He was sweating so much, John was worried he would simply shoot down the vertical shaft like a greased eel. He could feel an updraft of cool air on his face, and there was an echoey quality to the sound of Eva’s light movements that told him it was indeed a broader tunnel.
But vertical, though . . .
John sucked in a breath and lunged forward.
His damp hand slipped on the metal, and for a horrible moment he felt as if he were hovering over infinity. Then he grasped the edge tighter and flipped his head down as he’d seen Eva do.
His body swung, and his feet followed the rest of him, skittering down the side of the shaft. For a moment his fingers gripped the edge for dear life as his legs dangled loose. Then he found a welded seam with his toes, and he paused, upright at last, his head swimming with relief.
And then he began to climb down.
He couldn’t even watch Slack perform the awkward maneuver above him; he was too focused on finding toe- and handholds for himself—and anyway, if Slack fell, he and Eva were both going down with him. Why worry? he told himself with a slightly hysterical giggle.
The shaft seemed endless. Every time he found a grip on the slick sides, he felt that he’d never be able to move to the next hand- or foothold. I’ll just stay here. But then every time, he forced himself to reach for another ridge of hard solder. He was glad he couldn’t see the bottom of this black shaft. Because if he could—
I’d fall.
And that was a bad thought. It was so bad it had frozen him to where he clung. His head reeling, he pressed himself against the side of the vent and panted.
Eva’s voice rose up from far below. “Move! John!”
“I can’t.”
“You have to,” came Slack’s voice from above him. “John. John. Are you scared of heights?”
Yes, he thought. Yes, it turns out I am. And this is a fine time to find out. How on earth had he coped with the climbing wall?
Because your brain knew it wasn’t real, an inner voice told him. This is.
“It’s real,” he murmured faintly.
“Well,” Eva’s voice floated up. “You have to move anyway.”
There was something about her cool, emotionless voice that cut through the panic. John breathed hard, trying to slow his heartbeat. With trembling fingers, he felt along the welded seam for a thicker lump of solder, then lowered one foot to the next ridge.
“Good man,” whispered Slack above him.
After that, John shut his eyes and climbed down by his sense of touch alone. It was easier. And if I fall, I’m not opening my eyes. I’ll just keep them shut till I hit the—
Ground.
The sole of his foot rested on solid, level steel. “You made it,” said Eva. He couldn’t see her smile of approval, but he could hear it.
John slumped against the bottom of the shaft, panting, as Slack and Salome scuttled down behind him.
“That was higher than I expected,” said Salome.
Her words held an edge of relief: she sounded nearly as scared as he was, and John felt a twinge of validation.
“We’re practically at sea level now,” said Eva. “Not much farther. And this is a maintenance tunnel, so it’s wider. You have to crouch but not crawl.”
Slack stiffened abruptly. “Did anyone hear that?”
They all froze, but John raised his head, staring up at the vent they’d just descended.
It was distant but clear. A rhythmic thump on metal, confident and fast and growing louder.
“They’re coming after us!” Salome’s voice was high with panic.
“Not very fast,” said Eva calmly. “Every one of them is bigger than we are.”
Slack turned to stare down the tunnel. “They could cut us off at the other end—”
“Then I suggest,” said Eva, “that we move quickly.”
They made faster progress in the maintenance tunnel, driven by their urgent terror. Bent over double, the four of them could almost jog, the flashlight bouncing feebly ahead of them in Eva’s fist. John focused on putting one foot in front of the other, his head low and intent, and it was only an odd, echoing crash and boom that brought him up short.
“What’s that?” he hissed. “The gunmen?”
Eva stopped. She switched off the flashlight, but they weren’t plunged into darkness; a shimmering, greenish light gleamed on her pale hair. There was a cool breeze that wasn’t air-conditioning, and into John’s nostrils crept a salty, ozone tang.
“No.” Eva smiled. “It’s the sea.”
