Core Punch (8 page)

They had.

The skimmer spun around whatever it was, careening toward a cement pillar. Vi closed her eyes again. Didn't have to see it to feel when they hit….

T
his would be
the second time Vi was surprised to wake up not dead. Or was it the third? They'd lurched through so many crises, counting was currently not in her skill set.

“Ow.” She once again struggled to sit up. The skimmer had not fared well during the double whacking. The blunt nose was cracked like an egg, steam rising from the exposed innards. The view screen was cracked across and her hatch bowed in just inches short of her sling. Joe's hatch had been knocked off its track and lay on the ground, half covered in wet green slime. Beyond it she saw what they'd hit. Saw it, but had no clue what it might be. It had four, squat, wheel-like appendages just visible above the grass line. There looked to be an open cockpit on one side with a steering wheel and what might be a sling for a driver. Extending up from it at an angle was a longer, also flat ramp-ish thing with supports on its underside.

Joe began to stir, but a whine from behind distracted her from checking on him.
Fido.
He was trapped behind the prisoner screen. Great, now she was guilty of witness abuse. The screen hadn't auto opened, not a surprise with no power. She managed to release her straps, not without pain, and found the emergency release. The screen hissed up and Fido leaped over the back, then over Joe, and scampered off, water splashing as its paws sunk into the soggy grasses.

“You're welcome!” she called after it. Bang went her witness, soon to be followed by her corpse and her skimmer. The headache felt here to stay. They had found the NOO port, but had no idea how to get in. All she could see from her seat was green, dotted with more of those things they'd hit. Come to think of it, they'd probably hit them, too. She blinked. The grass appeared to be disappearing. It couldn't—

Storm surge.
According to the news vids, it would appear to rise slowly, but would rapidly increase as the storm moved inland. Tide and direction would also affect its speed and depth.

“Joe, we've got to get out of here.” She bent and started stuffing everything she could find that had fallen out of the packs during their messy landing. Who knew what they'd need out there. For once in her life she blessed the regs. And would the world end because she'd had that thought? She shoved a pack at him, meeting his groggy look with her urgent one. “Undo your straps,” she ordered, “And put your pack on.”

She shrugged hers on, then started over the console, pushing him with her hand. “Move!”

Water breached the edge of the skimmer. Oh yeah, it was starting into the fast phase. He turned and jumped out. He turned, holding out a hand to steady her as she clambered out. Then his hand jerked back, like her touch burned. Great. Kiss a guy and they get all weird.
It was a kiss, not a marriage proposal.
It's not like it was that great of a kiss. Okay, it was, but she would deny it to her dying breath. Which would be any minute now if they didn't get high ASAP.

Because her heart kind of hurt, and the panic wasn't helping, she looked around. Still no sign of an access point that she could see. A ramp sagged from the building over them, but even if Joe boosted her, she couldn't reach it, which he wouldn't since he had trouble touching her at the moment. The water was rising fast enough she felt the push of current against her legs.

Okay, what were their other options?

There was the skimmer roof. It was barely higher than her head. They were predicting twenty-foot-plus surge. She wasn't twenty feet tall.

That left that weird thing they'd hit. Had no clue if it was high enough, but it was higher than her head, which at the moment was good enough.

“That way.” She nudged Joe and pointed.

Their jog to it was about as fun as their slog through the cemetery. The water kept pace with them, bringing all kinds of debris that banged into their legs. So she wouldn't think about possible displaced critters or floating balls of fire ants, she looked at Joe. He looked at her, and they both picked up their pace. Maybe. It felt like she tried harder. Hopefully any gators would be too worried to stop for a snack….

When they reached the thing, Joe jumped up and tested its stability. It wasn't great. Their hit hadn't helped its structural integrity a whole lot, but the water was rising past her thighs now. He reached down and pulled her up beside him. The water followed them, lapping across the platform.

“You first,” Joe said.

She nodded. Like everything down here, it was coated with green slime and the steep angle made it hard to climb. The surface under the slime was smooth, but there were ridges she could push her fingers into. She climbed until she clung to the rounded top edge. It had shaken a little, but held firm. She looked down at Joe.

“Come on.”

“I don't think it will hold both of us.”

“If you don't come up, then I'll come down.” She meant it, even if he didn't like kissing her. The water was lapping at his knees now. “Come on. I can make it an order.” She was senior to him. And she did not want to be left to die alone. That might be selfish, but it was what it was.

He hesitated, looked around as if another option would present itself. Nothing did. He started up, though he paused at each ridge to see if the thing would begin to tip from the addition of his weight. He stopped one section below her.

