Core Punch

by Pauline Baird Jones

  Joe’s attention turned outward again. “A right turn will involve a period of going across the wind, and when we turn west again, there will be a tail wind.”

  That might be helpful. Or not. The prospect of being blown out of the state was not as terrifying as it had been. It all depended on the landing…

  “The current feeder band should get past us at some point,” she offered with more hope than certainty. It would lessen some of the crapeau, but whether it would happen at a time helpful to them, well, that was the debatable part. If she was remembering her recent weather lessons correctly, this close to the eye wall the rain might lessen but the wind would get—something? Even if it got better, would it get better enough for them? She should have paid more attention. Her whole life.

  It was also possible that they could cross into a more intense feeder band without even knowing it. The radar was almost solid now, if it was accurate. Each band would provide its own challenges and varying wind speeds. She scrolled up. Though there were gaps by the airport—maybe. If they could hit a gap—and they had the fuel reserves—they could make a dash for the surface. Let someone else come down for the idiots, preferably in something that wasn’t a barely flying piece of crapeau.

  “Then we will turn right.” Joe spoke with decision, sparing her a quick reassuring smile.

  She managed a smile that felt wan. Probably was. It did seem indicated. “How do we do this? How do we look for the break—” They only had two sets of eyes between them. His needed to watch for hazards forward. Hers had a bunch of crapeau to keep track of, including their drift factor, though calling it drift in a high wind felt like a serious understatement.

  “You will have to watch for a break,” he said. “I will go slower, so you can monitor our forward progress, too.”

  Hard to imagine going slower, but, “Okay.”

  It was actually hard to wrench her attention off the screens. They were terrifying, but not nearly as bad as the view out the front of the skimmer.

  “Let’s do this.” The rain made thick distorting tracks down the view screen. But she found that if she looked past it, she could kind of make out the outlines of things. Not good things, and not very well, but things. Trees bent almost to the flood waters by the force of the wind. The broken blocks of old freeway against a barely discernible horizon, all looking interrupted by flashes of lightning. She wasn’t sure if the lightning helped or hurt. She lost her night vision with each flash, even though her chronometer claimed it was late afternoon. So technically she lost her afternoon vision….

  He began to ease the skimmer into its turn, his hands gripping so hard, they looked white. Vi didn’t have to be on stick to feel the wind trying to push them into the blocks of concrete, felt the skimmer’s pull to rise, too. It was like a really bad carnival ride.

  A gust hit the skimmer. It righted itself.

  And crossed her eyes for a minute.

  “Warn me if I start to go left.”

  “Don’t worry. I will.” If she spotted it in time. She stared left, wondering why it felt like there were unspoken things between them, things that maybe needed to be spoken.

  “You’re drifting left—over-correcting—good, try to stay there.” Like there was a “there.” The silence was both oddly comfortable and weighted with what wasn’t being said. Unless she imagined it. Which was possible. Maybe only her silence was weighted. She wanted to say something, in case, but “it’s been a pleasure working with you,” felt too formal. And not quite right. This wasn’t a pleasure. Poking through crimes scenes for sure wasn’t. It was interesting, but not pleasant.

  “I didn’t—want to be a cop.” The words popped out. Maybe near-death required truth. Just not too much truth, she reminded herself.

  “What did you want to be?” He sounded unsurprised.

  Had he noticed? That might not be good.

  “Not a cop.” As kid, she’d worked her way through the famous stuff: actress, reality star, dancer, singer—but genetics—or maybe it was laziness—had precluded her seriously considering doing something that was actually possible. For sure no one had asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up. The questions had been more along the lines of which area of law enforcement would she go into. “It’s kind of sad, though not totally sad. I’m glad I got to be your partner.”

  “Do not count us out yet.”

  “Drifting—okay, better.” She bit her lip. “I’m not counting us out but doing an ‘in case of’ because I might not get the chance later. We’ll probably be busy or something.” Like dead. “You’re a good cop. I’ve learned a lot from you.” Not exactly what she wanted to say to him but didn’t feel like the right moment to mention she’d like to kiss him on his somewhat purple mouth before she died. Whether he felt the same or not, it would be distracting. He didn’t need to be distracted right now.

  “I also did not wish to be in law enforcement.”

  Almost she looked at him. “But—” She could not imagine him doing anything he didn’t want to. Plus, he was like a reincarnated Joe Friday. If a fictional character could be reincarnated?

  “We all have imperatives, the requirements of duty, taking us to what we did not expect or—where we did not expect to go.”

  That sounded very Friday and yet—not. What had he not said? That he hadn’t wanted to come to NON? If he hadn’t wanted to be a cop, then being sent to be a cop in another world would kind of suck.

  “I’m glad you came,” she said in a low voice.

  The pause felt…something. “I am glad as well.”

  She smiled, couldn’t think of anything to say but that he needed to correct course. They were being pushed toward the unyielding tumble of blocks with an impressive persistence. She tried to home in on the blocks, stay fixed on them and nothing else, searching for a break, or just a moderation in the height—

  In the murk of the storm, she felt again her awe at the sheer volume of water coming down. Her eyes saw it, but her brain had trouble wrapping around it. And next to them, the block pile appeared to get higher and higher.

