Axler, James - Deathlands 66 - Separation

by Separation [lit]

  "Fire the engine," Markos yelled. But there was no responding cry as the call had been lost amid the panic that the sudden impact had triggered. Shaken violently from their repose, the people on board the boat had responded by panicking, the very thing he had hoped to avoid.

  Cursing, the sec boss plunged into the throng below, only to find himself thrown off his feet as the next crosscurrent hit the boat, showering the inhabitants with cold salt spray as the boat was flung sideways with the impact. Regaining his balance, it was hard for the sec boss to fight his way through. He also noticed that the craft was beginning to ship water as it dipped over and under the riders, taking on water at the prow. More than ever, it was important to get the motor running so that they could cut through the crosscurrents as quickly as possible.

  Sineta came down and moved among her people, her presence alone reassuring them. Although the baron was trembling inside, she remained outwardly strong and calm, organizing the people so that they began to bale out the excess water the boat was shipping. The activity wasn't only necessary to keep the top heavy craft afloat, it also helped to focus the people aboard and to quell any panic in the need for action.

  By the time Markos had the engine fired and the boat began to cut through the water, headed for the peninsula, the Pilatans were baling as fast as they could.

  On the ships that followed, there were similar problems.

  "Brace yourselves, here it comes," Mildred yelled, keeping her eyes fixed on the boat in the lead and on the first indication of turbulence that broke the surface. Forewarned by the difficulties of the first craft, those behind had braced themselves for the impact, but there was still little chance of being truly prepared for the sudden shock of first impact.

  "Watch out above!" Krysty yelled over the noise— the crash of the waves on the boat, the groaning of the timbers, the yelling of frightened Pilatans and startled animals, and—most ominously—the squeal of rigging that had been torn loose.

  Above them, the mast had splintered under the conflicting stresses of sea and wind, and the heavy wood and sails toppled to plummet onto the deck below.

  Two Pilatan women and a man stood in the direct path. All were transfixed as the rigging fell, unable to move as a crippling terror paralyzed them. The man— much older—had to have been the father or uncle of the two women, who huddled into him. He spread his arms uselessly around them, in a feeble imitation of protection. It would serve to be of no use when the heavy rigging hit them.

  Mildred was out of range, but she saw Jak, surefooted even in the pitch and yaw of the wave tossed boat, head toward them. The albino moved swiftly, gathering speed and momentum as he slalomed around upright bodies and hurdled those who were prone. He seemed able to do this without looking at the deck, his gaze fixed on the rigging above as it fell toward the trio, seemingly in slow motion.

  When he was about seven feet from the three Pilatans, the albino tensed his muscles, the cords standing out on his thighs and calves, blood pumping in his ears, and threw himself through the air, spreading his arms wide to encompass the width of all three bodies.

  He didn't see them as he hit the obstacle of unmoving flesh. His head was tucked down into his right shoulder to offer his neck some protection from the impact that he knew was inevitable. He felt himself hammer into them, the momentum he had built up almost stopped dead by their frozen terror. But not quite. The force of Jak's weight—as slender as he was—going at top speed was enough to drive all three of the terrified Pilatans backward, stumbling steps halting and falling into a heap.

  The rigging hit the deck with a splintering crash, smashing deck planking where they had stood but a fraction of a second before. The impact seemed to galvanize everyone on board.

  "Get that engine running!" the lead seaman screamed over the sound of the whiplash waves. The engine throbbed and roared, battling against the currents as the ship's tiller was turned to direct it toward the shore and the peninsula.

  "Hot pipe! Did you see that!" Dean exclaimed to his father as they watched the rigging fall on the ship in front.

  "Let's hope it doesn't do that here," Ryan commented, casting his eye over the rigging above.

  "Hey, you wanted to help? Then give me a hand with this," yelled Orthos, who had left the tiller to come down to the main body of the boat. "We need to gather the sails in while the engine's fired—that'll stop it going."

  Dean and Ryan joined the sailor and other fellow travelers in pulling down the ropes and sails from the rigging, letting them rest on the deck once the billowing air had been pushed from beneath them.

  "Engine won't fire," yelled a seaman, running to them.

  Orthos swore. "So long since I've used the engine, I don't know if I could fix it."

  "Let me try," Dean said quickly, pushing to the rear of the boat where another seaman was struggling with the ignition. Without a word he stood aside as Dean hunkered over the machinery, studying it. He tried the self-starter again; it refused to fire. Pulling the wires from the switch, he tried again, this time by hot wiring. The engine fired.

  "Good job it was just a screwed-up switch. Don't know what I would have tried next." He laughed.

  "Long as it works, don't worry about it." Orthos grinned. "Come on. We're shipping water and need to bale. No rest for any of us until we're through this."

  Unfortunately for J.B. and Doc, the cooperation of the other boats wasn't to be echoed on their own vessel. It was shipping water faster than many of the others, as it was weighed down heavily with much of the livestock. Although the engine had fired and the rigging was secured, the boat was still slow because of its weight and was struggling across the white water.

  The Armorer and Doc had both moved to help bale water, but were stopped by the sailor who had been on the tiller.