“You might as well come all the way up,” she said dryly, resisting the urge to tell him she wouldn't bite. Which reminded her—there was no sign of Fido from this vantage point. If the mutt knew a way in and hadn't tried to help them— “Stupid dog,” she muttered. She looked down. “Is that a fish?”

Joe followed her gaze. “I believe so.”

The fish—a truly ugly fish—got stuck partway on their thing. It flopped several times, then the water rose and lifted it off again. To the west, or what she presumed was west, dark clouds bulged toward them, lightning flashes dimly lighting up the edges of WTF. Pale light filtered down, as if the sun was having its last hurrah. She didn't want to, but found herself studying the water around for signs of nasty
crapeau
as it rose toward them with a persistence she might have admired under different circumstances.

“Perhaps we should examine a pack for any item that might assist?” Joe suggested.

“Unless there is an inflatable boat in there—”

His brows rose.

“—fine.” She squirmed until her back was to him. “See what you can find.” She felt tugs as he dug through it. How long could she hold on? She'd started this with tired arms. The air was thick and clammy and her teeth started to chatter. Shock? Probably. Supposed to get her feet above her head, but that wasn't going to happen. She'd thought she'd be glad to be a little cooler, but she wasn't. It felt nasty instead of better.

“Look,” he said. She glanced back. He held a flat package. “It says flotation arm bands. And I believe these will provide light for—” he held it up and read, “—six hours.”

“In six hours, we'll be in deep—stuff. And you know light attracts bugs.”

“It might also attract people.” He looked back towards the building.

She followed his gaze. Would the dirt-siders try to help them? Could they?

“Flotation.” She looked at him, then down at the package, then back at him. “Do you really want to go floating around in that?” She nodded toward the debris-filled water. It was probably loaded with floating fire ant balls. She'd been bitten by them. You couldn't grow up in NON and not get bitten by fire ants. Had no desire to get swarmed by a ball of them.

“We may have no choice. As you said, deep stuff is incoming. If the current is strong enough—”

As if to help make his point, the thing moved. Only about an inch. But it moved.

“Let me dig through your pack while you start blowing.”

“
I
wonder
what this thing is?” Vi asked, looking down at her uncertain perch. She'd found something called a Bungee in her pack and rigged a sort of seat belt to take the pressure off her arms and hands. Sitting on top of the ramp did not ease the ache in her back, but the pack had also contained some mild painkillers. The stale water had tasted better this time. Thirst definitely helped school the taste buds. They both wore the flotation devices on their arms. They'd turned out to have automatic inflation capability that only half worked. At least they hadn't had to blow as long. The crash seems to have disabled their hand protection, which was yet more
crapeau
. Water had risen to just below their boots, where their legs hung off the end of the ramp, but its rising had slowed considerably. That didn't mean it wouldn't top this thing, but hope, well, it had a way of rising, too.

It was good to be out of the water for now. Not that great being up where the debris flew around—and into—them. Most of it just thumped into their backs and so far their helmets provided some protection from the stuff that thumped a little harder against their heads. Bruising was not optional, unfortunately.

“Based on where it is and its configuration,” Joe said, “I suspect it was designed to aid in moving items up off the ground. Travel gear perhaps?”

That made sense. They'd had a chance to study the underside while working out the Bungee seat belts. It seemed to be on a belt system that had been designed to move in a circular fashion. Thankfully it no longer had that capability. She had no desire to be rotated down into the water before she absolutely had to. They sat with their backs to the storm. They hadn't talked about it, but Vi figured he wasn't any more excited about watching their fate rush toward them than she was. They weren't hiding from it. They were perched on a piece of equipment that moved every now and again. There was no hiding. The touch of denial? Well, what else did they have to do? It was kind of boring waiting to die.

If Joe had had commitment panic over the kiss, he appeared to have gotten over it. It wasn't like they had a long future ahead of them unless something changed drastically really fast. She had her hand on one end of her Bungee. If this thing started to go down, she did not want to be strapped to it. She wasn't ashamed to admit that she'd practiced getting loose several times. A minute.

Light was fading fast as the storm made what she guessed was the predicted turn both north and east. A sliver of light filtered through like a beacon of hope. A false beacon, she told herself, but still felt a measure of peace from it. They'd done everything they could. Maw Maw Nature didn't fight fair, though—she half frowned—if some things hadn't gone right once or twice she'd have wondered if Maw Maw N hadn't had a little help. But why would anyone hose, then help, them? It's not like there was a front row seat to this dark comedy. Because it was kind of funny to think about what they must look like perched up here on this contraption in a sea of green who-knew-what. Or worse—a sea of she-suspected-she-knew-what. From here their field of green was dotted with slime-coated objects of varying heights. Some could have been semi-collapsed, old buildings. There were the remains of a control tower—she knew this from Grand Paw Paw's old vids. They'd been lucky not to hit more
crapeau
as they came in. Though they'd hit a fair enough amount to bang the skimmer into scrap.

