One final effort. Her left leg hooked inside the fuselage and she heaved herself in, rolling to one side, hands fumbling for the gun. She looked up.
The pilot was half-turned in his seat, one hand on the controls. In his other was a handgun and it was trained on Pan. The dark eye of the barrel bored into her. It was difficult to wrench her gaze from that dark circle and its potential for sudden death, but she forced herself to meet the pilot’s eyes. Those familiar eyes.
‘Pandora Jones,’ said Professor Goldberg. ‘I do believe the time has come for you to die.’
His finger tightened on the trigger.
Chapter 25
‘Nate,’ said Pan, but it was as if her voice belonged to someone else. Her eyes were back on the dark circle of Professor Goldberg’s gun barrel. It didn’t waver.
‘What about him?’ he said.
‘He’s here.’
Professor Goldberg sighed, glanced quickly through the cockpit screen and adjusted the helicopter’s angle of flight with one small movement of his left hand. Then he looked at Pan and smiled.
‘Your famous intuition, Pandora? The one thing you could say that would prolong your life by a few seconds?’
‘It’s true. He’s here.’
‘Nathaniel is locked up in a cell at The School,’ said Goldberg. ‘Dr Macredie put him there when someone – you, I suspect – set fire to his cabin as a diversion for your little . . . escapade. I don’t take kindly to someone trying to kill my grandson, Pandora. I don’t take kindly to it at all.’
‘Dr Macredie lied. Nate came with us. He was there when we broke into the Infirmary, he was there when we broke out, and he’s here now.’
Professor Goldberg tilted his head to one side, eyes boring into Pan’s as if reading for truth in their depths. Then he nodded.
‘Maybe,’ he admitted. ‘The woman knows how to lie. But if he is down there, it’s all the more reason to end this madness now, before something happens to him. And, you have to acknowledge, the only way to restore order is to remove the source of disruption. You, Pandora Jones. You’re the centre. Once you die we can get back to normal.’ ‘Just answer me one question.’
This time, Professor Goldberg laughed. ‘I do believe you’ve watched too many films where the villain is kept talking until improbable rescue arrives.’ He made another adjustment of the chopper. ‘But the teacher in me could never resist such a request. I will answer your one question, though I suggest you make it brief.’
‘Does Nate know he is your grandson?’
‘A curious question,’ said Professor Goldberg, ‘under the circumstances.’ He scratched his head with the thumb of his gun hand and for one heartbeat Pan’s body tensed to make a spring, but then the gun was levelled at her again and the moment had gone. ‘Deep down, he knows, of course,’ Professor Goldberg continued. ‘Memories can never be erased completely, as you have yourself discovered. But it is a knowledge buried beneath so many false memories that I doubt it will ever surface.’
‘How could you do that to your own grandson?’
‘A second question, Pandora?’ Professor Goldberg gave a thin smile. ‘That was not our deal. However, I’ll answer provided you understand there will not be a third. That is guaranteed. How could I do that to Nathaniel? A better question would be how could I not? In a short time the world will die and a few thousand will carry the baton of humanity. It is better if Nathaniel remembers nothing of what he was. The past – his mother, father, grandparents, friends – is an irrelevance, possibly a fatal distraction from the new world and the challenges he will face. Do you think I want him to remember me fondly? Do you think I want him to remember me at all? That is supremely unimportant. He is freed from the past. I freed him, because only the future counts. And that is the reason I am about to free him from you. Now do you understand?’
‘I understand,’ said Pan, ‘that if you kill me, you’ll kill Nate too.’
‘And why would that be?’
‘Because he’s climbing a rope into this helicopter,’ said Pan. ‘And he’s at the end of his strength.’ She jerked her head to the opening in the side of the chopper. ‘In two seconds, his hand will appear, but he’s slipping. Without help he will fall. And I’m the only one who can help him.’
And even before she had finished the sentence, a hand snaked over the edge of the fuselage, followed by a mop of curly black hair. Professor Goldberg reacted instinctively. He lurched out of his seat and the helicopter canted violently to the left. Nate’s head disappeared, though three fingers remained, gripping the metal lip along the door’s frame, knuckles arched and white. Professor Goldberg scrambled back into his seat and adjusted the controls, bringing the chopper to an even keel.
