Impact

by Adam Baker

  ‘You’re not Early. You’re an echo, reflex. All this talk. It’s like zapping the legs of a dissected frog to make them twitch.’

  Long silence.

  ‘Trenchman was right, wasn’t he? You. The virus. You’re studying us.’

  Long silence.

  Noble slowly pulled the flashlight from his vest pocket.

  ‘You could snuff us out in an instant. Me. Frost. Hancock. Why play games? Are you tormenting us, like a kid frying ants with a magnifying glass?’

  Noble lunged out of a side window, pistol at the ready. The light-cone of his flashlight lit the empty roof.

  He shone the flashlight at surrounding dunes. No tracks.

  ‘You’re nothing,’ he shouted, bellowing into darkness. ‘A germ. A string of RNA. Come on. Face me, motherfucker.’

  The limo shuddered and lurched. Noble fell back inside the vehicle. He dropped his flashlight and gripped the seat. Deafening torsion and metal shriek.

  The limo shook like it was taking a series of heavy side-impacts.

  He hit the floor.

  Another sudden jolt. The front of the Humvee dropped like both front tyres had simultaneously blown out.

  Sudden wrench. Explosion of dust beyond the hood of the limo. The vehicle began to tilt nose-down, front fender disappearing beneath the sand as it was dragged below ground.

  Noble grabbed his flashlight as it rolled past and trained the beam on the driver’s compartment. Sand pouring through the side windows, the windshield, filling the footwells, engulfing the dash.

  Groan and judder. He gripped the stripper pole. Some Herculean force continued to wrench the limo below ground in a series of powerful jerks.

  The gradient inside the vehicle grew more precipitous as the nose sank further. Noble hugged the stripper pole. Boots pedalled carpet as he scrambled for a foothold.

  The mini-bar flipped open, spilling garbage. He was pelted with snack wrappers, empty cans and plastic vodka bottles.

  The Humvee at forty-five degrees. Noble clung tight to stop himself sliding into the streams of dust slowly inundating the body of the limo.

  He dropped his flashlight. It tumbled along the limo floor, bounced over the driver partition, beam quickly smothered by cascading sand.

  He grabbed his backpack as it slid past.

  He clawed towards a side door, kicked at it, desperate to get clear of the vehicle before he got buried alive.

  He rammed the door with his shoulder. Jammed.

  He climbed towards the rear window, desperate to escape the fast-filling passenger compartment.

  Roof glass burst inwards. A stream of sand slammed his head and shoulders like it was jetting from a fire hose. He fought the torrent, pawed dust from his eyes, coughed and spat.

  The rear window was cracked and frosted. Noble punched an opening. Glass crumbled to granules as he forced his way through the aperture.

  He squirmed out the rear window and tossed his backpack. He jumped and rolled clear.

  Shriek of rending metal.

  He lay on his side and looked back.

  The limo jerked fully vertical, dust streaming from the rear wheels and transmission.

  The vehicle was relentlessly hauled beneath the ground. Awful cracks and groans as body panels buckled and the roof collapsed. Windows frosted and shattered. Sand poured into the passenger compartment.

  Last glimpse of the trunk, the chromed rear fender and canary yellow SINCITY plate, as it submerged.

  Sudden silence.

  Noble got to his feet. He stood at the lip of the crater and tried to comprehend what he had seen.

  Granules of glass glittered in the sand. Empty whiskey miniatures.

  He backed away.

  He turned, snatched up his backpack and ran.

  44

  Noonday sun.

  Frost sat in shadow, back to the fuselage. She kept still as she could, tried to breathe steady and slow. Eyes half closed. Sweat dripped from the tip of her nose. She watched heat ripple from surrounding dunes.

  Hancock knelt in full sunlight, head bowed, arms lashed cruciform. He cooked in the heat. Cracked lips, peeling skin.

  ‘Sure you don’t want some shade?’ said Frost. ‘All you got to do is say please.’

  ‘Fuck yourself.’

  She uncapped her canteen and took a swig.

  ‘Let me know if you change your mind.’

  Movement at the top of a distant ridgeline.

