Point Apocalypse (14 page)

"
Come on!" Grunt shouted. "Move it!"

Wong
helped me onto my feet. With his assistance, I jumped into the boat. Jim sat astern next to Wladas.

"Welcome aboard,"
Grunt eased the throttle forward and lowered his hands onto the steering wheel.

The
engine spat a jet of water from its cooling box. A wake began to foam on both sides of the boat.

"Hold on tight,"
Grunt took a tight turn around the jetty and headed for the cliff.

"Why there?"
I slumped into the seat behind him and winced. The palm of my injured hand was burning. I could barely move my fingers. For a moment, I had the impression that the blood vessels under my skin glowed red.

"Shut the fuck
up," Grunt said without looking at me. "I'm the boss here."

We were approaching the cliff
leaving the seaweed farms to our right. Next to it, McLean's house on the cliff emitted clouds of rancid smoke. The ocean spread away to our left.

"Where do you think-" I didn't finish.

Right in front, I noticed a narrow ravine. From the shore, it could easily have been mistaken for a wide crack in the cliff. Still, it was a passage opening into a large grotto.

The mome
nt we entered it, Grunt shut the motor down to near idle, its purring echoing from the tall domed walls in front. Jim and Georgie moved to the fore and started paddling with their hands, each on his own side, to prevent the boat from scraping the stones all around.

"Where now?" I ask
ed when the boat grated against a rocky ledge turning a corner. "I can't see jack shit. We'll hole her!"

Grunt
turned and gave me a meaningful look.

"Kill the engine," Georgie said.

I looked forward nursing the wounded hand at my chest. Daylight streamed from around the bend, lacy shadows dancing on the surface.

"Oak
um, take some soundings," Grunt handed him the pole. "Georgie, take care of the motor."

Instead of doing what he'd been told,
Jim opened a hatch on the prow and produced a lamp similar to the one we'd seen in the hotel the night before. He turned a knob on its base, filling the cave with a soft white glow.

"What if they sent someone after us?" I peered into the darkness, listening.

"Shut up," Grunt dropped.

He took the lamp
from Jim and lifted it overhead while Jim lowered the pole into the water pushing the boat deeper into the cave. In a low voice he reported the approximate depth. Georgie got Wladas to help him dismantle the motor. When they secured it in a horizontal position, the crane operator sat down next to me.

"Show me your hand," he said.

He grabbed my forearm and turned the wounded hand to the light.

"What is it?"
Grunt asked.

"Not fucking good," Georgie wrinkled his nose.
"He cut it real deep."

"What are you talking about?" I looked up at him. My hand was so numb I didn't feel my fingers anymore.
"Is it dangerous?"

"
Carula," Grunt answered. "It secretes a strong toxin. If it gets into the bloodstream..."

Jim reported the depth again, and the captain told him to
steer starboard in order to avoid a shallow patch. We sailed around a cluster of rocks protruding from the water. Past them, the cave split into two, one side overhanging so low the boat couldn't take it.

"
Just say it," I demanded. "What's this toxin stuff about?"

Georgie spat into the water and wiped his lips.

"You cut your hand and let the toxin in. It's some sort of slime the plant secretes when it's in bloom. Heavy shit," he looked me in the eye. "If you don't get a serum injection pretty quickly, you're toast."

I opened my mouth to answer but Georgie hurried to add,
"Serum isn't the answer really, as you can still get gangrene from the wound. We might have to amputate the hand once the serum works. Or even the whole arm."

"
Go ahead," I rose. "Inject the serum. What are you waiting for?"

He
shook his head. "We don't have it. Only McLean does."

"What kind of toxin
is it?" Wladas asked. "Do you know its formula? If we..."

Georgie smirked.
"Why do you think I know? Carula is an alien plant local to this Continent. These life forms here may look as if they're nothing different, but the thing is, they
are
different. That's why..."

"
Quiet!" Grunt ordered.

Jim reported the depth again. The captain
responded with a "Keep her steady!" and leaned forward with the lamp. Georgie returned to his place at the stern. I waited a while, then sunk onto the bench and lifted my hand to my eyes. The palm had swollen. The cut itself had turned black and almost stopped bleeding. My fingers had turned blue.

I heard a hum coming from above.
Grunt turned to us. "Georgie, get the guns ready."

"You think," the crane operator stepped over the bench and pulled two handguns from under his belt, "the raider
s are already by the waterfall?"

"Could be. If they saw us leave and
semaphored the patrol..."

"Nah," Georgie clutched one gun under his arm and got busy with the other. He uncli
pped the magazine, snapped it back in and put a round up the breech. "The patrol's on the plain. They'll never make it. Too much road to cover."

He handed
Wong a gun. "Take it. You sure know a gun from a clone's ass. Am I right?"

His smile unchanged, the Chinese took the handgun.

"When we clear the cave, look eastward," Georgie started to explain. "Once you see the waterfalls, fire away."

Depends on the distance to the potential target, I thought mechanically and had another look at my swollen hand.

"Georgie? You think you have a small axe?" I looked up at the captain. "Or something like a hatchet - sharp and heavy?"

"Forget it, Mark,"
Grunt knew straight away why I wanted it. He laid his hand on my shoulder and looked me straight in the eye. "Even if you chop your hand off, the toxin's already in your bloodstream. We need to get you to the loggers. They might help."

His tone was weird, as if he sent a message to the others. I paused and asked,
"So what's the plan?"

