Point Apocalypse (8 page)

"Where are we now?" I squatted next to him.

Georgie drew a horizontal line across the picture. "Equator," he explained and pointed at the south west corner. "We're here."

Something snapped in my
head again, and the map of Continent Anomalous lit up before my eyes overlapping the crane operator's clumsy drawing. His finger moved north east.

"Nothing but mountains furt
her up," he said. "This is swamp," he drew an ellipse, made a hole in the sand next to it and said, "And this is the City of Forecomers."

"What city?"

"No one really knows," we rose and he started shaking the sand off his hands. "Just a name for some poor devils that used to inhabit Pangea before us ages ago. So they built those structures to live in. We've tried to settle there... didn't work."

"What, nobody there at all now?"

"Only some farmers but they're much further south, closer to the river. They wouldn't go near the ruins."

"Because of the swamps," I suggested comparing Information's facts. But he didn't hear
me, glancing upward and shifting his feet.

"What
can we do about McLean's men?" I asked as Jim and Wong hooked themselves up and started ascending. "What weaponry might they have?"

"Shotguns and handguns, that's for sure," Georgie grumbled. "
Let me think... Sometimes they carry heavy carbines and machine guns but that's normally when they go to the plains. Good for fighting off tigers."

"Come on, then," I drew the machete
and walked toward the foot of the cliff foot where the rope dangled.

"You
surely don't mean you're gonna fight them?"

"
I might," I caught the end of the rope, "unless you have any other suggestions."

Georgie approached and clipp
ed his hook to the rope without saying a word.

"They wouldn't start with strangers, right?
" I said. "They can tell by our clothes we're new so they'll leave us till last."

He nodded.

"As for you," I hooked myself up to the rope hearing some heavy-duty bumping and swearing overhead, "they'll probably deal with you first before taking you to McLean."

"
Deal with us! Beat us to pulp, more like. They've already started, can't you hear? So what do you suggest?"

"Haul us up!"
I shouted and added in a low voice. "Don't do anything without my signal."

When we were about ten feet away from the surface, I heard a female voice overhead. Georgie
swore under his breath.

"Who is it?" I whispered.

"Kathy. She's French," he stared at the three human shapes looming on the cliff edge. "She's a real bitch from hell, this one. Killed three clones with her bare hands once."

The raiders
grabbed our shoulders, jerked us close to the edge and dragged us up. The men took my machete and shoved me toward Wladas and the Chinese who stood aside. Then they knocked Georgie in the teeth sending him flying to the ground to join Jim and the captain. A burly African stooped over Grunt spitting curses in his smashed-up face, his bloodshot eyes glistening, his long strong fingers squeezing the captain's chin. He had to be the squad's leader.

Three other raiders surrounded the
ferry crew watching their chief. One swarthy with a scar across his cheek and angry vivid eyes. The second one stood sideways from me offering a glimpse of his straight nose and oily hair done up in a ponytail that is so handy to grab at in a fight. Opposite them stood the squat Kathy, her hair cropped close.

I approximated their combat potential as four and a half, knocking off half a score for not taking us seriously, which they should.
I squinted at the truck. Inside, a red-haired raider fiddled with the tripod, oblivious to the world. The driver, grim and broad-faced, chilled out in the cab with his feet on the running board and one hand on the door, puffing on a cig. Six men in total, counting the female. Six of us... having said that, Wladas didn't count as much.

Apart from the driver, all the raiders had
pump-action shotguns. All wore faded tank tops over combat pants with holsters and ammo belts, and muddy combat boots. Raindrops glistened on their bronzed bulging muscles, including Kathy who stared at the ferry crew grinning and playing with my machete.

"
Wong," I whispered praying he understood Russian, "I'll take the leader and the girl. The two on the left are yours."

Wladas
groaned. The Chinese didn't move. I had no idea whether he'd heard me.

"We'll knock them out and deal with the rest.
Wladas, you stay aside. Don't get involved. Just wait." I nodded to Wong, and he darted off.

Simultaneously, Georgie kicked
the approaching Kathy in the leg but then collapsed, knocked down by the African. That gave me enough time to bash the leader across his kidneys and follow up by a knee in his groin. Kathy moved toward me raising my machete but doubled up, stopped with a well-aimed kick in the guts. The blade fell from her hand. Georgie behind her kicked her in the ass and jumped on top of her, forcing her onto the ground and pounding her ribs.

By then
Wong had knocked the swarthy raider down with two short blows, avoided the other one's punches and slid behind his back, grabbing his ponytail and aiming his elbow at the small of the raider's back. The man screamed while the Chinese rushed to the truck.

The vehicle reminded
me of an antique Studebaker with its rusty corrugated cab, three axles and high trailer sides. The Chinese did it by the book. First thing, he forced out the driver choking on his cigarette. Then he jumped into the truck. The red-haired raider raised his gun and wailed as his elbow joints were snapped. Immediately, Wong got hold of the gun.

I leaned over the
African, snatched his shotgun, then undid his ammo belt and threw it over my shoulder. He wheezed trying to move and I had to pistol-whip him to calm him down again.

"Georgie, let the girl
go! Pick up their guns. Jim - tie them down," I turned round. "Wladas, help Grunt up. Then get into the truck, both of you. Move it!"

I jumped onto the
running board and checked the cab and the truck. Wong sat on a truck bench smiling, the gun butt resting against his thigh, his foot pressing between the red-haired raider's shoulder blades.