  Frost got to her feet and shielded her eyes. A figure stumbling out of thermal haze. Olive green flight suit. Black hair.

  Noble.

  Frost ran as best she could. She reached the foot of the dune. Noble collapsed and tumbled down the gradient towards her.

  Cracked, bleeding lips. Burned and blistered skin. He looked up at Frost slack-faced and blank eyed. He had retreated within himself, no longer aware of his surroundings.

  She struggled to get him to his feet.

  ‘Come on. Couple more yards, then you’re done.’

  She put a supporting arm around his shoulder. He showed no reaction as she half-guided/half-carried him to shade and lowered him to the ground beside the fuselage. He didn’t react until she held her canteen to dust-dry lips and let him gulp.

  Noble lay in the shade, back propped against the slate hull of the B-52. Heatstroke had set his ears ringing. Hours of sand glare had messed with his sight, made him blink away sunspots like bad concussion.

  Frost leant into his field of vision. She waved a hand. She clicked her fingers.

  ‘Harris. Can you hear me? Can you hear my voice?’

  ‘Let me rest,’ said Noble, almost inaudible.

  ‘What happened? How far did you get?’

  ‘Give me water.’

  She held the canteen to his lips and let him drink some more.

  ‘Did you find anything? Anything at all? Did you make it to the aim point? Did you make contact with anyone?’

  Noble wearily shook his head.

  ‘Bullshit. The entire mission. Nothing but bullshit.’

  ‘But what did you find?’

  ‘Death.’

  ‘Nothing we can use? Nothing at all?’

  He shook his head.

  Frost fetched the trauma kit. She unzipped it and took out a clear bag of saline.

  She stabbed her knife through the aluminium skin of the fuselage and hung the bag. She uncoiled clear tubing, tore open a sterile wrapper and took out a wide bore cannula. She held Noble’s arm and slapped for a vein.

  She hesitated, needle poised over skin as she tried to find a trace of blue beneath dust-matted, sunburned skin.

  Noble leant forwards. He slowly raised a trembling hand and took the needle. He pumped a fist to boost bloodflow. Needle sunk into a vein. He slumped back against the plane.

  Frost lashed the cannula in place with micropore tape and attached the IV tube. She checked the tube for kinks, made sure there was a clear feed.

  ‘How’s that?’ she asked. ‘Feel better?’

  He nodded.

  She took a bottle of burn gel from the trauma bag.

  ‘I’m going to put some of this on your skin, okay? I’ll be gentle.’

  She squeezed gel onto her fingers and massaged it into his shoulders and arms.

  He held out his hands and let her rub gel onto red-raw fingers.

  He tipped his head back and let her wipe gel across his forehead, nose and cheekbones.

  She unzipped a side pocket. Saline wash. She held back each lid with a thumb and flushed dust from his eyes.

  ‘Thanks.’

  He blinked away the artificial tears and tried to focus on Hancock. Blurred glimpse of a cruciform figure kneeling, head bowed, in the sand.

  ‘What’s going on with the AC?’

  ‘Tell you later,’ said Frost. ‘Rest. Get your strength back.’

  He leant his head against the hard metal of the fuselage and closed his eyes.

  Frost watched the sun sink low and approach the horiz
on.

  She inspected the drip. Two-thirds depleted.

  She examined Noble, leant close and checked he was still breathing. She lifted his wrist and took his pulse.

  Nothing to do but let him rest.

  She untethered Hancock and led him to shade. He fell and lay still.

  ‘Guess you’re done for the day, give or take.’

  She stood over him and sipped from her canteen. They stared each other down. She crouched, held the canteen an inch from his lips and let a few drops fall on his tongue. He greedily licked the water, gaze still locked, beaming pure enmity.

  She recapped the canteen.

  She sat on the sand and released the ligatures binding her injured leg. She pulled up the pant leg of her flight suit.

  ‘Swollen. Not as much as before. Guess it was a facture. And it’s starting to heal.’

  She talked to Hancock, expecting no reply. She used him for company, same way a person might confide in a cat or dog if they found themselves alone.

