When his footing was secured again, Henry moved to the gas indicators on his current tank and wiped them off. He squinted, trying to read the arrow despite the water still blocking the way. Not much left. They’d burned through half a tank staying aloft today. He peered through the thick curtain of rain, desperate for a better view of their surroundings.
“Can you see the mountains?”
His question forced Andeal to pull himself up and study the sky ahead and under them. On his knees he was barely tall enough to see above the railing, but Henry knew if he stood, he’d fall back right away.
“Nothing. It’s like we’re flying in an endless shower.”
Henry cursed, then cleaned the altimeter as best as he could. He’d kept the balloon high, terrified of an unavoidable mountain flank looming suddenly before them. Serenity’s surroundings were known for their treacherous valleys and cliffs—not a good area to land in the best conditions, let alone today. With three weeks before Union’s Day, passing over the large city before curving their path back toward Reverence had seemed a must, however.
He regretted that decision now. The weather showed no signs of letting up and the water dragged them down, forcing a difficult choice upon him. Would he waste more fuel by landing now and going through another consuming take-off, or by keeping their balloon in the sky until the rain diminished?
“What’s that?”
Andeal pointed to an oblong shape at the edge of their vision, flying at their height. As Henry studied it, it grew closer and closer, and he soon realized the quandary had been taken away from him.
A Union warship was headed straight toward them.
“Zeppelin,” he said, beginning to feel sick himself. “This day can’t get any better.”
Henry grabbed the control line of his parachute vent and pulled it open. The balloon dropped right away and Andeal flattened at the bottom of the gondola with a gasp.
“Sit on the chest, it’ll keep my wax coat from flying off. And hold tight, will you? This will be rocky.”
“They won’t just fly by us, will they?”
“At this range they’ve tried to hail us through short-wave radio and we haven’t answered. Not that we’d have a registered code name to respond with anyway. So right now we’re an unidentified craft meant for pleasure—and who in their right mind would cruise the sky today for fun? No, I don’t think they’ll let us go.”
“Can you land us?”
Henry gave a barking, stressed laugh. How could he know? He’d never flown before Andeal offered him the opportunity, let alone landed a modified balloon through heavy downpour before a war zeppelin shot them down.
“I’ll try. Didn’t think I could launch us by throwing the balloon off a cliff, so…why not?”
“Tell me…if you need anything.”
From Andeal’s grimace as the balloon lurched, losing more altitude, Henry doubted his friend would be any use. He’d have to get them to the ground alone.
He crossed the basket, grabbed the propeller’s lever, and shifted it from under the balloon to one side before pulling on the left-side vent rope. The balloon shifted, placing the whirring blades between them and the zeppelin. The extra speed might not mean much in the end, but Henry intended to take all possible measures to save their asses.
He returned to the main ventilation system, giving the control line small and frequent pulls as he kept an anxious eye on the altimeter. Every tug opened the envelope’s top a crack, letting hot air escape and killing their lift. Rain and wind whipped at his face, niggling at his concentration, but he kept their descent fast and steady. Trees appeared through the water curtain and clouds, waiting for them.
Trees.
Henry’s stomach churned. He needed flat ground to slide across, not outstretched branches that’d rip through his envelope. Once they crashed through the treetops, there’d be no horizontal movement, no slowing their balloon until they could climb down, safe. And at the speed they plunged right now, there’d be no soft drift through the canopy. The impact might break the gondola.
“Andeal…”
He stopped and closed his eyes. His heart had raced into his throat, blocking all attempts at breathing. They might survive the landing. The Lenz Balloon would not.
“What?”
Andeal huddled on his wax coat, pale and worried. His hollowed cheeks and grim expression pained Henry. Every day without news of Maniel smothered his fire. This hot air balloon was his child—the only he could have right now—and Henry didn’t have the heart to break the news to him.
“Hang on tight,” he said. “It’ll be a rough ride soon.”
