; not bad for a civilian!” he said with a broad smile.
“I’ll take that as a compliment, thank-you,” Seven responded with a tired grin.
“Don’t you ever light that thing?” Serea asked, glancing at Winsteed from the corner of her eye while snapping off her thin flight gloves.
“Against regulations to smoke anywhere around here, particularly on the flight line. But it’s not against most people’s sensitivities if I just prop it up where I can see it.”
“Well, from the looks of it, it’s been lit before,” Seven said, noting the blackened tip.
“Yeah, I light up during fire fights. I figure, who’s gonna actually complain when I’m pissed and shooting an M-16 at anything that moves.
“Who’s that?” Winsteed asked of Luci who lay curled asleep in Seven’s arms as he stepped out of the aircraft with a stiff gait. “I don’t remember her being on the manifest. And what’s with two aircraft? We expected only one returning …”
“All this…” Seven said moving his head back and forth between the two aircraft and passengers now unw
inding from their seats and stepping onto the tarmac, “… all this is what you would call a ‘last minute change in plans’, and I would use the term plans very loosely.”
“Any trouble at McChord? You must’ve been able to get in and out with no….” Winsteed conjectured with a more than curious look etched across his face.
“McChord is history, Kevin,” Seven responded looking Winsteed directly in the eye.
“Then how?… where?…” Winsteed asked with some confusion.
As he asked, Desmond walked slowly and with considerable unease to where they stood. Beside him was Serea whose eyes were red with grateful tears as she clung to his arm. His face was lined with worry, but Seven thought he could detect a sense of some peace making its way across his otherwise hard visage.
Seven made the introduction and, as he did, Damian Cook approached with the aid of the Commander and Karl Leighter. Seven continued the introductions as they gathered around the VTOL.
“If there’s a hero in all of this, Kevin,” Seven said to Winsteed, “it has to be young Damian here who delivered our fuel to downtown Seattle at the risk of his own life.”
“Now let me see if I got this straight…you landed this thing in downtown Seattle where he delivered AV-gas?” Winsteed asked incredulously. “Now this is one story I think I wanna hear!”
Lieutenant Juanita Juarez approached in her typical polished style and crisp demeanor, with pert, fresh-faced young Libby Donovan beside her. “Who’s the hero here? This man?” Juanita asked, stepping in front of Cook.
Cook looked up and his eyes met Libby’s and fixed for a long moment. He managed a weak smile and said self-consciously, “Put me down, I can walk fine.”
The Commander and Leighter exchanged skeptical glances, and then slowly released him and took a half step away.
“Nice to meet you, Captain,” Cook said, extending a trembling hand to Juanita while his eyes remained fixed on Libby.
She smiled and responded, “It’s Lieutenant,” as she accepted his hand. Just as she did, his legs buckled and he started to fall. Juanita and Libby quickly caught him and propped his arms around their shoulders. Although Cook was a full six inches taller than the ladies, they managed to brace him expertly with no help from anyone.
Quantum Storms - Aaron Seven Page 43