It was completely submerged. Never again would some new detective have to pass through its trial-by-dysfunction. She'd have liked to say good-bye because she earned a better one, not because the old girl went down in WTF.

“It fought the good fight,” she muttered and got a surprised look from Joe. “The skimmer. It wasn't a bad little piece of
crapeau
.” It wasn't a good little piece of
crapeau
either. She sighed. “I think I'm going to miss it.”

“Not for very long,” Joe said in his most Joe Friday tone.

“I kind of wish we'd died in the crash. I've never been that patient.” The chance that anyone would find their bodies was about a million to one. No closure for her family. Captain Uncle would feel bad, too. She wished there was a way to leave them a message. A last good-bye. With only a little guilt attached for Captain Uncle. Because she loved him when he wasn't chewing her butt off.

“While there is breath, there is hope.”

It was that painful period while there wasn't breath that she wasn't looking forward to. She held her breath and then decided that was stupid. Might as well breathe while she could. A tree branch or something slammed into her, hard enough to unseat her if she hadn't been Bungee'd to the thing, which shifted enough to make her wonder if it wanted them gone, too.

“When it goes over, swim toward the end of the building,” Joe said, raising his voice to be heard over the building wind. “Don't give up.”

She looked at him, her lips opened on a smart response, but closed them at the look in his eyes. She nodded.

It shifted again, half turning so that they faced the building now. Vi studied it, hoping to spot something entrance-like. If their dirt-siders had used this side for their comings and goings, it didn't show. Or it was already under water.

“Unhook your cord,” Joe said, looking in the direction of WTF.

The rate of debris pummeling increased. Dirt side had a lot of debris to fling around. Another reason to not like it. The wind force increased and rain drops slapped against the surface of the water, pocking the sea of green goo. She tried to decide what it smelled like, but couldn't, other than dead and not-dead. And something nice from Joe. She unhooked one end, but held onto the cord. This time she said, though she didn't look at him as she said it, “It's been a pleasure working with you, Joe.”

“For me as well.” A pause. “When it begins to go over, try to jump away from it.”

“Sure. No problem.” She had a leap or two left in her…dreams.

It moved again, this time turning them to face the incoming storm. She dropped her face shield but couldn't stop raising her arm to protect her face, even though that hurt. She couldn't see incoming and not try. She'd thought it was bad flying in that bad boy—or was it a bad girl? She considered the names and couldn't decide.

The wind began to build, acquiring a sort of rising howl—

She frowned. “That isn't the wind.” She looked back. Against the last sliver of the setting sun, she saw a pirogue being poled toward them. On it was a man and a— “It's Fido! He came back for us!”

As if it had been waiting for the moment of maximum, their thing began to tip toward the murky water….

A
s soon as
Joe felt the belt loader—its name according to Lurch's database—begin to tip forward, he spun around, stretching full length along the upside, with his legs hanging down to try to offset the tip forward. He grasped Vi's belt with one hand, the Bungee with the other. He believed he had failed, but it slowly settled back in place. He felt its lack of permanence, however. Felt the slight shifts from the force of the current. It would not hold this position for long. And the water appeared to still be rising. The wind increased as well, throwing debris at them with careless abandon.

“Looks like a homemade pirogue.”

“A pee row?”

Vi grinned down at him. “A flat boat.”

The figure on the admittedly flat boat showed signs it was difficult poling the craft against the current. The rain picked up, as did the wind, which had to increase the level of difficulty for the pilot. Debris pelted him as well. Fido barked encouragement. Or mockery. The canine had not appeared to approve of Joe. If it had returned, it had done it for Vi.

This rescue is not something Vi could have contrived.

Lurch indicated something that could have meant anything but managed to fall short of actual agreement.

“It is not logical to be out here in this,” Joe said, sliding further down the ramp to stop it from falling forward, the water now over his knees.

“Whoever it is probably thinks it's Fido's owner that is stranded out here.”

Joe considered this. “They may not be pleased to see us. Or to learn that he is deceased.”

“We should get on board before we tell him,” she agreed.

The belt loader shifted more, and the water edged higher. Rays of sun flickered fitfully on the surface of the water, as if hope held out its hand at last. It would become increasingly difficult to leave this location as the storm moved closer. It was entirely possible that Lurch's enemy had already fled. It could have had transport hidden somewhere close. There were craft that could fly through the storm, particularly craft with capabilities boosted by a resourceful—and evil intentioned—nanite. It made little sense to Joe for it to linger here, unless it still believed that Joe hosted Lurch. Was it truly that reckless?