The zeppelin’s great shape loomed over them now, stretching out in the sky. The airship’s length surpassed even his balloon’s height and put their cubic meter capacity to shame. The pliable solar panels along its edges glowed the same soft green as they would at night, unable to bring much energy to their ship. As Henry contemplated the monster closing in, squinting to see through the rain, he noticed small figures running around the gondola. Readying weapons.
He gave another desperate yank on his ventilation and leaned over the railway. How long before they peppered holes through the entire balloon? The ground rushed toward them, faster than Henry was comfortable with. Only Treysh would love this kind of speed. His altimeter dropped like crazy. Andeal had crouched over the chest and spread his arms to keep the wax coat from flying off and secure the radio apparatus. The Union soldiers turned their automatic cannons straight at them, ready to shoot at their all-too-large target. Henry slammed his eyes shut, switched to the thick red emergency rope, and pulled it. The balloon’s top detached itself and their helium pouch flew off, hot air rushing out with it. The free fall gave them a last, sudden burst of speed.
And then, way too late, Henry remembered the antenna. It remained stretched under their gondola as they crashed through the treetop.
The impact threw him off his feet and sent him sprawling inside the basket, out of breath. Branches cracked as they crashed their way through the canopy. Some snagged in the envelope and gave a heartbreaking rip. Their fall barely slowed and they smashed into the rocky ground with all the speed of their rapid descent. Sparks flew before Henry’s eyes as his breath followed the hot air, escaping into the skies. The wicker splintered with a resounding crack and the shock spread through his spine.
Then the basket flipped on its side and tumbled down the slope they’d hit. Half conscious, Henry reached for a hold. He found nothing but slippery wicker. He slid sideways, his feet touched the sides, then they clipped a tree and the wild ride spit him out.
He remained sprawled in the mud, unable to move, as the basket careened down a short way then got stuck between two trunks. Every cell in his body was in agony, the pain nailing him to the ground. He wondered if his spine hadn’t shattered from the inside after all. Or perhaps the impact had turned his brain into a mushy mess. It would explain, at least, why the sky had gone from downpouring gray to large bands of gold and purple.
The envelope. Henry tried to focus his thoughts and shake out the thick mist sneaking into his mind. The sky wasn’t golden, the envelope hung above him. And behind that, a killer zeppelin flew, ready to redecorate the forest with thousands of small holes. He couldn’t stay on the ground and wait for death.
Henry rolled over and pushed himself to all fours. Nausea rushed through his system and he coughed his last meal out. A disgusting taste clung to his mouth as he wiped it clean, but the searing headache turned it into a minor concern. Henry reached for the back of his head. He’d knocked his skull hard when the basket hit the ground. Too hard, perhaps. His vision blurred until he couldn’t distinguish one finger from another.
Strong arms lifted him off the ground and to his feet. Henry wavered and leaned against a hard trunk to avoid falling back. He focused his sight until he could make out Andeal’s face. Blood had been smeared across his forehead and his cheeks were a deeper blue than usual, but his friend otherwise seemed f
ine.
“We’ve got to move, Henry. Take this.”
He shoved their half-filled backpack at him then shuffled to a large, dark form in the mud. The transmitter, wrapped under Henry’s wax coat. He’d salvaged the radio equipment. Andeal’s brains still worked, at least.
“Just a moment.” Henry licked his lips, touched his head again, and took a deep breath.
“Are you okay?”
“Got myself a concussion, I think. Lovely headaches await me. I’ll live.”
Or so he hoped. For all he knew, he might be dying on the inside. He would die and never get to hear Treysh’s lovely laugh and explosive plans. It was the last thing he’d expected to miss as they’d left Reverence, but he did. He hoped she thought of his grumpy complaining every now and then, and that she’d remember it if this head wound killed him.
His strength was coming back, though, the agony receding into a numb and persistent throb. He could walk. He shouldered the given backpack, took a successful step forward, then nodded at Andeal.
