2 Degrees

by Bev Prescott

  “We’re almost out of time, then,” Federico whispered.

  Chapter 17

  “Woody, Woody, Woody.” JJ’s voice crackled, barely audible above roaring wind and banging.

  “Finally!” Woody pressed the audio-comm. “Woody here. We were starting to worry. I’ve got you on speaker. I’m here with Federico and Sharon. Are you in the storm shelter?”

  “Safe and sound!” JJ answered.

  “When the storm subsides, get moving. They’ll be coming for you. Keep running until you hear from Dale.” Woody studied the satellite image on the OVA showing the pinwheeled mass of clouds swirling along the length of North America from North Carolina up to Nova Scotia. “The hurricane has started to make its turn toward the east, out to sea. Looks like it’ll batter the coast for a few more hours until it moves off shore. In the meantime, we’ll slip south of it and take back the Bird of Paradise. Don’t get risky.”

  “That’s right.” Federico rubbed his goatee. “Get out of there if the chase gets too hot.”

  “I’ll be the cat that can’t be caught! Count on seeing me soon!” JJ’s voice crackled. “I signed up for Annie’s reading class! And now that I’ve discovered Sharon’s tomatoes, I want to live at least a few more decades.”

  Sharon leaned toward the audio-comm. “Come back, and I’ll grow all you can eat.”

  “I’m in!” JJ replied. “Better sign off before my batteries die! With this storm, I don’t know when . . .” The audio-comm crackled and hissed with static.

  “JJ?” Woody said. “Do you hear me?”

  Several seconds of crackling white noise passed.

  “Storm must’ve knocked out the signal.” Federico rapped his knuckles on the desk. “That’s all. Right?”

  “He’ll be okay.” Woody touched his arm. “Once the eye reaches New Jersey, we’ll drop down in Water Skipper One to north of what used to be Charleston before Lolly.”

  “Lolly?” Sharon asked.

  “The category-five hurricane that wiped the city off the map in 2071,” Federico explained. “All that’s left is a swamp.”

  Woody tapped in commands. An image of a strange, bug-like shuttle with long legs popped onto the OVA’s split screen. “Which is why we’ll land Water Skipper One on Lake Moultrie where it spills into the Cooper River.”

  “It’s not much of a river anymore. Just a floating mass of watery vegetation.” Federico aimed his chin at the image of a large swath the color of jade, bisected by a thin meandering paler line. “The lake is too polluted to drink from. The only souls tough enough to live down there are a few Yěxìng, and lots of alligators, snakes, and mosquitoes.”

  “And Water Skipper One will be our escort?” Sharon asked.

  “Yes,” Woody answered. “She’s capable of skimming and diving. She’ll bring us over the lake and down the river to the containers of rare earths near the harbor. That’s where we’ll wait for the Strelitzia to rear his head.”

  Federico pressed the audio-comm button. “Dale, we’re prepared to load and launch Water Skipper One. Is she ready?”

  “Affirmative,” Dale answered. “Once you’ve launched, I’ll bring Belosto-One to hover in the mesosphere over the Milwaukee Deep. If I don’t hear from you in twenty-four hours, what should I do?”

  “Try to reach JJ, and then do whatever you think is best to save the Qaunik.” Woody gave Federico’s hand a swift squeeze. “JJ will be okay.”

  “I pray it’s so.” Federico turned his hand over and interlaced his fingers with Woody’s. “Let’s go find home.”

  “We’ll fly like the snow,” Woody said.

  “Exquisite as one. Inexorable together,” Dale finished the Qaunik refrain.

  “Dale,” Sharon said. “One last thing. Please ask Inu to take good care of Annie and Erik.” She pushed back the desire to have Dale tell him she’d be back. But it wouldn’t be fair for her to say it, and not be able to keep her word, especially after leaving him in Gaia’s Wrath.

  “You got it,” Dale responded.

  “Prepare Water Skipper One for launch. We’re on our way.” Woody let go of Federico’s hand and slipped through the shuttle launch port. Sharon and Federico followed.

  Inside the shuttle bay, insect- and bird-like vehicles sat cabled to the floor in rows. Several Qaunik bustled in and out of a shuttle with a long, narrow fuselage the size of a hydro-lorry.

