Impact (34 page)

‘Jesus. Is that what you’re saying? Jesus?’

‘Joysus.’

‘Can you remember your old life? Is some of you left?’ She stepped closer to the prone figure. ‘Guss. Are you still in there? Concentrate. Think. Can you remember who you used to be? Hail Mary, full of grace. Can you say it? Hail Mary, full of grace. Say the words.’

Guthrie lunged, snapping, biting. She backed off. She lowered herself to her knees, well out of reach.

‘What’s it like? Death. You died, remember? Your parachute failed. Hit the ground full speed. Guess the virus jump-started your heart. What was it like on the other side? Can you tell me? Did you go someplace? What did you see?’

‘Joy. Suss.’

‘Is there anything at all?’

‘Joy.’

‘Tell me it’s all true. There’s light on the other side. Light and love.’

He snarled and reached for her, tried to crawl. She got to her feet. She stamped on his ankles until they broke.

‘Joy.’

She stood over him.

‘Infection. Is it better than death? Can’t help wondering. If I injected the virus to avoid dying of thirst, would it be worth the extra days? Surely some kind of sensation, some kind of half-life, would be better than nothing at all.’

‘Joy.’

Frost kicked Guthrie’s shoulder, rolled him onto his back. She planted a foot on his chest.

He broke teeth trying to chew the splint binding her leg.

She stamped on his neck, boot jammed beneath his chin.

‘Joy,’ he hissed, head pinned to the sand.

She took aim.

‘Join us.’

She fired a full clip into his face. Muzzle roar and gun smoke. Sand splashed with brain, teeth and splintered skull.

Frost climbed up the ladder into the cockpit.

‘Hancock? Noble?’

She checked the cabin interior. The beam of her flashlight shafted through residual smoke haze.

She checked the pilot’s chair, made sure Hancock wasn’t sitting with his back to her.

The seats were empty.

One of the blast curtains was pulled back. Blood and tufts of flight-suit fabric on broken polycarbon.

She looked through the window. She shone her flashlight down at the sand fifteen feet below. No sign of Hancock or Noble. No disturbance in the dust.

Cold air on the back of her neck. She looked up. Starlight. A vacant ejection hatch above the co-pilot station.

She jumped, gripped the lip of the hatch, hauled herself up and out.

The fuselage lit by moonlight. The huge body of the plane. The vulpine wings.

Hancock and Noble fifteen yards distant, facing aft.

She got to her feet and limped towards them.

‘You guys okay?’

They turned. Faces full of exhaustion and fear.

‘Fucker is messing with our heads,’ said Noble.

‘Who?’

‘Pinback.’

‘He was here?’

‘Didn’t you see?’ asked Hancock. ‘Didn’t you hear us shout?’

Frost gestured to her left. Guthrie’s body lying in the sand seventy yards distant, lit by weak flame light.

‘Otherwise engaged.’

Hancock’s exposed head wound glistened with fresh blood.

‘Jeez. You okay?’

Hancock ignored the question, stared towards the aft of the plane as if he expected Pinback to return.

Frost trained her flashlight on riveted roof plates. Boot-prints in the dust. She followed footprints aft to their abrupt termination.

‘Looks like he jumped,’ she said.

Noble squinted at the body lying near the signal fire.

‘Who was it?’

‘Guthrie.’

‘Dead?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yeah, I’m sure. He’s down for good.’

‘Then I guess we’ve got two to go.’

‘It’s cold. Let’s get back inside.’

They turned to retrace their route back to the cockpit roof hatch.

Muffled thump from down below.

‘Dammit,’ muttered Frost. ‘Hear that? They’re still trying for the bomb bay.’

Hancock shook his head and said:

‘Persistent sons of …’

His foot slipped on the sand-dusted curve of the fuselage. He fell on his back and began to slide legs first from the plane. He rolled onto his belly. His hands slapped the hull as he tried to find purchase. His boots thumped against smooth aluminium fuselage panels. No foothold. He tried to grip flush rivets and broke fingernails.

‘Take my hand,’ said Frost.

She reached down and gripped his right hand. Noble grasped his left.

Hancock continued to slide, threatening to pull them both from the roof.

They lost grip. He fell from the plane.

‘Christ.’

Frost leant forwards and shone the flashlight downwards.

Hancock sprawled on the sand.

‘Are you all right?’ shouted Frost.

‘Think so,’ said Hancock. He raised his head. He flexed his arms. ‘Think I’m okay. Don’t think I broke anything.’

The sand behind his head began to shift and bulge.

‘Get up,’ shouted Frost. ‘Get off the sand.’

Hancock looked around. He saw dust ripple and seethe.

‘Shit.’

He tried to galvanise sluggish limbs and get to his feet.

‘Just get off the damn sand,’ yelled Frost.

She ran down the spine of the plane, sat on her ass and pushed herself from the roof. She slid, fell, and hit the starboard wing. Clumsy parachute roll on sand-dusted metal. She crawled to the leading edge of the wing. She hung, arm outstretched.

‘Get over here. Grab my hand.’

Hancock staggered towards her and reached up. Their fingers brushed. Too high.

Frost pointed to the tip of the wing where the drape of the metal brought it close to the ground.

‘Run.’

Hancock ran for the tip of the wing. He stumbled like a drunk.

Frost ran a parallel course, limping along the wing surface.

She reached the tip of the wing and threw herself to her knees. Noble joined her. They stretched out their hands.

‘Come on,’ shouted Noble. ‘Keep running.’

Hancock lurched across the sand, desperately trying to keep his balance. He toppled and fell. The ground behind him began to bulge and undulate.

‘Get up,’ shouted Frost. ‘Get up, you fuck.’