"That's better,"
Grunt nodded. "The current is about to take us out." He thumbed back at the cave's entrance. "New Pang is there. The river is in front of us. Its estuary is far north from the city. Not an easy place to get to because of all the rocks and sandbars. If we sail, it'll take us about two hours by sea to get to the loggers' camp. But up there, on the plateau," Grunt pointed up, "there's a crater. A big one. Filled to the rim with fresh water. McLean and his raiders guard the access to it because he's busy building a water pipeline. Builder my ass..."

"
Wait a sec. How come there're waterfalls there?" The map of the Continent had been blinking before my eyes for some time by then, but I couldn't see a lake anywhere on it. "The river level is way below the plateau. How come there's fresh water up there?"

My temples
stung as the map changed resolution and New Pang grew on it, stretching its coast beyond my view. I recognized the harbor we'd just escaped from. To its north, a cluster of cliffs jutted out into the ocean. A blue circle appeared on the plateau, too neat and round to be a natural crater. Past the cliffs, a thin ribbon snaked northward to the horizon edged in green. It had to be the river he'd spoken of.

"It is,"
Grunt grinned. "The lake water had washed its way through the cliffs into the ocean."

"Why doesn't the lake shrink, then?"

"No one knows, that's the whole thing. Could be some underground streams. Could be the Forecomers' work. The crater has to be artificial. Neumann proved that it had nothing to do with the river." Grunt shrugged it off and looked up. "No point talking about it now. All we need is for the waterfalls to be raider-free."

"They would have to
make a detour around the lake," I realized. "It's quite a distance."

"It is,"
Georgie said. "He's not stupid," he nodded at me, "and he's still standing."

"True
," the captain rose looking in front of him and scratching the tattoo on his shoulder. "That's why we'll go north. They can't catch up with us if we take the river course. There're no roads nor bridges nearby."

"There were
other boats in the harbor," Wladas said. "And a motor boat by the pier. If they..."

"They won't make it,"
Grunt answered. "The tide is coming in. As for their motor boat, Oakum took care of that."

The cave in front of us seemed to
widen, its walls sloping to the water. The current carried us to the opening, barely wide enough for the boat. I could see the ocean and the narrow brown strip of the coastline.

"How about the
trawlers?" I asked as I sat back down. I started to shiver, cold sweat covering my face. "The fishermen McLean was talking about. If they head straight for the estuary, they..."

"Nah," Georgie drawled.
"They're too far to semaphore anyone."

"Why
semaphore?" I wiped the sweat from my forehead. "Why won't they use a radio?"

"Not enough radio
transmitters here, that's why. McLean has two, and another one at-"

"Do shut up,"
Grunt butted in. "Come sit down, Oakum. Georgie, start the motor up."

The crane operator gave
Wladas a shove with a "gimme a hand, will ya?", then got busy with the motor undoing the braces to lower the propeller into the water. Wong raised his gun and sat on the stern.

"How's your hand?"
Grunt asked in a low voice. He glanced at the others and added, "How are you, in general?"

I
cringed. He nodded. "Hold on for a bit. A couple hours. I'm sure the loggers will know how to help you."

Jim
fastened his pole to the hooks along the side of the boat and sat next to the captain.

"Why did you help us?" I said.

The captain and Georgie exchanged glances.

"Just a gut feeling,"
Grunt said.

"Why didn't you leave last night?" I
broke into a bout of coughing but didn't let him answer. "Just... ahem! just don't tell me that that was a gut feeling, too."

"Well,"
Grunt bit his lips. "Well, we had to see how the ground lay first. When the trawlers left we decided to borrow the boat. Can't you see we left the shotguns behind to make it look innocuous?"

"Yeah," Georgie mumbled next to him. "We're now, like, comrades in misery."

He spat into his hands, pulled a handgun from behind his belt and said,

"
I'm ready. Fire her up."

Grunt gunned
the throttle. The motor coughed alive and idled.

"Duck in," the captain looked over the boat one last time. "Off we go, then."

He grabbed the steering wheel with one hand and gave gas with the other.

I felt much worse, gasping for air.

"One last question," I managed. Mustering my strength, I leaned forward feeling I was about to faint. "Why should the loggers help us? Grunt…"

Chapter Eight

King of the Forest

D
arkness. Light. Voices and screams came from afar. Darkness again - heavy, swampy and soundless. My head felt hollow, my mind failing to escape. A grenade exploded - no, that's a slap on my cheek, followed by more pain. A flash of light. A familiar voice called my name, repeating, "Mark, wake up! Open your eyes! Mark!" It died away... never to come back...

Reality can surprise you sometimes.
It may hurt worse than a nightmare.

I took a deep breath and opened my eyes.
It was pitch black. Where was I? Why was it so dark? I lay on something hard, a piece of tarp covering my head and body. It stank of diesel and motor oil.

I pulled the tarp off my face, propped myself up on
one elbow and squinted into the dark.

A
hut. That's where I was. A sagging old brush hut with a dirt floor. Twilight came through the silent doorway.

No, not quite silent. I could hear muted voices and smell campfire smoke.
Something else, too... like the rustling of trees...

I forced myself up and stepped
into the doorway. It stood amid a woodland unlike anything I'd ever seen before. Treetops thick and heavy, their trunks warped, interlacing, growing every which way, their leaves rustling weakly.

Where the fuck was I?