  “Water Skipper One?” Sharon asked.

  “Yes.” Woody motioned for Sharon to follow. “Let me explain how she works.”

  “I’ll do the preflight check.” Federico waved and climbed inside Water Skipper One’s open hatch.

  “The shuttle, much like a submarine, has ballast and trim tanks.” Woody pointed to the underbelly of Water Skipper One. “This allows us to adjust her weight so that she’s able to walk on water or swampy vegetation.”

  “That’ll come in handy,” Sharon said. “The place sounds charming.”

  “Exactly.” Woody pointed to the wings tucked at the shuttle’s back. “She’s not a great flyer. But the shorter wings allow us to get through rough winds, if necessary, without destroying them.” She walked to the other side of the shuttle. “There are six legs. Two shorter ones in the front. A long pair in the middle, and another pair at the aft section of the fuselage.” She touched a bent leg. “The long legs bend and tuck beneath her when she’s at rest. The two antennae in front are equipped with cameras.”

  “And those?” Sharon pointed at a menacing steel claw halfway down the right front leg.

  “There’s one on the other side as well. In nature, a water skipper insect uses the claws to crush prey. Water Skipper One uses them to crush enemies.”

  “She’s one of the most genius and ugly things I’ve ever seen.” Sharon smiled.

  Woody laughed. “Ah, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

  Federico popped his head out the open hatch. “We’re ready to fly.”

  “After you.” Woody ushered Sharon aboard.

  The petite cockpit contained four seats, a command console, a STELA and an OVA. Sharon stowed the backpack containing the box of seeds that Elliot had retrieved, then sat and secured her torso-restraint.

  Woody sketched on STELA, and spoke into the audio-comm. “Equalize pressure.”

  “Pressure equalizing,” a woman’s voice responded. “Stand by. Pressure equalized.”

  “Open the Belosto-One launch hatch.”

  “Hatch opening.”

  As the hatch opened, the OVA powered up, revealing a view in front of Water Skipper One and its selfie. Her wings lifted as the under-fuselage thrusters lifted her up and forward. The shuttle eased through Belosto-One’s hatch into the mesosphere. White clouds swirled below the sapphire sky.

  “The flight might get bumpy as we drop through the clouds.” Woody tapped out commands. “The outer bands of the hurricane are north of us, but there’s still likely to be heavy wind shear. Put her into a dive. Level out once we get below the clouds.”

  Federico pressed the “D” icon. “Diving now.”

  Water Skipper One’s selfie camera relayed the ship’s movements onto the OVA. The antennae on the shuttle swiveled below the nose as it rotated downward.

  Sharon’s body thrust forward against the torso-restraint before being shoved backward by g-force. Her hands gripped the torso-restraint as the shuttle shook hard.

  “Leaving the stratosphere and entering troposphere,” Federico said.

  Water Skipper One dived into the clouds, vibrating and jerking for several long minutes. Rain pelted the capsule as the craft dipped below the cottony ceiling into a lush green landscape.

  “Leveling off.” Woody tapped buttons on STELA. “Prepare to land.”

  Whitecaps rushed up to meet them. Sharon braced herself.

  Water Skipper One splashed down onto Lake Moultrie, sank, then popped to the surface and bobbed.

  “Extending legs.” Woody sketched and tapped commands.

  Water Skipper One drifte
d in the heavy winds until her six legs extended from her fuselage. Whitecaps submerged the extended legs, tugging her farther below the surface.

  “We’ve got to get to the still water.” Woody continued to draw commands.

  The legs resurfaced and engaged, whisking the shuttle south according to STELA’s compass. A wave sloshed over Water Skipper One, shoving it hard to port.

  “Increasing speed.” Federico traced out commands. “It’s still a little gusty from the hurricane’s tailwinds. Things will settle down once we get onto the river.”

  The shuttle righted itself and walked on the murky water that lolled into the remnants of a concrete chute. A lime-green carpet of vegetation lay on the surface.

  “What is this?” Sharon asked.

  “It’s the old Tailrace Canal. It blew out during Lolly.” Woody swiped through satellite images on the OVA. “It used to link the lake to Cooper River. Now this whole area is a swamp bigger than the Everglades used to be. The plant that the shuttle is maneuvering over is called duckweed.”

