Escape from Oz (The Falken Chronicles Book 1)

by Piers Platt

  “They’re not gonna knock the tree down, are they?” Weaver asked, nervously.

  “I don’t think so,” Falken said.

  “Let’s get higher up,” Weaver suggested.

  “Yeah,” Falken agreed.

  Carefully, they moved along the spiral branches, circling the trunk until they were another ten feet up.

  “Falken?” Weaver asked, settling himself onto a thicker branch. “Are we trapped here? Like, forever?”

  Falken shook his head. “Ngobe said the tide will only be up for a couple hours. Then it should go back down again.” Falken knocked his hand against the trunk. “I think.”

  Chapter 31

  “What do you think?” Weaver asked.

  Falken glanced up into the sky again. He could see the late afternoon sun off to his left, but only five of New Australia’s moons remained visible, and two of those were dipping low toward the horizon. He looked back down at the muddy ground below, still slick from the freshly-receded flood.

  “I think it’s safe,” Falken said, with little conviction. “Probably.”

  Weaver frowned, shielding his eyes to peer out toward the ocean. “It’s been a while now.”

  “And no sign of the water coming back,” Falken agreed.

  The two men shared a look, and then nodded.

  “My butt’s getting sore from sitting on this branch anyway,” Falken said.

  The two men clambered carefully down from their perch in the upper branches, and then eased themselves down onto the hood of the jeep. The metal was battered and scraped from the creatures’ attack – the windshield was shattered, and all upholstery and fabric inside had been completely devoured.

  “They ate everything organic,” Weaver said, leaning over to peer into the passenger compartment. “You think it still works?”

  Falken grunted and hopped down to the ground – his feet sunk into the soft mud with a wet squelch. “Let’s see.” Falken turned the key in the ignition, but the jeep refused to start. “Flooded,” Falken guessed.

  “The electrical motor should still be good,” Weaver said, frowning. “Even if the combustion engine is shot.”

  Falken tried the key again, and played with several of the console controls, but the machine gave no sign of life. “Nope. Those things must have busted it somehow.”

  He caught sight of something in the foot well of the passenger seat, and leaned over, digging it out of a shallow pool of water.

  “What’s that?” Weaver asked.

  Falken held it up, turning it slowly in the light. “A stun glove,” he said. “I saw a guard use one of these things before our flight here. Archos and his men had a bunch that they must have looted from the facility.”

  “Does it work?”

  Falken slid the glove over his right hand, and then cinched it tight around his wrist. He tapped on a power button on the inside of his arm, and the device crackled, blue electricity arcing between his fingertips. “Yeah. It works.”

  Weaver sat down on the hood, and then slid down to the ground. “Great. We’ve got a fancy riot control device, but no vehicle. I guess we’re walking?”

  “We’re walking,” Falken said. He deactivated the glove.

  “Lookout Hill?” Weaver asked.

  “The colony first,” Falken said. “Salty headed there when the tide first started.”

  They set off through the trees, whose white trunks were polished and bright, scoured clean in the flood. The muddy earth stuck to their shoes, sucking at their feet as they walked.

  “I hope Salty got everyone above the waterline in time,” Weaver said.

  “Yeah,” Falken agreed. “I hope so, too.”

  * * *

  “We’re getting close,” Falken guessed, peering up at the setting sun.

  “Hope so,” Weaver said, sighing.

  Falken stopped and knelt next to a pool of water, stooping low over it to suck up several small draughts.

  “I told Archos about Lookout Hill,” Weaver said, watching Falken drink.

  “I know,” Falken said, wiping his mouth and grimacing at the taste. “I was there for that part.”

  Weaver glanced behind them, back through the forest in the direction of the far-off facility. Falken followed his gaze.

  “Let’s get going,” he said.

  He stood again, and they walked on. After a few minutes, the trees thinned, and they came to a wide clearing, several miles across. It was bare of trees except for a small grove in the middle, standing near a large stone boulder. Otherwise, they could see nothing other than flat mud.

  “Is this one of the landing zones?” Weaver asked.

  “No,” Falken said. “They’re not this big.”