  "Don't move," he said, holding a Glock.

  "We only want to help," Doc said calmly.

  "Think I trust pale ones to be helping? This is our ship, our journey. Leave it to us."

  "For God's sake, man, what do you think we are likely to do?" Doc countered. "Why should we do any harm? If this ship goes, we go with it. We are all in this together."

  The separatist sneered. "You're in nothing with us, you stupe old man. I—"

  But his attempt at justification was cut short by another wave that swept across the deck. It caught him off balance and threw him toward the rail. Losing his grip on the Glock, which fell to the deck, he toppled over the rail and just managed to catch hold as he fell toward the waves. He screamed with pain as the jolt almost pulled his arm from its socket.

  At the same moment the damage from the battering waves caused the ropes on one of the livestock cages to snap; three terrified and enraged bulls stumbled from their captivity and onto the deck.

  "I'll get him. You try to keep them away," J.B. yelled to Doc.

  The old man nodded, understanding immediately that it was a necessity to keep the frightened beasts from the rail near the struggling man. Moving toward them, Doc tried to cut off their progress, shooing them back toward the opposite rail. He beckoned to others to help, and soon there were several Pilatans helping him to round up the cattle and direct them back toward their cage. As the frightened creatures entered what had to have seemed like a secure haven, Doc took a length of rope proffered by a sailor and secured the cage.

  Meanwhile, J.B. rushed to the rail and reached over for the separatist's other arm, which flailed by his side. He knew that to grab the already strained arm would possibly cause dislocation. He had to take the strain from that limb if he was to save the man.

  "Give it to me," the Armorer yelled, reaching for the free hand.

  With a look of disbelief and incomprehension etched on his face, the separatist took J.B.'s proffered hand and the Armorer locked on to his wrist, using his other hand to reach over as far as he dare to grab beneath the man's elbow. Heaving with all his strength, he pulled at the heavy body, tugging it up. The deck was slippery, and he was only too well aware
that the boat was still pitching. But he ignored it as he heaved the man upward.

  The separatist got his other hand on the rail and J.B. released his grip, reaching over to the man's belt and pulling him onto the deck.

  J.B. collapsed beside the gasping man, his own strength temporarily drained by the rescue.

  "I—I thought…" panted the separatist.

  "Leave it," the Armorer breathed through bursting lungs. "Let's just get out of this channel."

  Even as he spoke, the last of the boats breached the reaches of the white water and was gaining calmer seas as, battered but still in one piece, the Pilatan convoy struck out for the peninsula leading to the mainland.

  ALTHOUGH THE WATERS were now calm, there was still the matter of passing the jagged shards of rock that jutted from the still waters as they approached the peninsula.

  Looking up from their boats, the companions could all see the green hillside and the barely concealed entrance to the redoubt where they had arrived a few weeks earlier. And, beyond the swollen bulb of land formed by the green sward, there was the narrow strip of slate rock that formed the eroded peninsula that linked the hillside to the mainland, with the break in the central section where the slate had given way and crumbled down to the sea below. All along the cliff side that stretched on each side of the peninsula were sheer slate faces, with no way of gaining the lip of the mainland. For all of them, it recalled the reason they had headed for the island.

  But, approaching it from this angle, there was perhaps a way in which they could gain the top of the cliff and so attain the mainland.

  Where the narrow strip of slate and rock had tumbled into the sea, there was a scree now covered with moss and sea slime. It wasn't a particularly steep incline, although it would be slippery, and they would have to take great care. If they anchored the boats at low tide and then unloaded into the shallows, it would be possible to climb this incline and reach the remains of the peninsula bridge that took them onto the mainland. The obstacle that had prevented the companions from previously using this route was now eliminated. Prior to this, they would have had to scale down one side, then up another, risking the tide. Now, with boats that were anchored in the shallows, they could make their way from ship to shore with a haven at each end when the tide began to rise.

  It still wasn't going to be easy. But at least it would be less of a risk than to be caught by the incoming tide.

  Markos and Sineta anchored their boat, directing the seamen on the best position. That was something that the sec boss and the baron had determined on maps of the area in consultation with Mildred before leaving. Following the lead of their baron, the other boats took up anchor positions, forming a crescent that bridged the gap between the two sides of the rock bridge.

  Jak looked up at the sky. "Sun low—not get everyone out by nightfall," he commented.

  Mildred followed his gaze. The late afternoon was turning into early evening, and she reckoned they had two, maybe three, hours at most of a reasonable light left to them. There was little chance of discharging all the boats by that time. Some would have to spend a night on the water, as attempting the climb by moonlight would be an invitation to disaster. The notion of having the islanders divided by night wasn't appealing. No one was sure how far it was to the nearest ville, and so any possible attack; neither did they know what kind of predatory wildlife stalked the hillsides.

  "I'd feel a whole lot better if some of us were first up," she said. "Markos is a good sec chief, but he's never been on the mainland in his life. They've never— any of them—-fired a shot in anger at real human opponents."

  "Nothing can do. Just chance." Jak shrugged.