  Her heat sensor pinged. She looked, then looked back outside. “There’s something out there.” The heat signature had been wrong for a person, though…

  “Something?”

  Vil stole another quick look. “A dog. Domestic.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “It’s been tagged.” Dirt-siders were required to tag their pets, just like up-siders. Man, it figured. She’d never seen a vid where the dog didn’t run off at the wrong time. She took another quick look at the data. “Crapeau. It belonged to our vic.” Maybe it hadn’t run off. She didn’t want to say it, but she had to. “We need to pick it up.”

  “It’s a canine—”

  “It’s also a potential witness.” It wouldn’t have any trace evidence left on it, thank you, WTF, but domestic pet idents have been legalized maybe forty years ago. Personally, Vi didn’t trust a cat ID. Cats were genius, but so bitter. She’d seen a case where she knew the cat was yanking their chains. Luckily some evidence surfaced that cleared the guy, because that cat hated him. “Why is it here? If it was dumped, then it was probably the killer that did it.” She gave him a quick look. That was the most expression she’d seen on his face ever. “We have to make a reasonable attempt to secure a potential witness.”

  “Reasonable is not an option in our current circumstances.”

  That was the most gritted she’d ever seen his even, white teeth. And they still had to try to collect Fido. Yup, his name was Fido. That was the pooch equivalent of calling your kid John Doe. Maybe it had run away.

  “Regs,” she said, careful not to look at him. It wasn’t a loud sigh, but it was capitulation of a sort. Her gaze flicked between the WTF-lashed exterior and her screen with the dog signal. “It’s there, on those blocks of freeway to our left.”

  “And just how do you propose we secure our…witness?”

  “The pooch is on my side. Wind is hitting from your side. I�
��m thinking I’ll open my hatch and call it. By the time we’re close, it can jump in.”

  “And if it does not?”

  “Then we keep going. That’s as reasonable I can be.” And way more than Joe wanted. It was crazy, but half the regs were. Vi called them the ROUCs, the regs of unintended consequences. They resulted from someone trying to hammer a nail into your table leg with a bludgeon. You might get the nail in, but you broke the table and a couple of chairs. And possibly the floor. And the table leg. “Fido’s gonna have to help save himself.”

  Vi had a feeling she knew what Joe would like Fido to do, but if he cursed, it wasn’t in English.

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “Check your straps. I’m gonna pop my hatch and we’ll see what that does to our progress before we try to, you know, change anything.” She checked her straps. Wished she had more confidence in them. Be a bad time to find out they were mostly for show. “Ready?”

  “As it is possible to be.”

  “Three…two…one…” She released the hatch.

  A gust hit the skimmer, flipping it on its side.

  * * *

  The skimmer righted itself. But not before sending a minor flood in on them. Joe blinked water out of his eyes. He lacked a hand free to do anything but steer. The wind howled into the cabin of the skimmer like the skitterments of hoarsh, pelting them with particles of flying debris. Joe felt Lurch trying to assist as he fought to keep the craft from spinning out of control. The forward view began to fog. Joe boosted defog function and almost lost control of the skimmer.

  I suggest keeping both hands on the controls.

  No crapeau. Joe began to understand Vi’s fondness for the word. It was a succinct response to the blatantly obvious, and an accurate reflection of dire when modified by “in deep.” Regs for a danstrg dog.

  “You got it?”

  “Yes.” Not completely, but as much as he was going to “have it.”

  “All right, start your veer left.”

  He did not dare look at Vi, or anything but what was ahead, trusting her to warn of what threatened from the left as the skimmer began to close on the debris pile. This level of trust was difficult. He could barely hear her over the wind and rain.

  “Fido!!!”

  The wind seemed to fling her shout back at them. Then it tried to jerk them into a spin. The skimmer flipped on its side again. Righted itself. A small lake of water began to form around their feet.

  Dogs have excellent hearing.

  “Here, Fido! Jeez, I feel stupid shouting that.”

  Why? Other than the fact we are trying to call a dog in a storm?

  It is a generic dog name. Like your false name.

  Joe frowned. Lurch had given him a generic assumed identity? His arms burned. Lurch risked easing the pain, though not as much as Joe would have liked. Could their enemy really have eyes on them in this storm?

  Yes.

  “Okay, no more left. We’re close—too close—that’s better. I can see him. He’s getting up—oh, man, this is gonna to be bad—”

  Joe sensed, more than saw, the blur of motion. Heard Vi’s oomph, as air was forced out her lungs. The skimmer flipped to the side. He could not be sure but for several seconds he believed there was a dog butt pressed against his face. The skimmer righted itself. Filling his lap with dog. Almost they careened off course.

  “Get him off!” he roared, as they hurtled forward toward he knew not what.

  And then the canine scrambled between them into the rear seat.

  “Right, go right!” Vi cried out as she hit the hatch control.