  “Then where the hell are we?” Weaver asked.

  “I don’t know ….” Falken said.

  They started across the clearing, and after several hundred feet, Falken noticed something dull and gray, half-buried in the wet earth. He crossed over to it and tugged it free, wiping it clean with one hand.

  “A shovel?”

  Falken nodded. “The handle’s gone, but … yeah.” He dropped the tool back into the mud. “Hang on.” Falken turned in a slow circle, squinting at the woods that lined the clearing.

  “There’s something familiar about this place,” Weaver said.

  “Oh, no,” Falken said, his stomach dropping.

  “What?” Weaver asked.

  But Falken just held up a finger, and strode off through the mud, heading toward the large stone boulder. On the far side of the rock formation, Falken saw that the copse of trees held a number of blue-balls, all clustered near the top branches of the trees. As they neared the boulder, it took shape – it was rough and dome-shaped, not one piece of rock, but rather hundreds of smaller stones fitted tightly together. On one side, a large opening gaped wide, and the ground nearby was littered with pieces of metal of various sizes and shapes – nails, two hoes, the frame of a wheel, and a toppled-over anvil.

  Falken sighed. “This is the forge. We’re standing in what’s left of it.”

  Weaver’s eyes went wide. “This … is the colony?” He spun around. “Where are all the buildings?”

  “Gone,” Falken said. “You said it yourself, back at the jeep. Those things ate everything organic. And the buildings were all made of wood that we scavenged off the landing crates.”

  “Oh, god. Salty … Mayor Luo. You said they were going to climb up on the roofs?”

  Falken nodded. “That was Salty’s plan. To get them above the waterline. But those fucking things must have torn the buildings right out from underneath them.” He kicked at a knife-handle stuck in the dirt. “All that’s left is metal and stone.”

  Weaver stood in shocked silence, tears welling in his eyes. “Do you think anyone made it?”

  “I don’t know,” Falken said, shaking his head. “It doesn’t look good.”

  The two men wandered away from the forge, heading for the site where the Great Hall had once stood. Weaver found a pile of metal utensils lying in the dirt, and some cast iron pots and pans amid the cracked ruins of the kitchen’s stone ovens, but nothing else.

  “The blue-balls made it through okay,” Falken said, indicating the colony of creatures with his chin. “The barn is gone, but they were up in their trees inside the barn. They knew how to stay safe.”

  “I just can’t believe everyone’s dead,” Weaver said, his voice cracking.

  Falken wiped at his own eyes, thinking about Saltari, the old doctor who had taught him so much about the planet and its ecosystem. He was right. He knew there was a catch, some reason why humanity had abandoned this place to us inmates. But even knowing that wasn’t enough to save him.

  Falken looked out across the empty fields. “Even if they had survived, we’d all be dead soon anyway. The colony would have starved to death,” he said. “The crops – all our food supplies – they’re all gone.”

  “There’s nothing left for us to eat, either,” Weaver said.
He looked at Falken. “The blue-balls would only last someone a couple weeks.”

  “Yeah,” Falken said. “Not long enough for a rescue party to get here.”

  Weaver considered this in silence. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Ngobe’s at the ship?”

  “Yeah,” Falken said. “Should be.”

  “And the escape pod can only fit you,” Weaver said. “Ngobe and I are going to have to scrape by on blue-ball meat until you get a rescue team sent here.” He smiled wanly. “You better make sure they come quick.”

  Falken opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it. “Yeah,” he said. “We better get to the Khonsu and make sure everything’s still working.”

  * * *

  The sun had set, and two of New Australia’s moons were high in the sky, but the two exhausted men plodded on, the splattered mud drying to the legs of their overalls. Weaver had fallen asleep on his feet at one point, and walked straight into a tree. They were both too tired and depressed to find it funny. The fatigue lay heavy on Falken, too – during the walk, he had found his mind wandering, and once, he thought he saw another of the black creatures on the ground ahead of them. But whether it was just an unfortunately-shaped shadow or a sleep-deprived hallucination, he didn’t know. At last, Lookout Hill loomed up out of the trees ahead of them, dark and eerily ominous in the moonlight.