  “And those trees?” Sharon tried to identify them through the fuzzy green plant that drooped from their branches. “They look like soldiers forming a saber arch for the river to meander through.”

  “Nice analogy. Cypress and tupelo,” Federico answered. “The stuff hanging off is Spanish moss.”

  “We’ve got company.” Woody cocked her head to port side.

  Sharon looked, but all she could make out was a large log parallel to shore. Then the log rose on four stubby legs and slid into the water, its long snout aimed at them. An enormous tail splashed water and propelled the beast closer. “Holy cow, that thing must be almost six meters.”

  “The American alligator. A massive specimen.” Woody tapped a command. Water Skipper One’s portside claw opened. “I don’t want to hurt you, big guy. You leave my shuttle alone, and I’ll leave you alone.”

  The back of the alligator carved a path through duckweed before diving below the surface.

  Federico turned toward starboard. “Guess we didn’t look tasty enough to bite.” He nodded his head. “There it goes.”

  With a splash and a mighty thrust of its tail, the gator reached the opposite shore. It lumbered up the fern-covered bank and disappeared into the weeds.

  Woody pressed an icon that brought up a topographic map with a blinking white dot. “That’s us. The mouth of Charleston Harbor is up ahead. We’ll land here and take this high ground the rest of the way.” Her finger went to a series of tight lines on the map.

  “The same high road the alligator just took?” Federico asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Woody answered. She sketched an anchor.

  Sharon felt the vibration of the anchor unhitching and dropping from the shuttle’s belly. She released her torso-restraint and unstrapped the backpack.

  Woody pressed the audio-comm button. “Dale, Dale, Dale, Woody here. Do you read?”

  “Dale here.” A voice came from the audio-comm. “Good to hear from you. How are things going down there?”

  “All is good so far,” Woody answered. “We’re disembarking here. You have our GPS coordinates?”

  “Yes,” said Dale. “You’re blinking white.”

  “Good. Send a team down to retrieve Water Skipper One. Make sure they stay invisible. We’re going the rest of the way on foot. Any word from JJ?”

  “Not yet,” Dale answered.

  “Okay.” Woody released her torso-restraint. “The next time we talk it’ll be to rendezvous with the Bird of Paradise.”

  “I sure hope so. Over,” Dale’s voice cut out.

  Federico released his torso-restraint. “Vamonos.”

  Sharon got up and heaved the pack onto her shoulders. She unbuttoned her jacket, making her hammer, at her side, accessible.

  Woody opened a locker. “We’ll need the essentials for swamp travel. First, swamp-gaiters. They attach to the top of your boot and up your leg to the knee. Keeps you dry and avoids snake bites.” She lifted a pair of tightly woven nylon gloves and a hat with a scarcely visible veil from the locker. “Mosquito netting is a must. The bugs down here carry all kinds of nasty diseases, including malaria.” She handed the accoutrements to Sharon. “While I’m guessing you and your hammer could keep most alligators and pythons at bay, let’s take extra precaution. We’ll each carry a handheld spectraletto.” She tipped her head to a row of machetes. “Can’t move through a swamp without one of those too.”

  “If you get into a bind, you can always fall back on the jujitsu JJ taught you.” Federico pulled on a pair of swamp-gaiters. “Have I mentioned how much I loathe snakes?”

  Woody tightened her swamp-gaiters. “Ah, the underappreciated reptile.” She slipped the hat with head-net on over her hijab. “Stick with me. I’ll keep you safe.”

  “You haven’t let me down yet.” Federico snapped his left swamp-gaiter closed.

  Sharon suited up in the offered gear. “I’m more afraid of Yěxìng and their damn prey pits.” She pulled the spectraletto holster over her head, adjusted it so that the weapon was in easy reach at her chest, and checked the energy gauge. “Gun’s in the green.”

  “Good.” Woody secured a holster at her chest and checked the weapon. “Ready?” She tapped a command on the STELA. Water Skipper One’s hatch opened. “It’s just a short jump to shore.” She grabbed a machete and hopped out.

  Sharon and Federico followed her into the juicy, pungent air that swathed them in humidity.