Eva yanked back a lever on the barred gate at the tunnel’s end. As she swung it open, they stepped out onto wet rock lashed by spray. Beside John, Salome inhaled the cold air with a gasp of delight. The next moment, a violent shudder ran through her body.
“I forgot it was winter!” she wailed.
Out toward the horizon, there was a smear of iron gray that lay between the sky and the sea, and wet flakes of snow were already drifting down to pockmark the water’s surface closer to shore. John felt faint with relief: there were no dark figures waiting for them. But the jagged rocks to the right and left were edged with white, and as John, Slack, and Salome stepped beyond the cave mouth, a biting wind knocked them back.
“That blizzard’s going to be on us in minutes,” Slack yelled against the roar of the waves. “We can’t survive out here.”
“Yes, you can.” Eva was rummaging in a gap between boulders within the cave. With an effort, she dragged out a huge zippered bag. “Winter clothes,” she explained, opening it as they clustered around her, rubbing their arms. “You think I go exploring in my shirtsleeves?”
“How many jackets do you need?” Slack was raking through the clothes in wonder.
“I’ve been collecting them.” Eva shrugged. “For a snowy day.”
“You’ve been stealing them,” said Salome in shock. “Chima said he’d had to ask his parents to send a new coat—”
“I’ve been liberating them,” said Eva firmly. “Chima’s parents can afford it. And so can the others’.”
Salome opened her mouth to protest again, but John put a hand on her arm. It wasn’t as if they could spare any moral indignation right now. Salome glanced at him and shut up.
Rapidly, Eva shared the contents of the bag: insulated jackets, waterproof pants, beanie hats, and thermal gloves. “Your own boots will have to do,” she remarked, peering at their feet. “They’re not bad. I mean, at least Salome isn’t wearing her Converse. And I hope we don’t have to go far for now.”
“Where are we going?” asked Slack, yanking a pair of thick waterproof pants over his jeans.
“The only place we can go,” pointed out Eva. “Diomede City.”
<<>>
If Leona had heard her call it a city, thought John, his sister would have a fit. He could see most of it by now, that cluster of scattered low houses he remembered from the helicopter flight—but although it wasn’t far away, it was taking them too long to get there. The snowstorm had made landfall now. Driven from the north by the fierce gale, it blustered against their backs and soaked their hairlines; cold flakes melted on John’s neck and dribbled down his spine. At least the wind wasn’t in their faces, but it shoved them forward, making them stumble as they picked their way around the wave-lashed coastline. And at any moment he expected a hunting party to round the next bend, bounding toward them.
Another breaker smashed onto the rocks beside him, soaking his jacket and foaming around his feet. John pulled his hood tighter over his head and paused to catch Salome’s arm before she could slip and fall.
“Eva, what do we do when we get there?” he yelled.
She turned, squinting into the wind. Despite Eva’s small stature, John and the others had struggled to keep up with her. She hopped and scampered over the rocks like a pro.
&n
bsp; “We hide,” she shouted and ran on.
John rubbed wet snow from his face and plowed grimly onward. The helicopters’ occupants were in the Wolf’s Den by now, hunting them, but where had the aircraft gone? John couldn’t hear engines or rotors. Was there space on the school’s heliport for two craft? Where else would the other one have gone?
Eva was running over loose rocks, and John picked up speed, dodging the waves. Behind him he could hear the pounding, splashing steps of Slack and Salome. The cold air burning his aching lungs, he raced after the Russian girl as she dived into the cover of a big warehouse.
Panting, all four of them slumped against the wall. “What now?” gasped Salome.
Thoughtfully, Eva peered around the corner and pointed one gloved hand. Slack sucked in a breath and cursed.
The broad strip of land that extended out from the village was blurred by snowfall, but the monstrous silhouette out there was distinct enough.
“One of the helicopters landed on the Diomede City helipad,” explained Eva, unnecessarily.
“But that means they’ll have men in the village,” said Salome bleakly.
“And it won’t take them long to find us,” pointed out John. “It’s not exactly Anchorage. We’ve got minutes, if we’re lucky.”