‘Grab him!’ he yelled. ‘Now, Pandora.’
Pan got to her knees and leaned out of the helicopter door. The ground was far away and for one instant her fear of heights made her blood run cold. But there was no time for such weakness. She reached her left arm out and Nate gripped her forearm. Pan braced her legs as Nate pulled himself up. Within a few seconds he lay on the floor of the helicopter.
Nate stood slowly, his body partly shielding Pan’s, and looked at Professor Goldberg. His eyes shifted to the gun.
‘Give it up, Prof,’ he said. ‘There’s no need for anyone else to die.’
Professor Goldberg kept his gun on Nate, but his eyes kept flicking to Pan.
He’s weighing up the chances, Pan thought. Is he a good enough shot to kill me without hitting his grandson?
But there was fear in his eyes and the black circle of the barrel shook slightly.
‘Move away from each other,’ ordered Goldberg. Nate took a step forward and extended his hand.
And then Pan knew how this would unfold, but was powerless to stop it. Nate’s step left a little more of her exposed. She saw the fear in Professor Goldberg’s eyes dissolve and the barrel twitched slightly to her left. She saw the tip of his forefinger blanch as he applied pressure to the trigger.
She had no time to tense her body in expectation of the shot or warn Nate as he threw himself to his left to cover her. The gunshot was unnaturally loud in the confines of the cockpit, the stench of burning immediate.
Nate’s body slammed back into her and she fell.
Time slowed again. Pan was aware of the warmth of Nate’s flesh against hers, felt his confusion and fear, a bright yet silent explosion in his mind. She felt blood sticky on her hands and knew it wasn’t hers. Professor Goldberg’s face over Nate’s left shoulder, his eyes wide with terror and grief. She watched as he rose from the pilot’s seat and moved, slowly, slowly towards them on the floor. Pan felt the world turn as the helicopter tilted. Far away, there was a shrill whine of an engine screaming. And then the weight of Nate’s body was gone. Professor Goldberg cradled him in his arms, tears running down his face, mouth twisted in a scream that may or may not have been uttered. The world continued to tilt and Pan knew they were all going to die.
And time still played tricks. Pan found herself in the pilot’s chair and she had no idea how she got there. Her hands were on the controls, but they didn’t know what to do. It seemed she saw everything all at once – the swirling sky, the grey sea whipped by the chopper’s blades, the twisting of Nate from Professor Goldberg’s grip and the slamming of the Professor’s head against the metal floor, the grunt she saw but couldn’t hear, the way Nate slumped on his side and clutched his chest, the thickening trail of blood that oozed between his fingers. A second passed but it took a long time. Nate is alive. The knowledge flickered and died and another second passed. The sea was close now. Pan was pressed against the side door and she had to look down to see the water. There was nothing else to see. It filled the world.
Pan moved her right hand down and found flesh. Professor Goldberg’s unconscious body had slid up against the pilot’s chair. She took his hand. She closed her eyes and pushed with her mind.
A boy in a leaf-strewn yard. A boy with black, curly hair an
d a baseball mitt on one hand. A man threw him a ball and the boy fumbled the catch, his face crumpling in disappointment. Pan pushed further. She burrowed beneath the images and memories, in search of something that existed not in conscious thought, but as an intuitive skill, a process the mind simply knew and did not have to think about. But images and feelings were not easily banished. The same boy skating on a lake of ice, eyes bright with wonder. Deeper and deeper she delved. The metal stick in her left hand felt colder than the hand in her right. The cyclic stick. That’s what it was. Her foot moved towards a pedal on the floor and found it. Pan opened her eyes and allowed her body to do what was needed. There was a change in the engine’s noise and a change too in the view through the cockpit. The world was righting itself. Pan glanced to her left. The sea was immediately beneath her, the surface foaming and swirling with the downdraught of the helicopter’s blades. They needed altitude and she knew how to do it. Pan remained in a place beyond time. She wasn’t flying this craft. The part of her mind that was still hers knew that. Her body was simply a conduit to Professor Goldberg on the floor. He was unconscious, but he was flying the chopper. Pan merely provided the muscles, sinews and nerves.
