Project U.L.F. (23 page)

“…Thirty thousand feet…thirty-one…thirty-two…booster sequence initiated…” Wyatt grabbed the arms of his chair. His palms were sweaty against the cool leather. “…thirty four…Boosters firing” With startling force, Wyatt was pressed back into his chair, his head thrust back against the rest designed for it. He strained to look down at his arm and saw that he was gripping the seat so tightly that his veins stood out like rails.

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In the lower decks, the sound from the drive system had been incredibly loud. Coupled now with the roar from the solid rocket boosters the noise was deafening. When the latter had kicked in Kate had been thrown so hard against the wall of her cryosleep chamber that she had yelled in pain. She clung tightly to ‘furball,’ but was acutely aware not to hold too tightly even though she was absolutely petrified. The animal was also scared and had urinated on her as they had been tossed around in the chamber. Kate could feel the warm patch through her shirt but was grateful of it. Grateful of anything that could take her mind off the noise that was so loud now that it hurt. She closed her eyes tight and thought of all the things that had brought her here. Her expedition and the events that had transpired so far flashed through her mind’s eye in an instant. She then thought of her mother, her father, her home back on Earth. Everything good in life. And then she thought of Wyatt.

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Wyatt was having difficulty breathing. The forces on his body were so great that he could only take tiny, shallow breaths. White dots began to dance before his eyes. He was just about to black out when the pressure abated and he slumped forward in his chair. He remained there for a moment, grateful for the release, and then he sat upright, aware of something, or rather, aware of nothing. The roar of the engines had vanished. It was eerily silent.

Slowly, he began to feel the straps across his shoulders tighten and he began to lift off his seat. They had begun their descent. They were, as Par had so rightly put it, dropping like a stone.

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Bobby could sense that they were falling. She placed her hands up against the chamber’s cover glass to push her back firmly against the cylinder’s floor. She felt a thud, which she guessed was the drive system kicking in for a second time. They were getting close to the end. She braced herself for the impact and shouted to the others to do the same, unsure of whether they would hear her or not. It seemed to her to have been both the longest and shortest flight of her life.

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They had passed so quickly through the band of mauve cloud, which, Wyatt remembered was at seven thousand feet, that had he blinked, he would have missed it. Instantly, there was a jolt as the drive system made a vain attempt to slow them at six thousand feet as it had been instructed to. Very shortly afterwards the
Santa Maria
crash landed.

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When they hit, anything that was not secure took off. Wyatt was briefly aware of hatches falling open and loose articles flying past him. Outside there was a brilliant flash of white, and then darkness. He felt a fire in his chest where he had been pushed hard against the straps and the buckle and then his world became black.

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In his semi-consciousness, Wyatt instinctively hit the clip on his chest to release the straps it held. He cried out with the pain that it caused him and fell back in his chair until the agony subsided. He tried to open his eyes but the light was brilliant and he could only squint. For a moment he honestly believed he was dead, but then, as his eyes adjusted to the light, he could see that bright sunlight was streaming in through the two tiny windows in front of him. “We made it,” he said quietly. “Byron, we made it!” But there was no reply.

His head lolled as he turned to look at his friend. Byron was hunched over in his seat. He was not moving and his eyes were closed. “Oh no,” Wyatt said. “No. Not now!”

He carefully picked himself out of his chair, hurting in places he did not know could hurt. Staggering over to Byron’s seat he called, “Byron, can you hear me?” Nothing. He said it again. Again nothing. An image of Chris crouched over Alex’s body flashed into his mind and he shuddered. He was behaving exactly as Chris had done only two days ago. He took Byron’s wrist and felt for a pulse. It was there and it was strong. Byron had obviously passed out exactly as Wyatt had, his body’s way of saying enough punishment was enough. Grasping both shoulders, Wyatt pushed Byron back into his seat. “Byron,” he whispered, giving his friend a gentle shake. “Byron,” he said again, shaking him more vigorously. Byron moaned and Wyatt quickly released him, suddenly realizing that Byron could have internal injuries and he could be causing more harm.