“We may not even have that.” Salome sounded grim, as she lifted her right hand, palm forward.
“Oh no,” groaned Slack. “The implants.”
John gave a snarl of frustration and hammered his palm against the wall of the warehouse. “If my phone was working, we could try to disable them. But it isn’t.”
“And breaking your hand won’t help.” Salome firmly took it and forced it back to his side.
“I know hiding places on the island,” said Eva, “but it’s a small island. Even without the implants, we couldn’t evade them for long.”
And that was when John’s phone buzzed.
The four of them stared at it and then at each other.
“I thought you said it wasn’t working?” said Slack.
“It wasn’t! I—” John stared at the screen.
You have to get off the island.
John froze. What the—
John it’s me. Akane. I can’t explain.
He prodded the keypad furiously.
Phone was broken! Terminally! How’d you hack? How’d you fix—
NOT NOW. John! Get off the island. I will meet you. Somehow. On the mainland. You need to leave the ISLAND.
How do I know it’s you?
There was screen silence. John clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. Those creeps. Lykos pretended to be a father to me, and now he’s pretending to be my best friend. He’s tricking me. I don’t know how, but—
Sound rippled out of the phone, the fluid song of a Japanese bush warbler. And simultaneously an image blossomed on the screen: an eye, dark rimmed, its iris a blinding white.
White Eye!
It’s Akane.
It really is.
She’d hacked him to help him, just as he’d done for her before that thwarted BASE jump . . .
John, there’s no time to explain. They’re after you. GET TO WALES.
“John, what’s the message?” demanded Salome.
His teeth still gritted, John met her eyes, cold and calm. “We have to get off the island.”
Salome and Slack stared at each other and at Eva, who nodded calmly.
“I’m not kidding,” growled John. “Now! We’re running out of time!”
“Who was that?” Slack glared suspiciously at the resurrected phone.
John bit back his frustration. “Akane, my friend Akane. She says we need to leave the island. She said to go to Wales, and I guess she means the airport on the mainland. Those gunmen, they will find us if we stay here. You know they will!”
Slack glanced anxiously at Salome. “Lykos wants us in his possession—he said so.”
“I agree,” said Salome grimly. “I’d trust this friend of John’s sooner than I’d trust Lykos or his gunmen. So we leave. Now.”
Eva nodded at the helicopter on the end of the strip. “That’s the only way out. Which is a problem.”
“No,” said Salome. “It isn’t.”
“Huh?” John blinked in surprise.
“Don’t be crazy,” scoffed Slack. “Who’s going to fly it for us?”
“I am.” Salome pulled her hood back and smiled coolly.
Slack exploded. “You?”
“I can fly that thing.” Salome stared at the helicopter. “Don’t ask.”
“Yes, do not ask,” said Eva, “because there isn’t time. Go.”
“Wait, what?” Slack’s jaw fell open.
John rose to his feet. His resolve was strengthening by the second; besides, did they have any choice? “She said don’t ask. C’mon. She can fly.”
“What—?”
“I’m not coming,” said Eva, taking a step back.
“What?” Slack’s vocabulary seemed to have shrunk to one word.
“No way!” exclaimed John, seizing Eva’s hand.
“I can do this, Eva,” said Salome, her voice strangely calm. “You don’t need to worry.”
“No, it’s not that.” Gently, Eva dislodged John’s grip. “You need someone to stay here. Ground crew. It has to be me. I can monitor you, and them, and misdirect if necessary.”
“But Lykos has it in for you,” pleaded John. This was no time to spare either the girl’s feelings or her nerves. “He calls you ‘the faulty one.’ You’re not safe, Eva!”
“Listen to me, John Laine.” She gazed at him intently. “These people, they are not after me, for now. I am safe, so I will stay. For now. You are not safe, so go!”
“Thank you, Eva.” For once, Salome seemed oddly disinclined to argue. She gave Eva a quick hug, then ran.