For several seconds it appeared as if the pilot would turn back, but his problem must have been a struggle against a stronger current, because the boat began to draw close, even as they experienced another, longer, current-caused shift of the belt loader. The water level was creeping up his legs when the boat bumped against the side of the belt loader.

“Hurra,” the boat driver said, holding position with obvious difficulty. He winced as a large piece of debris struck him.

Joe grasped the side of the boat and helped Vi onto the unsteady surface, then lowered himself onto the deck, just as the belt loader went over with a wake that almost capsized them. Joe hastily sat next to Vi, grasping the low sides of the dubiously constructed boat. Fido lay his head in her lap and looked at her with what Joe assumed was canine affection. Vi patted his mud-crusted head, then rolled her eyes at Joe.

Now the pilot let the current help, using the pole to steer them past water-logged debris, clearly on a course that would take them around the building.

“Where's Bazoo?” the man asked, abruptly, his expression grim.

“He's dead,” Vi said, perhaps made confident in the face of Fido's acceptance. Would their witness take sides in a dispute? There was more that could be told, but like Vi, Joe was not eager to tell the tale until they were in better cover. The wind pushed them now, too, in addition to flinging debris at them, and the rain stung where it hit the bare skin of his hands.

“What ya doing out here in this?” He grunted as he steered the boat around the end of the massive structure.

“We, um, came to rescue you.” Vi admitted, giving him a wry, though cautious grin.

He could still dump them in the water.

The old man gave a semi-toothless grin followed by a snorting laugh. He was an unattractive specimen. Weathered to the point of gaunt. Dirt instead of hair. Lots of dirt—except where the rain turned it to mud—on him and on his ragged clothing. The tooth deficit. But the eyes were bright and intelligent beneath fiercely bushy brows. The amusement didn't fade when their gazes connected. There was another pole clamped to the bottom of the boat. Joe looked at it, mostly to look away from a gaze that appeared to know his thoughts, then at the man.

“Do you require assistance?”

“Ya ever steered a flat boat, laddie?” Joe had to shake his head. “I doubt ya'd like getting dumped in the drink if ya tried.”

“How long has it been since you saw…Bazoo?” Vi asked.

Joe recalled Vi had not spoken the man's name at the cemetery, just identified him as a dirt-sider. Joe suspected it was not his real name.

“Matter of several days, I guess. He was worried about Little Bit, but she turned up here without him.” He scowled. “Said she hadn't seen him, now I think on't.”

Once around the building, it was a struggle to move the boat against the current; plus waves came at them from the water interacting with the structures. And even more debris. The man was stronger than he appeared, however. In light almost gone, Joe saw a sort-of ramp rising out of the water between the two large structures. One he guessed would have been the terminal building, based on the glassless gaps where windows used to be. The other was an odd, layered structure.

A parking garage for land vehicles.

That would be why a bridge extended from an upper floor to connect the two structures. Everything was coated in green, including the ramp that their pilot steered for. Low walls with broken gaps marked the line of the ramp up out of the water, possibly the route for those land vehicles, Joe supposed. Their pilot poled the boat wide, perhaps to avoid getting caught on the walls, then turned it between the wall line and headed in.

Joe saw two people emerge from the left, edging down the ramp into the water as the boat approached. Fido gave a happy bark and jumped off, splashing all of them with filthy water. The dirt-siders did not seem to notice or care. The heavy rain failed to wash away their dirt, so perhaps they were what was known as “weathered.” Or of darker skinned descent. There were a few lightly brown skinned people among the Garradians, but the trend had been toward green and purple skin. Joe's lighter tint was an aberration caused by some of his ancestors mating with some women of Earth. No one here knew he shared some of their blood. It was, as Lurch liked to think, not need-to-know.

Vi clambered over the side into the knee deep water, so Joe followed suit, assisting the others to drag the boat up the ramp. They did not stop until it was somewhat under cover of the overhang. One of them produced a ragged rope and tied it to the frame of a broken window. Joe looked back, noting the waterline was only a couple of feet from the top of the ramp. It did not seem a secure mooring, but he conceded they did not have much choice until the water lifted the boat high enough to move inside.

“Was getting worried about you, Jimbo,” the large woman said, her voice raised to be heard over the wind and crash of debris against the buildings. She studied Vi, then Joe, her heavy brows arching. “Where'd you pick these two up? Where's Bazoo?”