Hancock climbed to his feet. He grabbed at their arms. He missed. One eye: no depth perception. Second try. They seized his wrists and pulled.

Explosion of sand. Glimpse of a dirt-clogged, skeletal thing, reaching from the dust.

Early.

Helmet. Matted flight suit. Skin like leather. It grasped at Hancock’s ankles.

Hancock kicked and jerked his legs free. They hauled him onto the wing. They lay panting on the sheet-metal surface.

Frost rolled, pulled the pistol from her waistband and fired a volley into the sand.

Stuttering muzzle flash lit the cadaverous creature as it squirmed below ground. Meat-smack. Bullets hit flesh. Spark and whine: a round grazed the visor hinge of a flight helmet and deflected into the night.

She swept the dunes with her flashlight. Churned sand. The figure was gone.

She and Noble helped Hancock to his feet. They walked the length of the wing, leaning against each other for support.

Hancock climbed onto the roof of the aircraft using split panels as foot holds. He leaned down, proffering a hand, helped Frost and Noble reach the roof.

‘Sly bastards. Do anything to avoid a straight fight.’

Frost wasn’t listening.

‘My God,’ she murmured, looking past Hancock and Noble to the darkness at the rear of the plane.

She pulled the flare pen from her pocket, loaded a cap and fired.

Crack. The star shell streaked skyward. Magnesium burn. The crash site lit harsh white.

‘Jesus,’ murmured Noble.

The tail section of the plane sat fifty yards away.

‘Tell me I’m not going nuts,’ said Noble. ‘That wasn’t there before, right?’

Frost shook her head.

‘It was a quarter of a mile back in the debris trench.’

‘Fuckers are trying to reassemble the aircraft,’ said Hancock. ‘Putting it back together, piece by piece.’

‘That thing has to weigh fifty tons,’ said Frost, pointing at the tail. ‘Couple of guys couldn’t drag it on their own. There must be more of them out there, working in concert. A lot more.’

They lowered themselves into the flight deck.

Frost retaped the insulation blanket, sealed the ejection hatch.

Hancock lowered himself to the floor. He tried to steady his breathing. He placed a hand on his chest.

‘Heart like a jackhammer. Might keel over right here. How about that? All of this shit going down, and I drop from a cardiac arrest.’

Frost peered down the ladderway into the lower cabin, pistol drawn.

Empty.

Noble picked a sand-dusted flight helmet from the pilot seat.

‘Hey. This wasn’t here when we left, right?’

He threw the helmet to Hancock.

Hancock examined the name stencil-sprayed above the visor.

GUTHRIE.

‘They left it on your seat,’ said Noble. ‘Must be intended for you. Maybe it’s some kind of message.’

‘What do they want from me?’

‘Damned if I know.’

Frost sat on the deck beside him. She ejected the pistol mag and counted bullets.

‘Whole lot of running around and not much achieved,’ said Hancock.

‘Achieved plenty. Lured Guthrie inside and took him down. Proves they can be killed.’

‘Took a lot of effort, a lot of bullets, to finish the guy. And there are a bunch more out there. Guess we stirred a nest of the creeps at Apache, brought them our way. Out there right now, hiding beneath the sand. We’d need a Gatling gun and grenades to make a fair fight.’

Noble sat in the pilot seat, lifted a blast blind and peered out into the moonlit night.

‘He’s gone. Guthrie. His body is gone.’

‘You’re sure?’

Frost joined him at the window.

Blood on the sand. Bone and brain. But no Guthrie.

‘They took him. He didn’t get up and walk. He’s dead for sure. Guarantee it.’

They listened to the low wind-moan.

‘What time is it?’ asked Frost.

‘No idea. Midnight, at a guess.’

‘How long since you two got any sleep?’

‘Can’t sleep in a situation like this.’

‘How’s your leg?’ asked Noble.

Frost flexed her foot.

‘All right.’

Noble turned to Hancock.

‘How’s your head?’

Hancock gestured to torn flesh and crusted blood.

‘How do you think?’

‘Smells pretty rank.’

‘So everyone keeps telling me. You two aren’t exactly shower-fresh, so pardon me if I invite you both to go fuck yourselves.’

Frost uncapped her canteen. They passed it back and forth. Shallow sips.

Hancock shook the canteen and listened to water slop in the half-empty bottle.

‘Who are we kidding?’ he said. ‘We’re not going anywhere. All of us in fucked-up shape. Guess we could have walked days ago, but the moment has passed.’ He looked around the flight deck. ‘Face it. This place is our tomb.’

Frost looked like she wanted to argue, but didn’t have the energy. She contemplated the gun in her hand. She stroked the grip with her thumb.

‘Don’t let me end up like them,’ she said. ‘Take care of it, all right? Make me that promise. I don’t want a living death.’

‘Maybe you were right all along,’ said Noble, addressing Hancock. ‘Maybe we should fire up the nuke. Take the fuckers with us.’

They sat in silence a while.

Hancock’s eyelids began to droop. His head nodded towards his chest. Deep breaths evolved into a congested snore.

Frost struggled to stand.

The sound of her boots scuffing deck plate jerked Hancock awake.

‘Where are you going?’ asked Hancock.

‘I’m going to take a look at the tail section. Try and figure out what these bastards have planned.’

‘Outside? On your own?’

She shook her head.

‘I’ll cut through the bomb bay.’

‘Then give me a gun. Anything happens to you, Noble and I will be left defenceless.’

Frost thought it over. She took a spare mag from her pocket and tossed it to Noble.

She reached up and fumbled on the ledge above the Electronic Warfare Officer console. She retrieved Hancock’s Beretta. She handed it to him butt first. He loaded a clip and chambered a round.