“Wha…” Byron murmured.

“Byron. We made it! We’re alive!”

“We are?” Byron mumbled.

“Yes, we are.”

Byron slowly opened his eyes. “We are,” he said again with more conviction, a smile breaking over his face. “God, I hurt all over,” he added, rubbing his chest and frowning.

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In the cryosleep chamber Chris was the first to come around. He put a hand to the back of his head and pulled it away quickly with a sharp intake of breath. Yes, there was a lump there already. He pushed the cover glass up and slowly he climbed out of the cylinder. He limped his way around the room, rapping on the other cylinders with his knuckles, making sure the others were moving.

Soon, Bobby and Par had joined him, all of them rubbing joints and examining bruises which the short flight had endowed upon them. Kate pushed open her cover glass and Furball leapt out of her hands and darted around the room. As it approached the door, the sensor detected the motion and the door slid away. Furball ran out and disappeared.

“Hey! No!” Kate shouted, but the creature was gone. She climbed out of the chamber and undid the hatch above it. Her pack fell to the floor as she pulled it out, heavy with supplies. She lifted it onto her shoulders, moaning about the weight and the additional pains she now had to contend with. “I’m going after Furball,” she said. “I’ll meet you at the bridge like we arranged.” The others were too dazed or too concerned with their own discomfort to really register what she had said. Kate stepped through the door at a rather sedate pace, realizing she hurt in more places than she originally thought.

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Wyatt and Byron were too euphoric to initially sense the motion of the
Santa Maria.
Happy to be alive, the pair of them laughed and joked and moaned about their aches and pains and could have done so until the others arrived to meet them.

“I’m getting too old for this nonsense,” Byron laughed. Wyatt smiled but his smile was quickly replaced with a frown. His eyes darted around; looking for something. An explanation to what his body had told him just happened.

“Did you feel that?” he asked.

“Feel what?”

“I don’t know. It felt to me like we moved. Like we rocked or something.”

“No. I didn’t feel anything.”

The two men stopped and stood absolutely still. Silent.

“That,” Wyatt said suddenly. “Did you feel it then?”

Byron nodded. “I felt something. What could it be, though?”

“I don’t know.”

“Water.” Byron said quickly, as if struck by a sudden flash of inspiration.

“Possibly,” Wyatt mused, nodding thoughtfully.

“No, really,” Byron said, pointing over Wyatt’s shoulder to the window beyond. “Water.”

Wyatt turned. At the bottom of the window a thin brown line had appeared in which bits of muck and dirt swirled. Above the line, the surface glinted silver and gold as it reflected the suns’ light. A shoreline or bank was visible in the far distance.

“Must be our lucky day,” Wyatt said. “Landing in water must have saved our lives.”

“I wouldn’t count on that just yet,” Byron added grimly. “We’re sinking.”

CHAPTER

10

She had lain here for over a month. Here since the last time she had fed. Now she slowly digested that meal for the brood that grew and shifted occasionally in her abdomen. In all this time she had not moved save for the few exceptions when another inhabitant of the massive lake had examined her huge frame, thinking she were dead and looking for an easy meal. They were rewarded with a twitch of muscle or the swing of her massive head and the snap of jaws that would send them hurrying away, back into the depths and the safety of the darkness. Other than this, she had no reason to move. She had no natural enemies except others of her own kind—but now something troubled her.

She sensed something. A shock wave. A fleeting change in the water pressure that swept along her body and dislodged some of the silt that had deposited on her length as she had remained here motionless. With two strokes of her massive tail, she rose off the mud bed and emerged like a ghost from the gloom, the layer of filth on her back falling away like a shroud.

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Wyatt looked at the window in horror. What Byron had said was true, the layer of brown water was clearly getting deeper as he watched. “We must have taken some hull damage when we crashed,” he said. Despite their size the ships were designed to stay afloat for some time before they went under. “We must be taking on water somewhere.” Then, he remembered the rest of the team far below them in the cryosleep chamber. “Shit! We’ve got to tell the others!”

