The Immortal Storm (Sky Chaser Book 1) (29 page)

65
Holding Room B

Kite ran between the containers, crouching at corners and slipping  between the gaps. Inching closer to the
Vorticity
’s mooring he scanned the berths. The evacuation was well underway. Among the crimson soldiers, Kite spied the white and gold of the Corona Council shuffling up the gangplanks and into the bellies of the
Tramontane
,
Thunderer
and
Noctilucent.
Scientists and engineers followed, arms toppling with document cases and message capsules, pushing and panicking, all desperate to board.

The
Vorticity
had been abandoned. Cordoned off and silent, a mountain of dead metal with hundreds of windows frosted and her turbines, cold and glistening with a shell of ice. Kite’s teeth rattled in his skull. He couldn't remember it being this cold when the
Vorticity
had docked. Then it struck him. Ember was shutting down
all
the systems. The pressurised atmosphere. The oxygen supply. In a matter of minutes everyone who wasn't on a ascender would be dead as the whales...

The
Noctilucent
powered her Maelstrom engines, rumbling the deck under Kite's boots. He watched as the desperate crowd surged in response, turning feral with a sudden infection of panic. Overwhelmed and their orders for calm ignored the soldiers began casting doubtful looks at their Sergeants. Perhaps they too just realised there wasn't enough room on the ascenders for everyone.

Another tremor shook the sky harbour. Somewhere out in the Ether Shield's many rings Kite heard a chorus of thick piping sounds. Gasses being released. Pipes bursting under pressure. Then the dome over his head flexed and wobbled, its great supports groaning under the stress. A splintering crack cut through the din of alarms. White cobwebs etched themselves on the hexagon panels and glittering shards rained onto the heads of the screaming evacuees.

In minutes they’d all be dead.

Taking advantage of the chaos Kite crept to the massive docking clamps and up the
Vorticity
's ramp and into its vast, unlit Hangar Deck. Once inside he dashed by a row liftships, each one sparkling with a dusting of ice, toward the stairwell that would lead him to the upper decks.

Kite halted.  Shoes slapped on the steps above. He searched for a hiding place, eventually throwing himself behind a stack of air cylinders. Scurrying down the steps came an interrogator in a lab coat and elbow-length rubber gloves. He hugged a small suitcase, jabbering to himself as he fled for the ramp.

Kite stilled his rapid breaths, keeping absolutely still until he was sure the interrogator had left. Then he crept out of his hiding place. As he did a familiar black shape catching his eye - the stormwing.

Lying idle in a puddle of melted ice behind the stairs it had been completely forgotten. The soldiers must have brought it aboard after he'd landed on the top deck. Kite dragged it out and began checking it over.

The
Vorticity
juddered violently, shunting the liftships in the moorings. A unsecured air cylinder struck the deck with an ear-rattling
brong!
Out in the harbour turbines roared. Another ascender preparing to disembark.

Kite clipped the stormwing’s safety line to the stairwell railing, hoping that would secure it until he got back. Then he dashed up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Without power the stairwells were black as night. Forced to feel his way Kite used the railings, the metal burning his palm. Up and up he climbed. With each step his legs grew heavier and heavier. Before long Kite was forced to pause for breath. The air tore at his throat, straining his aching lungs. The temperature had plunged to a knife-edge that hollowed his cheeks and stung his bruises.

Kite forced himself on. The creaking ascender appeared to be abandoned but still he slid to the corners watchful of Weatheren shadows. He checked each corridor in turn, stopping only to listen to the rumbles and thumps. They were coming in more regular waves now. Time was not on his side.

Kite made his way to level three. His ragged breaths fogged on the air. Ice sparkled on the walls. Eventually he reached the black corridor with offices on one side and a row of bleak holding rooms down the other. Papers and syringes and shards of cracked glass littered the deck. The ghost of panic lingered in the air. One door was open - Holding Room B.