  She twisted in her seat and brought the shield down between them and the canine. It howled, though Joe did not know or care why. He shook water off his face and almost howled, too. He wrestled with the controls, trying to change course. Ominous scraping along her side of the skimmer. The sound diminished as the hatch re-sealed. He had not realized how much sound it filtered out.

  “Straighten out now!”

  It was not that easy to do as requested, but Joe gave it his best, panting almost as much as the dog behind its shield. There was another nasty scraping sound, though this one was of shorter duration.

  “I think there might be a way through this.”

  Their forward lights appeared to bounce off the rain more than they pierced it, but beyond it, he thought he saw what she saw.

  “If it is a large enough opening.” There was only one way to discover that. “You will need to try to watch both sides as we approach. I will need to focus forward.”

  “Right. No problem.” She’d leaned forward as far as she could, as if that would help her pierce the storm.

  The flashes of lightning did help. Except when they didn’t.

  And then it stopped. Rain and wind. The skimmer wobbled several times before he adjusted to the lack of both.

  “What—”

  Vi’s, “Oh crapeau,” came at same time as the warning whine from their weather tracking screen.

  Tornado. Or downburst.

  “Crapeau, indeed.”

  * * *

  Vi felt the skimmer surge forward and instinctively pressed back into her seat. “What are you doing?”

  “The opening might provide protection if we can reach it before—” he stopped.

  Joe didn’t like to state the obvious. Maybe it was the wrong time, but she had to say it.

  “We make it and I’m gonna kiss you.” It would either motivate him. Or make them crash.

  His eyes widened, then narrowed, his grip on the controls more determined.

  Motivation. Sweet. Now all they had to do was survive the next five minutes. Her gaze flicked back and forth between the debris getting closer on either side. When it flicked right, her gaze got to graze Joe’s intent face. Inexplicably, she felt her spirits rising at the sight. This was not a man to give up without a fight. Maybe they’d make it—

  The rear of the skimmer began to twitch. As if the tornado plucked at it with gusty, grasping fingers.

  The debris got closer.

  Sounds of objects hitting the sides of the skimmer. Bigger objects. A large branch blocked their view for several seconds before being dragged up and back.

  The slot they aimed for looked pretty small all of a sudden. She didn’t think—didn’t dare speak and break his concentration again.

  Felt like they were going too fast—

  The skimmer shuddered harder.

  Joe put the pedal to the metal—whatever that meant. It was a phrase from Grand Paw Paw which made no sense at all. Their pedals were for braking.

  Hole got closer. Smaller.

  Vi squinted, because she couldn’t close her eyes, half turned as if bracing for a hit.

  Felt the skimmer shudder when he reversed thrust by actually applying pedals to metal.

  Was flung against the straps holding her in.

  Scraping sounds, above this time. Some shrieking of metal on rock.

  Stopping. Stopped.

  Another fling against straps. A few stars cart-wheeling past….

  A roaring, like a mighty engine going over. Wild crashing sounds. The wrath of the gods for sure.

  Fido whined, might have tried to dig his way deeper into the backseat.

  She reached out, eyes still stuck straight ahead and grabbed Joe’s arm, felt down until she found his hand. Gripped it.

  Fido howled now, a terrified sound she would have echoed had that been possible. Fear had a choke hold on her throat.

  The skimmer moved back with a jerk, but it stopped, and then the vortex was in front of them.

  In one flash of lightning, she saw the cone and its load of debris before it vanished from sight again.

  The wind and rain came back with more fury, as if enraged that they weren’t dead.

  They weren’t dead.

  Joe locked them in hover mode, using his free hand. She almost asked why, but at the moment she didn’t care. Vi released her breath in a gust.

&nbs
p; “Damn.” She looked at Joe. The edges of her mouth tipped up some. Couldn’t quite get her smile on, even though inside she was beaming. They weren’t dead. The dog whined and scratched the shield. “Sit!” she ordered. Then she grabbed the neck of Joe’s suit and pulled him toward her. Planted that promised kiss right on his sort-of purple mouth.

  It didn’t taste like a color. It tasted like man, no cool in it either. The guy hid a lot. Like how good he could kiss….

  The dog barked sharply, as if annoyed. She ignored him until he threw himself against the shield with a howling whining sort of bark that shook their slings.

  She eased back from Joe a millimeter or so. Oh yeah, there was fire in there. His eyes fairly blazed. Vi found her smile, and he matched it and then some. Water dripped down her face and his. He had a drop on the end of his sassy nose. She caught it with the tip of her finger. For an instant it looked like he might say something. Or pounce. Then he sighed. But he touched her cheek with his finger, the light touch edged with tender, before he said, “We must—”

  “Yeah, we must,” she admitted. Her whole body wanted to keep leaning his way. Her lips wanted to continue the kissing. She sat back. She was a grownup. Darn it. Matched Joe’s sigh and raised it. She gave herself a shake. If they’d made it to the freeway…she tried to do math, wasn’t sure how well she did it. “So, we’ve gone two, maybe three blocks and used up a quarter of our fuel. Maybe we should wait here?”

  Yeah, they might be under several tons of really old concrete, but she knew what was out there.