He frantically looked around the nearby consoles for the headset that had flown off his head on impact. He spied the tiny metal frame to the right of the windows that the water continued to climb. When he picked it up he groaned.

“What? What is it?” Byron asked, concerned.

He turned with the headset in his hands. Saying nothing, he held it up for Byron to see. The tiny, fragile microphone attachment had snapped and the two resulting plastic fragments dangled limply, connected by the wire flex that ran between them. “I’m going to have to go down and get them,” he said. “We can’t communicate with them.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No,” Wyatt said firmly. “We don’t have time. You get to the exit hatch on the roof.”

Forgetting his pain, Wyatt moved swiftly to the storage hatch. He pulled out his pack and swung it onto his shoulder in one motion. The doors seemed to part quickly as he approached them, as if they too sensed the urgency of the situation. Wyatt stepped through, looking first right and then left as he considered his options. He looked back at Byron. “I’ll see you topside in a few minutes,” he said and with that he was gone.

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Bobby led the other three through the winding corridors and up the occasional ladder as they made their way to the bridge. They traipsed mostly in silence but she was aware of the occasional moan and groan from the three men behind her. She did not know whether their complaints were directed at her or an audible protest at pain caused from their injuries, neither did she care. A deep gash on her forehead bled profusely and blood ran down the side of her face and into her eye, tainting her world with red. She felt dizzy and sick.

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Jogging down the corridor, for it was the fastest he could move, Wyatt winced with the occasional twinge of pain. As he passed the lift he hesitated, thinking of the time it would save him if he used it and remembering the speed with which the water climbed outside. He went to press the button but then decided against it. It might save him time, but using a lift in this situation was extremely dangerous. But then what about the time it would save, and the pain it would save him? He went to press the button again and stopped himself again. No. He could not do it. Much as he hated the idea, he would have to use the ladders between the floors.

He located the nearest ladder and realizing that time was short, placed a boot either side of the handrail and simply slid down, landing heavily. His legs collapsed under the combined weight of him and his pack and he fell onto his back and stayed there for a moment, groaning and waiting for the pain to subside. Slowly, he picked himself off the floor. He would not be trying that again.

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Bobby heard the metallic clang above her. It sounded distant. “Shhhh,” she commanded the others. They stopped and stood in silence, peering at the tubes and pipes that ran and zigzagged their way along the ceiling, their eyes flicking from one to another, not knowing what it was they were looking or listening for. Then they heard a faint metallic thumping, consistent with footfalls. “Wyatt?” Bobby said quietly, a thin smile breaking over her face. “Wyatt!” she called. “Wyatt, we’re down here!”

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Wyatt breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the distant voice. He had chosen wisely in his route to intercept the others. Inspired, he quickened his pace. He could see the next ladder at the far end of this new corridor. “I’m coming!” he shouted back to them.

When he reached the ladder, he looked down into the dark void of the deck below. In the darkness there suddenly appeared a pale ellipse. It was Bobby’s upturned face. A wave of relief washed over him and he saw the feeling reflected in Bobby’s expression. “Thank God,” he said. He beckoned her up the ladder with a swift motion of his arm. “Come on. Come on. Hurry!”

Bobby made her way up the ladder, painfully slowly it seemed. As her head and shoulders appeared through the hole in the floor, Wyatt grabbed her pack and hoisted her up the rest of the way. Then came Chris and Kit, and Par was the final member of the group. After Par had been pulled up Wyatt returned his attention to the ladder, expecting to find another in need of assistance. He found himself looking at an empty hole. He turned to the four people now stood next to him, looking at each of them quickly. When no one said anything, he looked back down at the hole in the floor.

“Where’s Kate?” he demanded, turning quickly on Bobby.

Bobby was shocked by the alacrity of Wyatt’s question, but more so by the look she found in his eyes. “You mean, she’s not with you…or…or…or Byron?” she stammered, unsettled by implication.

“No, she’s not with me or Byron. So where the hell is she?” Wyatt insisted, a hint of anxiousness in his voice.