Nate had propped himself up against the fuselage, his eyes closed, hands holding his chest. The helicopter was rising, hovering above the waves. The horizon was steady.
‘Nate,’ she said. ‘Do not die on me. I need you.’
There was no reply.
‘NATE!’ she yelled.
His eyes fluttered open, then shut again. He shook his head and cried out. When he opened his eyes again they were filled with pain and purpose in equal measure.
‘Okay. I’m with you, Pan.’ His voice was barely more than a whisper.
‘You have to be my eyes, Nate. Where’s the team?’
‘Last I saw,’ he said, ‘behind a building . . . in the village. We . . . killed two soldiers . . . others took cover. Men closing in . . . from behind.’
The majority of Pan’s mind was still mingled with Professor Goldberg’s, but she saw other things as well. Jen hit by a piece of shrapnel, taking out part of an ear, Jen barely noticing. Wei-Lin and the others, safe, hiding, but scared as the net tightened. Nate spotting Pan’s ascent, running from cover, scrambling up the rope after her. Coming to her aid, saving her life. She didn’t know where the images came from, but knew they were right.
Think about it later. Make sure there is a later.
‘Direct me, Nate.’
‘I’ll try, Pandora,’ he gasped.
Pan ignored him. ‘There’s no place to land,’ she said. ‘So this is the plan. I’ll hover over them, they grab the ropes. As soon as they take hold I fly out to sea, out of the line of fire. They climb on board without having to avoid bullets. And if anyone falls, there’s a soft landing. Got it?’
Nate edged his way to the chopper’s opening, every movement bringing obvious agony. He peered over the side.
‘Forward . . . keep going . . . to your right . . . forward again.’
The firing drowned out any further instructions. A series of metallic plinks ran, like an insane musical scale, across the helicopter’s fuselage and the controls jerked in Pan’s hands. She fought to bring it under control. One bullet passed through the undercarriage and she felt the air pressure as it travelled to her left, the window crazing.
Pan concentrated on the locket around her neck. She reached out to Jen. The shudder of revulsion, then acceptance.
Direct me, Jen. I’m in the helicopter. Grab the ropes, hang on. I’ll take us out.
A pause and then the words in her head.
Fifty metres forward. Down. More. That’s it. Slightly to your left. Keep it steady.
Pan’s mind was in many areas simultaneously. She felt Nate’s pain, saw through Jen’s eyes, kept most of her mind on Professor Goldberg’s buried instincts. She knew when the team had gripped the ropes, felt their hands on the lines, tapped their fears, understood they had closed their eyes, hanging on in desperate hope.
She swung the stick to her left and the engine whined. Altitude. She needed altitude. An image came of the group swinging towards the sides of buildings and she adjusted. There was another burst of gunfire, but this one was fainter and nothing hit the chopper, as far as she could tell. She glanced down and saw water, a couple of boats moored at sea.
Pan let the helicopter hover. She couldn’t see anything below, but she knew the team was inching its way up the ropes, using the last of their reserves. She allowed herself to glance to her right. Nate was still slumped inside the door, a hand against his chest, eyes closed and face twisted.
Jen’s head appeared. Nate edged forward and extended a hand, reached down and grabbed Jen’s wrist. She pulled herself inside. The side of her head was a bloody mess, hair stuck to the shattered remnants of her ear. And then Wei-Lin climbed in a few seconds later, followed by Sanjit. Sam was next and finally Karl. They rolled into the helicopter and lay panting on the hard metal floor.
‘Nate’s been shot!’ Pan yelled. ‘Help him, guys. Quickly.’
Jen scrambled to her knees and crawled to where Nate lay, one leg hooked underneath the other. His eyes remained closed and his chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths. Jen took his hands and moved them carefully away from his chest. He stirred and groaned.