  She unlaced her boot and pulled it free. She slid the crusted sock from her foot. She felt her toes.

  ‘Still got circulation.’

  Noble opened his eyes.

  ‘Feeling any better?’ asked Frost. ‘I’d offer you something to eat, but we’re out of food.’

  He pointed to the backpack he’d brought with him.

  She unzipped and searched the main compartment. A wad of documents. Empty water bottles. A plastic bag full of loose medical supplies.

  ‘Found some meds, huh?’

  ‘Morphine,’ he croaked.

  ‘You want morphine?’

  ‘No. For you. For your leg.’

  ‘Thanks, fella,’ said Frost, genuinely touched. She slotted a couple of hypos into her bicep pocket. ‘Thanks. That means a lot.’

  Noble cleared his throat, shifted position, tried to straighten his back.

  ‘Agency compound. Human experiments. That’s why they wanted to drop the bomb. Cover their tracks.’

  ‘Sure there was nothing at the site we could use?’

  ‘Everyone dead. Everything burned.’

  ‘Christ.’

  ‘Trenchman was out there. Poor bastard drove into the desert trying to save our hides. Got himself stranded.’

  They sat and watched the sun sink further towards the horizon.

  ‘Cool breeze,’ said Frost. ‘Feel that? Bliss.’

  Noble looked around, as if fully comprehending his surroundings for the first time. Eyes began to widen in fear.

  He slowly rolled and began to crawl on all fours. The IV line pulled taut and plucked the needle from his arm.

  ‘Hey.’ asked Frost. ‘What’s up?’

  He crawled towards the ragged break in the fuselage.

  ‘Dude. Where are you going, Harris?’

  Noble pointed at the sky.

  ‘Darkness is coming.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Sand. Got to stay away from the sand.’

  45

  Frost helped Noble to his feet. He put an arm round her shoulder for support.

  They shuffled towards the rip in the fuselage.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Frost. ‘One foot in front of the other.’

  Noble glanced over his shoulder at Hancock. The guy was propped against the fuselage, arms lashed cruciform. Sunburned, clothes white with dust. Eyes closed, head hung limp.

  ‘What the hell happened while I was gone?’

  ‘Touch of cabin fever.’

  ‘You or him?’

  Frost lowered Noble to the floor.

  ‘Need any painkillers?’

  He shook his head.

  She took a foil strip from the trauma kit.

  ‘We got codeine. No need to dope up on opiates.’

  ‘I’m all right.’

  ‘Take them anyway. Make me feel better.’

  He lifted his head and swallowed the pills with a gulp of water from her canteen.

  She leant against the nav console. She looked out the rip in the fuselage at the dunes.

  ‘They came back, while you were gone. Pinback. Guthrie.’

  ‘For you?’

  Frost shook her head.

  ‘They could take us anytime. Not sure what they want. They come after dark. Ever seen a cat toy with a mouse? Bat it around, throw it in the air? Sounds crazy, but I think the disease is playing with us. Could kill us in the blink of an eye, but that would end the fun.’

  ‘I saw Early,’ said Noble. ‘At least I think it was him. Dogged my steps the whole way.’

  ‘Early.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Did you actually see him?’

  ‘Not directly.’

  The low sun framed by the ragged tear in the airframe. A strip of twilight projected across deck plate. They contemplated the coming night.

  ‘They’re under the sand,’ said Noble. ‘They’re beneath us, hiding in the dust.’

  Frost nodded.

  ‘I saw an entire vehicle dragged beneath the sand,’ he said. ‘Starting to think there’s a whole bunch out there.’

  ‘A vehicle.’

  ‘Trenchman’s limo. He drove it into the desert hoping to rescue our asses, God bless him. Saw the entire thing dragged beneath the sand. Must have weighed two, three tons. Thrown around like it was nothing at all.’

  ‘A subterranean army.’

  ‘Telling you what I saw.’

  She took an electronic thermometer from the trauma kit.

  ‘Open your mouth.’

  He sucked the thermometer while she took his pulse.

  Normal pulse. Normal temp.

  ‘Mind if I ask some questions?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘What’s your full name?’