  A sweet and lush scent filled Sharon’s nose. She couldn’t tell whether the moisture on her face came from the heavy, wet air or perspiration. A whirring sound came from behind. She slipped on the slimy bank as she turned to see Water Skipper One’s hatch closing them off to the outside. As she planted her palms on the ground to lift herself, a fat mosquito landed on her gloved hand. “Geeze.” On instinct, she swatted it.

  Federico offered a hand up. “I know, these bastards will take half a liter if you let them.” He hoisted her to her feet. “But they can’t bite through the gloves.”

  She brushed mud from her jacket. “That’s fortunate. With the size of that thing, I’d probably need a transfusion.”

  Federico laughed. “Indeed.”

  With Woody in the lead, they traversed through fern, burweed, and skunk cabbage.

  “Careful where you step.” Woody scrutinized the ground. “You can’t miss the big snakes. But the little ones will take you down.” Using the tip of her machete, she pushed the vegetation aside before taking each step.

  A rare and lovely sound caught Sharon’s attention. “Is that?” She cupped her ear and listened. “Ha! Birds.”

  Woody and Federico stopped.

  “Whitt-whitt-whitt-whitt,” the bird called in quick doublets. “Chee-beck.”

  “There it is.” Federico pointed to a branch drooping with Spanish moss. A small olive-colored bird with a yellowish belly perched on the moss.

  “A least flycatcher,” Woody said.

  “I didn’t think any birds were left, besides the few that eat carrion.” Sharon savored the sight and sound of the tiny feathered wonder.

  “There aren’t many.” Woody pulled an acupalmtell from her pocket and took a picture of the bird. “But in places like this, the smaller insect-eating ones that managed to survive are holding their own. They have plenty of food and water, and they can breed. It’s the toxins in what they eat, drink, and breathe that prevent them from thriving, though.”

  Federico’s eyes widened. “Sharon. Very slowly, look to your right. Don’t freak out.”

  She gripped the machete tighter and rotated at the waist. An enormous, thick snake lay curled at the base of a tree within striking distance. Its eyes and mouth were trained on her thigh. “I’m freaking out,” she said under her breath. The snake was so close she could smell its foul musk.

  “Remember, the swamp-gaiters will protect you from its teeth.” Woody’s voice was low and calm. “But if it gets hold of you, it’ll wrap around you
, and cut off the blood to your heart in seconds.”

  The snake’s tongue darted from its mouth.

  Frozen, Sharon asked, “Ideas?”

  “I hope you’re good with that machete,” Woody answered. “Because it’s a much better option than the spectraletto. You won’t get a second chance if you miss. Back away slowly. If it strikes, be ready to take its head off. Just like you did to the mamba in the prey pit.”

  A drop of sweat slid between Sharon’s shoulder blades. Her heart pounded as she held her breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Woody and Federico close in on the snake. She waited until they got close enough to be of some help. Her foot lifted slightly, and the snake lunged. Swinging backhanded, her machete dug into its underside, pushing it away. She leaped to its left.

  The snake recoiled.

  Woody swung her machete, severing its head.

  The body writhed as it bled out.

  Sharon shot to her feet. “Fuck.” She yanked her machete from the still-thrashing body.

  “You okay?” Federico brushed leaves and dirt from her sleeve.

  “If I don’t drop dead of a heart attack in the next few minutes.” Sharon tried to catch her breath. “Thanks, guys.”

  “No worries,” Woody said. “Let’s keep a better lookout. Their stealth is their greatest weapon.”

  Federico shivered. “God, I hate those things.”

  “We’ve all got our phobias and weaknesses.” Woody wiped the bloody blade of her machete across a mossy tree trunk. “We do our best not to let them get the better of us.”

  Sharon looked behind, left, right, and forward. “Good eye, Federico. Thanks.”

  They continued on their way.

  The only sounds Sharon heard were her breathing, the flycatchers’ singing, and the swish of her gaiters. Her eyes darted around for sneaky predators.

  After about ten minutes, Woody halted. “Stay low. The harbor is up ahead.” She got to her hands and knees and crawled up a fern-covered hill.

  Sharon sank to her belly and crept through the vegetation with Woody and Federico.