Jim squatted next to
Kathy, now free from Georgie's grasp, and started tying her hands behind her back.

"Where did you get the
rope, man?" I jumped down.

"In the cab," he drew
the ends tight with a square knot and moved over to the African.

Georgie removed the raiders' guns and holsters
and threw them into the truck to Grunt and Wladas. Then he started searching the raiders' pockets wiping blood off his smashed-up lips. I wanted to stop him but reconsidered. One of McLean's men could have had a knife or a blowpipe. If they wriggled free and used them...

I glanced at their combat boots, then
to my own disposable footwear.

"
Wong? Come here!" I started removing my shoes. When the Chinese approached, I motioned him toward Kathy, "You two are about the same size."

The s
mile never leaving his lips, the Chinese straddled the French girl's back and started removing her clothes. Already conscious, she cussed in English, rolling her eyes and calling us cretins and motherfuckers. She must have thought we wanted to rape her as she struggled under Wong's weight. I failed to notice him punch her as the girl jerked and quieted down.

By then the
African had come around again and showered us with all sorts of Russian expletives. It sounded strange coming from a foreigner. The red-haired raider groaned in the truck.

"Do shut them up, will ya?" I said as I stripped two more raiders
to equip Wladas and myself. By then, Jim had strapped and gagged the rest. He unearthed an ancient first-aid kit from the depths of the cab clinking bottles and vials in the truck as he tended to Grunt's sores and scratches.

Opposite them on the bench
Wladas sat in his prison clothes.

"
What're you waiting for?" I asked him.

He
startled and began pulling on some pants. I turned to Georgie who was rummaging through our trophies in the back of the truck.

"
What have we got left?"

"Three
twelve-gauge semi auto Remingtons with loads of ammo," he pointed at the guns and the ammo belts confiscated from the raiders. "Three eight-round Colts and a non-recoil mounting," Georgie nodded at the tripod on the cliff by the cab. The Chinese had already climbed the roof of the cab and surveyed the area through a pair of the raiders' field glasses. We had to go before it got dark.

"Have you found the gun itself?
"

"Sure," he patted an under-seat box to his left. "The gun's here and the
shells in the box opposite."

"Now. We'll leave the raiders here and go to town. How far is it?"

"About thirty miles," Georgie winced and felt the growing bruise on his swollen cheekbone.

"
That far?"

He shrugged. "We'll have to follow the coastline. Can't make it any shorter because of the rocks. It's quite a detour."

"Get in the cab with me. You can show me the way."

We closed the truck's back flap
. Soon the vehicle rolled along the cliff drop leaving the tied-up raiders behind.

* * *

The night closed in fast. The stars crowded the sky clustering into strange constellations. To the left of the drop, the black ocean loomed, jagged rocks gaping under the headlights. Waves smashed against the boulders and dissipated in clouds of silvery dust and foam.

"It's been two hours," I glanced at a large alarm clock welded to the dashboard. "How
much further is it?"

"Not far
," Georgie to my right mumbled, half asleep.

I could
use a few Zs myself. All the stress and exhaustion started to show. Had I still had my implants installed, I'd have thought nothing of it. They could keep you awake for seventy-two hours.

"You shouldn't have left them the knife," Georgie grumbled.

"Do change the record."

The crane operator rubbed his face, patted his cheeks and winced
at his injuries.

"Why should I?
It would have been better to have used the gun on them. Now Kathy and Fumba will bend over backward to hunt us down."

Apparently, Fumba was the African's name.
According to Georgie, he used to be a clones' slave driver at an opium plantation back in Africa until he headed a revolt against the local authorities and consequently was deported to Pangea.

The track in front of us inched
uphill. I dropped it into second. The truck roared and struggled to climb the steep slope.

"In order to hunt us down," I spoke, "they need to get back to town first."

"Did it ever occur to you that McLean will look for them?"

"His best team?" I
pushed the gas pedal to the floor. The engine growled good and loud, pebbles hammering our undercarriage. "It did. But not now. Not for another day."

"
McLean will go apeshit. He cares for his men. Then there's the truck and the guns. I suggest we split."

I shrugged.
"As you wish."

The S
tudebaker cleared the ridge. Far below lay a bay flooded with light. I stopped, opened the door and stepped onto the running board.

"Nearly there,"
Georgie got out his side.

Grunt's voice called from the truck
, "See the beacon?"

He pointed west
to a single black cliff in the sea. On its summit stood a spiraling pillar, thin and incredibly tall. Its end throbbed with a bright white light.

"What's the source of the light?"
Wladas said.

Wong
jumped on top of the cab and raised his field glasses. We kept looking at the beacon. This was no human work. The shape was like nothing on Earth.

"Did the Forecomers build it?" I asked.

The next moment, I nearly fell off the running board and grabbed at the open door, squatting, my eyes shut. My head exploded. I could see New Pang's filthy side streets, sewage ditches running along the squat slums made of planks and clay brick... Then I saw clearly a two-story building, its first floor high with slotted shutters; the second floor small with tiny windows glazed with a kind of cloudy film. Music and voices came from inside. A shop sign hung above the door - I knew that it pictured an open seashell with a flame inside. A lopsided inscription read-

I couldn't remember what it
read. I knew the house was a hotel, probably the biggest in the whole town.