  As they spoke, the first party of Pilatans left the leading boat and began the ascent. Markos and Sineta took the lead and, as she watched them, Mildred reflected that the death of Barras and also the chilling of Chan had drawn the two closer together—not in the sense of a marriage of convenience that the two dead men had wanted, but that a mutual sense of loss had driven them to work harder in a time of adversity.

  The ascent was difficult. The slime and moss that covered the scree was soft and slippery underfoot, making it hard to get a grip on the rocks. And the small stones that lay beneath the slime were apt to fall away suddenly in showers of gravel that covered those following and made a foothold all the harder. Both Markos and Sineta took the slope virtually on all fours, testing each hold as they went, despite the shallow angle. It was the only way that they could insure a safe grip. It took them nearly half an hour to reach the top of the rocks, during which time they were virtually defenseless should there be an attack from above. The sec men on the boats, and Ryan and J.B. with their longer range blasters, provided the possibility of covering fire. However, at that distance, it would be hard to provide an effective defense, even though the bare rock-slate peninsula offered little cover of its own and would make an attacking force of any kind an open target in its own right.

  When Markos and Sineta attained the flat of the rock, they lay panting.

  "If it is this hard for us, then how will the animals and the old cope?" the baron gasped eventually.

  "As with all endeavor—because they have to," Markos replied when he had caught his breath. As he spoke, they were joined by the next wave of Pilatans from the first boat. These carried ropes coiled around them. Markos allowed them only a short while to recover before instructing them to proceed with the plans they had been given.

  The Pilatans threw the ropes down to the rocks below, past another wave of ascending men and women. The older, more infirm Pilatans were being assisted by those who were stronger, and at times the ascent was reduced to a crawl—but still it continued, never actually grinding to a halt.

  At the bottom of the scree, there were those who had helped to unload crates and packages from the boat.

  They waited patiently, then took the proffered ropes and attached them securely to the crates. Each one had been designed and packed specifically so that it would be of a suitable weight for what next occurred. While the man down with the crate pushed from behind, grasping the tied rope firmly as he pushed, the man above pulled and acted as an anchor, taking the strain of the crate's weight and also acting as a counterweight for the man behind the crate, lest he should slip. Depending on the comparative strengths of the two men, it actually speeded up the process of ascent.

  When the first boat was empty, it was turned by the last seaman aboard, the tiller tied so that it headed out toward the sheer cliff face, away from the semicircle of companion craft. The seaman left his boat, letting it scupper itself on the rocks and leaving a gap where the next boat in line could come in to land its crew and cargo. The loss of the boats was regrettable, as they had taken such resources to put together. But they were now of little use, and to leave them as empty and soon to be rotting hulks would only make it harder for the other craft to maneuver into shore.

  Up on the smooth surface of the peninsula's rock bridge, there were now enough Pilatans for Markos to form a sec patrol that ventured to the point where the rock ran seamlessly into the green of the mainland, establishing a bridgehead that would enable the landings to continue with a greater sense of security.

  Mildred, Krysty and Jak were on the next vessel to land. Descending from the boat into the shallow water, and feeling the cold drag at their feet, they were surprised at how hard the climb truly was. The angle might have been shallow, but the shale, moss and slime made it treacherous. Jak ascended the quickest, as surefooted as ever over the surface, barely seeming to touch it as his hands and feet found secure holds where it seemed none could exist. When he reached the top, he took one of the lengths of rope that was now lying idle—there being no crates to be hauled up as yet—and threw it down.

  "Krysty!" he yelled to the red-haired beauty below. She and Mildred were helping the ascent of the three Pilatans who had nearly been chilled by the falling rigging. They were still in shock, and also had minor injuries from the landing they had ma
de when Jak had cannoned into them, deflecting them from a certain chilling. Their ascent had been slow, and both Mildred and Krysty had doubled back to assist them.

  Krysty looked up and saw the rope fall toward her. She grabbed at the end as it reached her, knowing what Jak wanted her to do. She took the rope and pulled down a long length of slack, Jak feeding it to her. While she was doing this, Mildred—having also guessed Jak's plan—explained to the distressed Pilatans what she wanted them to do.

  The redhead wove the rope around the three Pilatans, tying each one securely into place. She also included herself and Mildred in the equation, so that there were five people tied into the rope, two of whom would provide motive power. Signaling to Jak, she and Mildred continued their ascent, with the albino anchoring and pulling at the top of the scree. It was much easier for them to help the Pilatans in this manner and they soon gained the ridge.

  "Nice work, Jak," Mildred said in thanks.

  The albino shrugged. "Pity save one chill then see fall so near."

  Meanwhile, below, another ship was scuppered and another moved in to take its place. The unloading continued, but the sun had started to sink and the light was becoming dim, making it dangerous to continue. When the current ship had discharged its load, Markos strode to the lip of the incline and discharged his blaster three times into the air.

  It was the prearranged signal in case of such an occurrence. There were two ships left at sea, and these would have to wait until the morrow before they could unload. Meanwhile, up on the rock of the peninsula bridge, the Pilatans built a fire and makeshift shelters from crates to protect themselves from the biting wind that came with the dark, settling to an uncomfortable but necessary night on the rocks.