Kite stepped cautiously into the narrow metal room. There was an angled bed the middle, draped with a white linen sheet spattered with blood. An ice-frosted body lay sprawled on the tiles, Kite's soft shadow obscuring the face.

Kite forced himself to approach the body. Slowly he stepped aside, allowing the silvery light from the corridor to creep over the blue-lipped corpse. Kite choked on a gasp. It was one of the Corrector's interrogators, with wide horror-filled eyes and a gleaming scalpel buried deep in his neck.

Kite glanced away, catching the ragged, bloody footprints glistening on the chequer-board tiles. Footprints that lead back to the door and out into the corridor. He followed them across the way to a dark room with a green cross on the half-open door. A dispensary, similar to the one Dr.Nightborn had on the
Phosphene.

A bloody handprint was smeared on the door handle.

Kite peered inside. Shelves were stocked high with white packets and brown bottles, medicines or poisons, he didn't know which. He pushed open the door. Inside was a desk and a table and a chair. On the table a crate had been stuffed with clothes, tagged with labels written in Fairspeak.

Kite entered the room. As he did something cold and sharp pressed against the back of his neck.

“Fleer?” Kite said.

“D-did it work?” Fleer’s voice was harsh and trembling. The cold blade burned against his skin. “Did the Captain’s plan work?”

Kite’s relief washed away. He couldn't believe her. Was that all she cared about? Didn't she even care that he'd come back for her?

“Yes! Shelvocke's master plan worked brilliantly! Ember's about to kill everyone, us included! Happy now?”

Fleer eased up on the blade. She was close. Her breaths coming in short sharp rasps. “H-hand me my clothes,” she said. “And don't turn around.”

The room shook. Bottles and bandages toppled off the shelf. Kite found Fleer's airworker suit in the box and awkwardly passed over his shoulder. Her shaking hand took it. Warm blood dripped on his arm.

“Y-you're hurt!” he said, turning slightly.

“I said don’t turn around!”

Kite reluctantly did as Fleer asked. He heard her struggling to dress; a quick, urgent ruffle of cloth and a stifled gasp. Then a messy, chaotic slapping of flesh and the door kicked shut.

“I said don't turn around, Nayward!” Fleer cried.

But it was too late. What the interrogators had done to her sickened Kite. They'd stripped her and beaten her to bruises. Her arm and neck were spattered in fresh blood. He couldn’t tell if it was from her wounds or the interrogator she’d murdered.

“Don't...don't look at me,” Fleer said, looking away. She was ashamed of being so helpless. But Kite knew that feeling all too well and there was no shame in it.

Kite lifted her from the floor. He was surprised how light how frail she felt. Maybe Fleer was too shocked or too exhausted but she didn't fight him. Kite took her to the chair and set her down gently, taking care not to add to her injuries. He snatched packs of bandages from the shelves and tore them open with his teeth.

“I wish your mother was here,” Kite said, cleaning away the blood. “She'd know what to do.”

Fleer kept quiet. Maybe she was thinking the same thing. Carefully Kite wrapped Fleer's swollen toes and he wrapped her naked belly. Then he dressed her in the airworker suit. First her legs, then her arms. And all the while Fleer sat there, shivering and staring into the corner.

Then she said, “why didn't you leave when you had the chance?”

Kite’s cheeks burned a little. He didn't think he could lie to her but then again, he didn't think he had the courage to tell her the truth either.

“I promised your mother I’d find you,” he said, slipping the boots over Fleer's bandaged feet. “And you know me, I always keep my promises.”

Without warning Fleer pressed her mouth against his bruised, swollen lips. Kite winced with surprise at first. He didn't think his first real kiss would be so painful.

“I-I thought you hated me,” he mumbled.

“I keep trying to,” Fleer replied, her breath hot and clammy against his cheek.

The cold room shook again, toppling more medicines from the shelves. The deck shifted, registering deep in Kite's bones. The
Vorticity
had begun to list.