  ‘I’m not nuts. I know what I saw.’

  ‘I got to check for heatstroke. You were out there a long while, head cooking in the sun. It’s a marvel you made it back.’

  ‘Hundred per cent sane.’

  ‘Humour me.’

  ‘Noble. Harris. Lieutenant, United States Air Force.’

  ‘What’s my name?’

  ‘LaNitra Frost.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘The armpit of the world.’

  ‘What day is this?’

  ‘Not a fucking clue.’

  ‘Me neither,’ smiled Frost. ‘Totally lost track.’

  She took the pistol from Noble’s shoulder rig and ejected the mag. She put it in her pocket.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Things got a bit tense while you were away. Me and Hancock, not exactly seeing eye-to-eye. Best keep tabs on the weaponry. Don’t want any future arguments to escalate into a fire fight.’

  She patted Noble’s chest pockets and removed a couple of spare clips. She thumbed bullets into her palm.

  ‘More than a dozen rounds for each prowler. Normal circumstances, that would be plenty. But something tells me those bastards will go down hard.’

  ‘Really want to take them on?’

  ‘We’ve got no choice.’

  She slotted bullets back into their magazines.

  The flight deck.

  She leant over the pilot seat, looked through the window and surveyed the dunes. She picked up duct tape and resealed the ejection hatches and windows. Wouldn’t slow an intruder down, but she’d hear them coming. Rip and tear. They couldn’t make it inside the plane without taking a full clip to the head.

  She could block the ladderway with a trunk, but it might be better to leave the hatchway open. A good fire position. Pick them off as they climbed the ladder. Hard to imagine any of the prowlers would be dumb enough to make a head-on assault, but maybe she would get lucky.

  Ought to decant water from the fuselage reservoir and stow it on the flight deck. Meaning to do it for a day or so. Stalling because she didn’t want to face how little water they had left.

  She descended the ladder to the lower cabin.

  Frost stood over Noble.

  ‘Reckon
you can walk?’

  ‘You’re kidding me, right?’

  ‘If we had to leave tonight, reckon you could cover a little ground?’

  ‘Hurts to lift my arms right now.’

  ‘If I shot you up with painkillers, could you move?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe. What about you? What about your leg?’

  ‘I’ll cope.’

  ‘And what about Hancock?’

  ‘Comes with us. Doesn’t have a choice in the matter.’

  ‘What’s the deal? Why’s he tied up?’

  ‘The guy wants to complete the mission. Load the physics package on a sled, drag it to the target site and detonate the thing. Happy to let him do it, except that he wouldn’t get a quarter of a mile before his legs gave out. Then he’d probably fire the nuke there and then, take us all to hell.’

  ‘Why was he staked in the sun?’

  ‘Payback. He did the same to me.’

  ‘If I told you a week ago you’d be torturing some poor bastard to the brink of death, you wouldn’t have believed me.’

  ‘I didn’t instigate this shit.’

  ‘But you can put an end to it. The guy’s tapped out. Let him inside.’

  Frost went outside.

  She crouched and examined the trip flare. It should have fired the previous night when Pinback entered the plane. He must have stepped over it.

  Cunning motherfucker.

  She sat in the shade.

  Hancock lay on his back beside her, staring into the reddening sky with half-closed eyes.

  The fuselage creaked and ticked. Metal contracting in the cool evening air.

  ‘Kill me,’ he whispered. ‘Cut me loose or kill me.’

  ‘You brought us to this. Remember that. Waving your gun around.’

  ‘You don’t have the guts to pull the trigger. Sooner or later you’ll set me free.’

  ‘I don’t want to shoot you. I don’t want to shoot anyone. Convinced yourself this is some kind of zero-sum face-off. Fighting me because I’m human, a quantifiable enemy, unlike those infected fucks out there in the sand.’

  ‘You’re a fucking coward.’

  Frost took a tube of toothpaste from her pocket. She squeezed a nub onto her finger and rubbed it round her teeth.

  ‘I’m getting out of here, and I’m going to take you with me. Sit you on the sled and drag your ass, if that’s what it takes.’