  They stopped at the base of the hill, mouths open, panting and haggard. Weaver collapsed to his knees with a sigh.

  “When … did we last sleep?” he asked.

  “Two nights ago,” Falken said, shaking his head. “I think.”

  “When did we last eat?” Weaver asked.

  “Dunno. Come on.” He held a hand out, and Weaver pulled himself back upright, groaning.

  “I think Ngobe had some food inside the ship,” Weaver said, as they started up the steep hillside. “I hope there’s some left.”

  Falken focused on the ground in front of him, putting one foot in front of the other. Near the top, Weaver stumbled and fell forward, but pushed himself up again.

  “I’m okay,” he mumbled.

  “Nearly there,” Falken said, by way of reply.

  They reached the spine of the hill, and after a few seconds, Falken oriented himself, and they headed for the top hatch. The ground on top of the hill was still dry and sandy, and it took a moment for the meaning of that to register with Falken.

  “The water didn’t get up this high,” he told Weaver.

  “That’s good,” Weaver said. “Hopefully that means those creatures didn’t get inside the ship.”

  “Yeah.”

  They passed the mounds of freshly-turned earth, piled around the hole they had dug above the launch tube, and Falken glanced down into the hole. The ship’s hull was still sealed shut. Falken smiled tiredly at Weaver.

  “For a second there, I was worried maybe Ngobe had launched without us.”

  “He’s probably getting ready to,” Weaver guessed. “He probably thinks we’re all dead.”

  “Maybe,” Falken said.

  The two men picked up their pace, and crossed the final few yards to the top hatch. It stood open, uncovered, beckoning them inside. Falken breathed a sigh of relief, and saw Weaver relax, too. Then the bookkeeper’s brows knitted together, and a look of horror crossed his face.

  “What?” Falken asked.

  Weaver lifted his arm, and Falken’s gaze followed the direction he was pointing in. There, between the base of the hill and the once-again calm waters of the ocean, sat a lone truck, its headlights on, engine ticking as it cooled.

  Chapter 32

  Falken half-slid, half-fell down the ladder into the Khonsu’s airlock, with Weaver close behind him.

  Weaver grabbed at his arm. “What do we do?” he hissed.

  Falken shook his head. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “Stay quiet, and stay behind me.”

  He remembered the stun glove, and activated it, the blue electricity dancing off the walls in the dim light of the ship’s emergency glow panels. Falken held his arm out ahead of them, as if to ward off any threats. On the floor, the dead captain lay in his usual spot, his eye sockets staring sightlessly at them as they stepped through the airlock hatch.

  Now we know how you lost your legs, Falken thought grimly. And what happened to the rest of your crew. Those creatures must have caused the space elevator to collapse somehow, too.

  Weaver grabbed Falken’s arm and pointed, with silent urgency, at the captain’s empty hand. Falken frowned, and then his eyebrows shot up in realization.

  The gun’s missing. Shit.

  Falken crept softly down the ship’s corridor, pausing at the entrance to the crew lounge, before peeking around the door frame. The lounge appeared empty. He motioned for Weaver to follow him, and stepped into the room, and then froze. Ahead, coming from the bridge, he heard the sound of voices arguing.

  “I will not!” Ngobe protested.

  Falken heard the sound of something hard hitting flesh, and Ngobe cried out in pain. Falken glanced, wide-eyed, at Weaver, and the two men snuck farther into the lounge. Slowly, the hatch on the far side of the room came into view, and through it, Falken could see a tall, well-muscled man standing with his back to the hatch. Ngobe cowered on the ground in front of him, holding both arms over his head to protect himself. The larger man’s back was bare, dripping with blood from fresh teeth-marks, but underneath, Falken could make out the lines of hundreds of scars crisscrossing his flesh.

  No. I don’t believe it.

  Falken edged closer to the door, being careful to stay squarely behind the warden. He craned his neck, and saw that the wall covering the escape pod was still in place, hiding the pod behind its panels.

  So the keycard isn’t in the control panel. Ngobe must have it on him.