“Well, she lost Furball. She went after it.”

Wyatt rolled his eyes. He did not need this. Not now.

“Why? What is it? What’s the problem?” Bobby asked, realizing now that this whole situation was a lot more urgent than she originally thought.

“We’re taking on water,” Wyatt said. “That’s the problem. The
Santa Maria
is sinking.”

Behind Bobby, Chris’ eyes widened in horror. Wyatt sensed Bobby tense, whether from fear or in anticipation of the castigation she thought she was going to receive he could not tell. He turned to say something to her, to remind her that Kate was her charge and that this should never have happened but thought better of it. There simply was not time and they had all been through enough already. He looked at her and for the first time noticed her injury, his eyes straying to the streak of crimson that spoiled her features. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Bobby said, nodding and playing the whole thing down. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Okay. I’m going after Kate. You people get yourselves up to the top hatch. Byron should already be there. Now go!”

Bobby went to speak, to suggest that she help Wyatt in his search, but she knew she was weak and would probably slow him down. She stopped herself.

“What? What is it?” Wyatt asked.

“Nothing,” Bobby said. “I’m sorry,” she added, her voice cracking as the shock and the trauma began to take its toll upon her. Wyatt thought for a moment that she was going to break down and he had never seen Bobby cry, not in all the years he had worked with her. He placed his hands on her shoulders.

“It’s okay,” he said. He smiled, “I’ll find her.” A smile struggled across Bobby’s face, crooked and tainted by the myriad emotions that raged inside her. “Now go,” Wyatt said. “You’ve got to get out of here and you don’t have much time.”

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“Furball?” Kate peered into the darkness of one of the many alcoves which pitted the corridor. Seeing nothing, she moved on. “Furball,” she said again, “Where are you? This isn’t funny, you know!” The corridor was silent except for the echoes of her footsteps and a strange creaking sound which she had only recently begun to notice.

She turned the corner and found herself faced with an identical view to the one she had just left—a long dim corridor flanked on either side by paneling and occasionally, exposed tubes and piping. Far ahead she thought she saw something move. “Furball?” she asked, frowning. “Furball, is that you up there?” Entering into the corridor, she walked towards the movement. Peering into the pitch-blackness to her left, she could see nothing. There was a sound behind her and she spun, her eyes darting frantically around until they located two pinpricks of white in the blackness. “Furball?” she asked again.

From somewhere nearby the creaking sound came again and then suddenly something tiny shot across the corridor and blew a hole in one of the pipes close to Kate. Instantly a jet of white steam plumed into the corridor. Kate screamed in fright, bringing her hands up to protect her face. Furball jumped out of the darkness to land on her. The creature was frightened too. She could feel its tiny frame shaking as she pulled the creature close to her. Another of the tiny missiles flew past her and ricocheted down the corridor, making three or four metallic pings as it rebounded off paneling and piping, leaving dents in its wake. Kate could not comprehend what was happening until, beneath the steam, she spied a single jet of brown fluid squirting into the corridor, squirting through a tiny hole in one of the panels where a rivet should have been.

Whatever that brown fluid was, it was exerting so much pressure on the paneling that it had started to actually blow the rivets out of their holes, firing them like tiny bullets and making them equally as dangerous. That would explain the creaking she had heard, the paneling was actually groaning under the pressure.

As she stood there, another of the rivets whizzed past her and punched a hole in the opposite wall. Two more streams of fluid shot into the corridor. She had to get out of here! She looked behind her and then through the steam, shifting her head to try and see beyond the white clouds. It was then she realized she did not have a clue where in the great ship she was.

“Kate!” She thought she heard someone call her over the hiss of the escaping steam. “Kate!” the shout came again.

“Here!” she shouted, amazed and relieved that someone had found her. “I’m here! Hurry!” More and more of the rivets were working their way loose and whizzing past her, each accompanied by the appearance of another stream of the filthy, foul-smelling water.

Through the steam a single dark figure appeared, emerging swiftly through the swirling white clouds like an apparition, one arm held high to protect his face from the scalding, superheated gas.