“Let’s go. I’ll rest once we’ve found a safe place.”
They started uphill, slipping often on the uneven, wet ground. The sky returned to its depressing grayness as they left the envelope’s protection and raindrops tapped against Henry’s skull, each touch worsening his headache. Every step away from the balloon’s wreckage demanded more out of him, as if invisible hands caught his ankles and grounded him. He endured in silence, unable to think much through the pain. A single thought managed to pierce the haze of his brain.
His flying days were over.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“Another one,” Henry asked, waving at the waitress. The bar’s loud, drunken crowd hammered at his headache, worsening it, and the heavy smoke stung his lungs. He’d rather be back in the mountains, breathing fresh air and nursing his growing cold, than here in this dump. Circumstances gave him little choice, though: if he did not bring back extra supplies and tools appropriate to fixing a transmitter, they’d never broadcast the recording.
Henry reached for the inside pocket in which he kept it safe, only to remember he’d given it to Andeal before he left. His muddied and torn clothes were no place to hide the all-important disc. They also condemned him to search for his benevolent soul in Serenity’s rundown neighborhood instead of safer areas.
The waitress brought his pint and Henry settled in his chair, eyes closed. He tried to catch glimpses of the others’ conversations but with the thumping in his head all he could hear was the National Radio. Their announcer babbled on about a great victory in Burgian territory. He managed to make this major military exploit—if half he said was even true—as meaningful as what he ate for breakfast. For the hundredth time, Henry pictured him in a romantic dinner with Treysh and grimaced.
The door flew open, breaking his daydream, and a tall soldier strode in, the distinctive stagger suggesting he’d had his share of alcohol already. Stains marred his beige uniform and he hadn’t shaved in the last few days. The rough stubble couldn’t hide the pockmarks on his cheeks, however. Henry studied the gaunt man with disproportionate arms and legs, convinced he’d seen him before.
Which, all things considered, could not be good news.
“Owner! A pint of your best and will you turn that off?” He pointed at the radio in one grand gesture. “Is there anyone with a lil’ bit of judgment who still listens to this drivel?”
Henry’s heart stopped as the man spat on the ceramic floor then, tipping dangerously to one side with every step, walked to his table and sprawled into a chair. The short scene had interrupted all conversations but as it became clear the drunken newcomer would say no more, the other patrons returned to their business. Henry gulped down his ale with difficulty. The soldier leaned forward.
“You’re an easy man to track, you know that? Most predictable.”
A cold sweat ran down Henry’s spine. He ought to run, try to slip in the dark alleys, make a last-resort attempt at escaping, but he remained nailed to his seat, fingers clutching his pint. The man smirked at him, then slumped back into his chair and changed the subject.
“I wanted him to be wrong, you know.” He tapped the table with his long index. “I wanted him to be wrong so I could go back and save Hans. Tell him he’d been fooled, lied to. Make him see his mistake.”
The lanky man grabbed his pint of ale the moment it arrived and downed it. Henry tried to make sense of whatever the soldier rambled about. ‘Hans’ had to be Captain Vermen. Had they survived Mount Kairn, only to be captured? But then why would this man speak of saving Vermen? The drunk slammed his pint on the table.
“But I found it.” A deep bitterness filled his wheezing voice. He ran a hand over his stubble, where the pockmarks were. “I found it all. Huge tanks of bacterial cultures lining the walls, dozens of rats in cages, schematics of the genomes. Tons and tons of notes, locked away. It was all there and I thought it had to be a nightmare but I still haven’t woken up. It’s still there and it’s still so goddamn true. You need to come with me.”
“What?”
He’d switched so fast from his slurred ramblings to serious business that Henry stared, his mouth half-open, dumbfounded.
“I thought you didn’t matter. Just a poor bloke, I told myself, no one of importance, just ignore him. Big mistake. Biggest mistake I made in this hunt.” He stared at his ale for so long Henry thought he’d forgotten about him. He was about to slide away when the soldier spoke again. “Your father, though…oh, he mattered.”