‘Easy, Jen,’ he said. ‘It hurts like a sonofabitch.’
Why wasn’t Jen doing anything? Pan didn’t need to see what she was doing with the controls. All that was automatic. Although she couldn’t move from the pilot’s seat, she could see what was happening. Or rather, what wasn’t happening. Jen should be stanching the flow of blood, applying a tourniquet. Something. But all she could do was stare at Nate’s chest. And then she turned her head and met Pan’s eyes.
And in that meeting, Pan knew.
‘No!’ she screamed.
Jen scrambled over as Pan tried to get out of the seat. She gripped her friend and forced her back down, just as the helicopter canted to the side. Jen pressed her mouth against Pan’s ear.
‘There’s nothing we can do, Pandora,’ she said.
‘No,’ said Pan. ‘There’s always something we can do.’
‘Pandora.’ Jen gripped Pan’s face between her hands and held her still, moved her own face close. She lowered her voice. ‘He’s lying in a pool of blood so deep . . . He’s . . .’ Jen shook her head. ‘Maybe he’d stand a chance in a hospital, but I doubt it. I’m sorry.’
‘The Infirmary! There’s equipment there and a place to land . . .’ Pan was already turning the chopper when Nate’s voice cut through.
‘We are not going back to The School, Pandora Jones,’ he said. ‘Not for me, not for anyone. Believe me, I’d sooner die.’ He attempted a chuckle and winced. ‘There’s no one there, anyway. No medical staff. Just a deserted building. If you’re going to do anything, get us the hell out of here.’ ‘But . . .’
‘Fly, Pan.’ Nate tried to get himself into a sitting position, but there was no strength left. ‘I could do with some help here, guys,’ he muttered. ‘Not sure I can manage this by myself.’
It was as if his words broke some kind of spell, because suddenly everyone was around him. Karl edged behind and got his hands under his arms. Wei-Lin and Sanjit took his feet. Nate screamed when they tried to move him and the group paused. ‘Keep going,’ said Nate. ‘It’s okay.’
‘Don’t die on me, Nathaniel,’ yelled Pan for the second time. ‘Don’t you dare die on me.’
‘Gee, you always were the bossy kind, Miss Jones,’ said Nate.
The group laid him next to Professor Goldberg. Pan could see his face if she turned slightly. She also saw Wei-Lin’s arms, covered in blood to the elbows. Pan squeezed her eyes shut and banked the helicopter around, gave it full throttle. Away from The School, away from the small flotilla of fishing boats huddled together so far below. Maybe there was still a chance for Nate if they could find civilisation.
She reached down and found Nate’s h
and. Her eyes were still closed, but she knew he smiled.
‘Tell me what you see, Pandora,’ he whispered.
She saw everything, all at once. A Gordian knot of images and sounds, of feelings and hopes and fears and loneliness and joy. Nate as a child, in a snow-covered yard, building a snowman and laughing. A baseball stadium, Nate sitting next to an older man. She could smell hotdogs, see the diamond and the players scurrying. They were bathed in excitement; it stained the bleachers. A schoolyard, students moving, the air full of a fragrance she couldn’t recognise. Music. Nate with a guitar, sitting by a camp fire, the glow from the embers bathing his face red. So many memories. A beautiful girl. Heartbreak. There was such longing there, such pain. She dissolved, became nothing. Nate running through a forest in camouflage gear, other young people at his side. Another stadium, and this time Nate running along an athletic track, his blood singing with joy, his muscles alive and perfect. And The School. A machine. Professor Goldberg, his face up close to Nate’s, whispering. You will forget most things, Nate. But I’m giving you a chance to live. You’ll thank me one day. One day soon. And there was Pandora, with her pale, green-tinged eyes, and brown hair flecked with blonde. Her hands on her hips, saying, I am not proud of that. And I’m not in the mood for stupid jokes. Grow up, Nate.
So many things. A life in a thousandth of a second.
‘Tell me what you see, Pandora.’
Pan tried to speak, but there was something blocking her throat. It felt thick. It choked her. So she pushed with her mind.
Pandora Jones: Reckoning Page 23