“This is crazy,” said John, gripping Eva’s hands. “How can you hide?”
“I won’t have to. And if I do, I know the places.”
Bewildered, John watched Salome bolt for the shoreline and the helipad. She’s so fond of Eva, but she isn’t even arguing. I don’t understand— He turned back to Eva, tormented. “We can’t leave you! I—”
Eva rolled her eyes. “What is it with you males? I’m not coming. That’s it. I said go!” He gaped at her.
“Now!”
There was nothing he could do. John grabbed Slack and yanked him into a run. Wet snow half blinded him, and the wind hit him so hard it almost toppled him, but he recovered his footing and pounded out onto the strip.
Far behind, he thought he heard a yell, but he didn’t look back. He kept running grimly, with Slack panting at his side.
As the strip broadened, John felt his feet strike solid concrete. The helicopter loomed ahead. Salome was crouched at its hatch, jabbing at a control panel, and as the boys reached her, the door swung open. Salome vaulted up easily and vanished into the aircraft’s belly.
John jumped onto the landing skid, grabbed the rim of the fuselage, and dragged himself up. Seizing Slack’s armpit, he pulled him up and slammed the door shut.
Salome was already in the cockpit, and the two boys jostled into the seats behind her. She was focused on the controls while she flicked switches and peered at dials on the console. She said nothing, and she didn’t even glance at Slack and John; there was a cold intensity in her eyes that was unnerving.
The helicopter gave a deafening rattle and roar as Salome seized and opened the throttle, and she clasped the stick to her left and raised it. As the pitch of the engine rose to a whine, she clenched her jaw and pressed the left pedal. John and Slack watched, stunned. Already the craft felt lighter beneath them, and it was swaying slightly.
Salome’s left hand and foot worked in perfect synchronicity, gently easing the helicopter up into the wind. It
was swaying more wildly now, and she bared her teeth as she balanced it, glancing up toward the rotors. The craft’s nose swung left and right, and Salome steadied it.
“Oh my God,” whimpered Slack. “We’re airborne.”
Salome said nothing. She concentrated on the pedal and the throttle, pressing, adjusting, easing, as they rose higher. The helicopter gave a violent lurch and jolt, and she muttered under her breath. John shut his eyes. He was certain now that he heard shouting. And he was even more certain that he’d just heard shots.
Salome ignored it all. She lifted the throttle, depressed the pedal.
Then they rose sharply and smoothly into the wind-tossed sky.
“Bad news,” said Salome calmly.
John at last dared to pry open his eyes. At his side, Slack didn’t. He was clutching his seatbelt as if that would make it more secure and mumbling what sounded like a fervent prayer.
John unsnapped his seatbelt and moved forward. If I don’t look down, I’ll be fine. “What?”
“We’ve got company,” said Salome.
“You sound like a bad action movie.” Slack nervously giggled.
Salome took no notice, and she didn’t react as John peered over her shoulder. His stomach lurched, and not only at the glimpse of the heaving gray sea far below. Out of the snow clouds ahead of them, three more sinister black craft were approaching.
“What are those?” he asked with trepidation.
Salome gave him a quick look and returned to the controls.
The three new helicopters were growing bigger by the second, and sweat beads formed on Salome’s brow. She reached for the control stick between her knees and veered the craft eastward. Through the murky sky, a coastline emerged.
“Is that Alaska?” Slack had finally opened his eyes and was craning to look out of the window. “The mainland?”
“No,” said Salome. “It’s Russia. I think those new helicopters are Russian.”
“We don’t want to go to Russia,” said Slack.
“State the obvious, why don’t you.”
John leaned over to cup his hands to the window. The Russian aircraft loomed large now, bypassing them by several yards, as John cracked a window. The cold air hit him like a vicious slap, but he blinked and peered harder. The Russian helicopters turned elegantly and hung at their rear. Two moved out to flank them; the other swooped alarmingly close to their tail.
The Ghost Network (book 1) Page 14