Henry swallowed hard and focused all his energy on recognizing the man. He might feel less helpless if he had an inkling of what was going on. Then it struck him, and his confusion gave way to deep shame.
“I bumped into you at the grocery!” He’d thought himself so safe and subtle, talking with Kinsi. “Is he okay? He’s not a part of this!”
“The grocer? Sure, I left him alone. He led me to you and you led me to…what’s her name?” He stretched his fingers one by one and looked around as though the smoky ceiling would give him an answer. His previous anxious frown had been replaced by a smug smile.
“Treysh,” Henry said, fighting the lump in his throat. “You’re a monster.”
“A monster? Don’t be ridiculous. I needed to find my captain.”
“Treysh never even met him! She has nothing to do with this. Leave her alone.”
“Nothing?” A soft chuckle escaped his lips. “Don’t waste your time. Holt all but told me she was one of his.”
Hope pushed back Henry’s fear for a moment. “Seraphin’s alive too?”
He must have been with Vermen—and if these two had made it through, then perhaps so had Maniel and everyone else. He couldn’t wait to tell Andeal! If he could make it out of here. The soldier clacked his tongue with distaste.
“Yes. Very much alive.” He drank all that was left of his ale before setting it down. “And I let them go. Not you, though. It’s funny how many things you understand when you start to listen, when you use what’s in there to its full potential.” He tapped the side of his forehead. “I figured the balloon out almost two months ago. All the elements were there: your slow movements through the countryside, the wind in the broadcast, the occasional flames behind. And when Andeal mentioned a Schmitt, I knew. Two Schmitts wasn’t a coincidence. Leaving all the ballooning material in your basement and taking only the envelope wasn’t exactly subtle, either.”
Great. Now utter shame added itself to Henry’s feeling of impending doom. They should have thought of cleaning up behind them. The other man continued in a pleasant tone, like he was talking to a friendly stranger.
“Is there a broadcast tonight?”
Henry pressed his lips together and gave him a defiant stare. He would not surrender more information if he could help it. No…as long as he could help it. He remembered too well what Seraphin had told him, after the incident in Galway, about what happened to the captured rebels. His heart clenched as he thought of Treysh. He didn’t
want to think about it.
“Not gonna talk?” the soldier asked. “There’s no need. I know you crashed earlier. You must’ve come straight here because your clothes are still wet and covered in mud, which means you were in a hurry. There’s two things I can think of that’d cause such a rush: food and radio equipment. It can’t be food, however, because you’d never have wasted precious money on this hole’s piss ale. So the radio must be broken.”
Henry’s mouth hung half-open from amazement. He searched for a way to counter the logic and deny the soldier’s claim but found no flaws to attack.
“Who are you?” he blurted.
“I don’t matter.”
“Yes you do!” Henry’s heart thundered, out of control. He tried to straighten his thoughts despite his pounding headache. “You’re not any soldier. You knew Captain Vermen, met him again, allowed him to escape. You’re here pushing my buttons and rambling and I can barely make any sense out of it, but you did say I wasn’t going anywhere so yes, who you are kind of matters to me.”
Henry gathered enough courage to meet the soldier’s gaze and hold it. The other man tilted his head to the side and remained silent for a few seconds, as if he considered whether or not to answer.
“Lieutenant David Lungvist. I am—was—Hans’ second-in-command.” A bitter smile played on his lips and his voice fell to a whisper. “After I found the labs I reported to the only authority I could trust to be above Galen Clarin: President Jacob Kurtmann. He tasked me to find you—not any rebel, you specifically—before Galen. Congratulations, Mister Schmitt. You have a private meeting scheduled with our president.”
“Th-the president?”
He had to have heard wrong. This made no sense. He was a nobody. Yet Lungvist confirmed it right away.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Ask him yourself.”
Viral Airwaves Page 26