“We've got to get out of here,” Kite said, sliding an arm around Fleer's waist. “I’ll help you.”

But Fleer pushed him away and dragged herself to the cabinets. “I'm not dead yet, Nayward,” she said, and began snatching medicine bottles from the shelf. She tore off a cap and slapped a handful of pills into her mouth.

Hurriedly Kite tore off the prisoner clothes and pulled on his own gear, snapping off the labels as he did. The airworker suit, the rebreather mask, his boots and old patchcoat. Even his scarf and goggles. Pulling them on was strangely reassuring, like being reacquainted with old friends.

“Can you walk?” Kite said, fixing the headphones around his neck.

Fleer took an exploratory step toward him, grimacing to herself. She straightened her back and fixed him with a familiar stare. “Lead the way, Sky Chaser,” she said.

Quick as he could Kite retraced the route to the Hangar Deck. Using the geolume he lit the way, along the sparkling corridors and down the stairwells. On the way he explained to Fleer what had happened. He told her about the Cloud Room, about Mercurius Lux and Ember and the Corrector too. Fleer didn't believe him at first. Kite didn't blame her, he could hardly believe it himself.

When they reached the last stairwell a tremendous crunch sent them slamming against the railing. An explosion, somewhere close. Kite swore. The Ether Shield was already tearing itself apart.

“You weren't lying were you,” Fleer murmured, following him down the steps.

The sky harbour was skewed at an alarming angle. The
Vorticity
's holding clamps strained to hold the airmachine in place. The liftships rattled dangerously in their moorings, debris was sliding to the portside.

Knowing they had only minutes to get airborne Kite hurriedly unhooked the stormwing from the banister. He checked the rebreather reserve. Quarter of a litre. Would that be enough? He didn't know. They'd have to chance it.

“Here you take it,” Kite said, trying to clip the safety-line to Fleer's belt.

“Nayward, s-stop,” she said.

“It's all right, I can hold my breath,” Kite insisted.

But Fleer caught his hand. “Stop,” she said, staring into his eyes. “E-even if we both had pressurised suits we'd still be dead in s-seconds. The altitude, Nayward.”

Kite stared at her. He'd had forgotten what Clinker had told him about the altitude boiling his blood.

“I-I told you this would be my last flight,” Fleer said, holding his hand tightly.

The air was freezing, glass-sharp against the back of Kite’s throat. And each breath seemed to sap a little more of his strength. It was only the last gasps of the Ether Shield's support system keeping them from succumbing to the deathly cold. Kite knew Fleer was right. There was no hope for them.

“I'm so glad you're here, Nayward,” Fleer sobbed, her body shivering against his. “But I wish you weren't. I've lost so many people I loved. I just wanted one of us to live.”

Fleer smiled then, squeezing tears down her cheeks. Kite had often imagined that smile. A smile so beautiful and sad and full of promise that it made their fate seem so unfair.

The Hangar Deck shifted and they lurched together in a shuddering knot. This was it. Any second now. He held Fleer close. Maybe it wasn't such a bad way to end things. The two of them together at last. Alone at the top of the world.

Kite couldn't deny he was frightened of dying. He only hoped it would be swift. He could imagine it. The Ether Shield would fall and the
Vorticity
would fall with it and the two of them would…

...they would fall with the Vorticity.

Hurriedly, clumsily, Kite threaded the safety-line under their belts. His hands were shaking. The cold. The fear. At this point he didn't know which.

“W-what are you d-doing, Nayward?” Fleer said, watching him as if he'd gone mad.

“T-this probably won't work and we'll die anyway,” Kite said, clipping  the carabiner to the stormwing's rail and stepping onto the pedals. “But, on the odd chance it does work, you'd better hold on to me.”

Fleer climbed on the deck behind him, locking her arms around his waist. Before fixing her rebreather mask in place Fleer leaned close, her lips brushing his cheek. She said something but in the chaos that followed Kite didn't hear them.