  He glanced over his shoulder. Weaver was close behind him, but as he watched, the bookkeeper stumbled slightly, catching a foot on a loose floor panel. Weaver put a hand out to steady himself on one of the lounge chairs, but it moved at his touch, emitting a loud squeak from its wheels. Archos’ head snapped around, and his eyes went wide.

  Falken held his arm up, showing the stun glove. “Let him go, Archos,” he said.

  Archos turned slowly, and stepped back behind Ngobe’s kneeling form, putting the physicist between himself and Falken. He was holding something dull and black in his hand, and as Falken watched, he pointed the gun at Ngobe’s head.

  “Stay right there, Bird-man,” Archos warned him. “Or I’ll kill him.”

  Falken froze.

  “Now,” Archos said, “Ngobe was just telling me about the escape pod on this ship. And he said that you boys had a little lottery a few days ago, and they picked you to ride the pod home.”

  “That’s right,” Falken said.

  “I think you know where I’m headed with this,” Archos said, smiling crookedly. “You’re all going to tell me where that goddamn keycard is, and then I’m going to boost up into orbit on that fucking rocket.”

  “Anyone that goes back to Earth needs to tell them about this place,” Weaver said. “They need to be able to convince people to shut it down, and bring the rest of us home. We’ll die here if they don’t. Falken promised to do that.”

  “And you trust him to do that?” Archos asked. “To turn himself in and go back to jail, just so the rest of us can get out of here?”

  “Yes,” Weaver replied, without hesitation.

  “You can’t trust men like him,” Archos said, shaking his head slowly. “Murderers, thieves, rapists. Once a criminal, always a criminal. Why do you think they sent him here?”

  “I trust him,” Weaver reiterated.

  “I don’t,” Archos said. “I’m taking your place, Bird-man. And when I get there, maybe I’ll tell them all about New Oz … and maybe not. But it’s only fair that I go. I’ve been here on this planet longer than any of you, after all. I’ve survived those damn creatures twice now – twice!” He laughed, and Falken could hear a
distinct note of hysteria in the laughter. “I’m not even a convict, for fuck’s sake. So I’m going to Earth. Now tell me where the keycard is.”

  Ngobe looked up, glancing at both Falken and Weaver. None of them made a move to speak.

  “Okay, how about this,” Archos said. “First one that tells me where the keycard is gets to live while I go to Earth. I shoot the other two.”

  “I have it,” Ngobe said, sighing. He locked eyes with Falken.

  Falken shook his head. “Ngobe, no ….”

  The astrophysicist smiled sadly, and then, slowly and deliberately, winked. He reached into his shirt pocket, but instead of handing the card to Archos, he drew his arm back, and tossed it across the room. Falken caught it in mid-air, and in the same instant, heard the deafening click-BOOM of the pistol firing. He turned and sprinted for the door, tugging Weaver with him.

  “Noooo!” Archos shouted, and the gun fired again, the pistol round slamming into the wall of the lounge over Falken’s shoulder. Falken leapt through the hatch into the hallway a split second later, putting the ship’s bulkhead between himself and Archos.

  “Go!” he shouted to Weaver. “Run!”

  They dashed down the hallway, turning the corner just in time as another burst of shots rang out.

  “Get outside,” Falken panted. “Get to the jeep!”

  He saw Weaver stumble over the dead captain and head for the top hatch, but Falken did not follow – instead, he turned and headed the opposite direction down the hall, breathing heavily as he ran, and gripping the keycard tight in his left hand. As he burst into the abandoned hydroponics room, he risked a glance over his shoulder, and saw Archos round the corner of the hallway. The warden saw Falken and raised his pistol again – Falken dodged to his right, around a clump of dead vines hanging from a trellis, as another bullet whined past and then ricocheted off the far wall of the room.

  Through the next hatch, Falken hit the equipment room at a dead sprint, willing his aching legs onward. He glanced down quickly, stuffing the keycard into his shirt pocket. His lungs burned, but he crossed the room just as Archos entered it, and disappeared into the darkness of the cargo hold a moment later.