Point Apocalypse Page 12

  Jim headed for a long log jetty. There, Lars Swenson waited for us by a moored motor boat. Several armed men stood nearby guarding a stack of crates. A sentry looked down from the walkway above.

  Wong headed for the river. Grunt followed. Wladas, Georgie and myself stayed put. The neurotech rubbed his eyes, took a deep breath and hiccupped. The hangover was getting the better of him. I gave him the flask and turned to stop Georgie who tried to bypass us on the narrow trail.

  "What's this, another beacon?"

  "Yeah," he wanted to walk past but I motioned him to stand still.

  "What's its purpose?"

  "Dunno."

  "What does it run on? If I understand correctly, it never goes out."

  Georgie shrugged. "They went on two years ago. Just before the generals' coup. Neumann had been busy with them for a long time and he couldn't do it. They just lit up on their own." He looked up at Swenson gesturing to us to hurry up. "Come on now. Time to hit the road."

  We walked to the river.

  "They lit up, you said? How many are there?" I asked. "How many beacons in total on the Continent?"

  "Four," Georgie pointed east. "There's one in the desert, and another one in the mountains."

  "And what's there inside?" Wladas asked catching up with us. He handed the flask back to me. "Any machinery?"

  "No one knows," Georgie answered. "You can't get inside. You can neither blow or cut them open. No idea what's in there."

  "So it can't be steel," the neurotech said yawning.

  "Maybe not."

  We stopped by the jetty where the others were already waiting. Lars paused studying us.

  "Everything all right? Did you sleep well?"

  "Not bad," I glanced at the yawning Wladas who shook his head and rubbed his sunken stubbly cheeks.

  Lars grew serious. "Let's get to the point, then."

  By the looks of him, you wouldn't say he'd been drinking alongside the rest. His voice was strong, his breathing level. A strong guy.

  "You," he pointed at each of the seamen, "check the boat, the kits, the bags, everything you packed last night. Grunt, you report to me once you've finished. Mark - the money," Lars handed me a fabric tube with what felt like coins inside. "This should be enough for a car and some juice."

  "How much here?" I weighed the tube in my hand.

  "Three hundred. Two hundred can get you a good truck with enough gas for a round trip."

  Wladas coughed in his fist. We looked up at him.

  "Tell Jim to show him the first-aid kit," I offered noticing the sign of the red cross on one of the bags. "Wladas is a doctor but Jim has grown up here on Pangea. Let him explain all about the local lotions and potions."

  "Good idea." Lars called Jim and repeated my words to him. "Want to check the guns?"

  I shook my head. "Just load everything on board. Wong will check them later."

  "Oh well," Lars waved to his men who began carrying the crates to the boat. "There're some carbines, explosives and a machine gun. Everything's been oiled and is ready to fire. I've checked the guns myself."

  "How about a few knives and handguns?" I raised my wounded hand and traced the cut with my finger. The stinging had subsided a bit.

  "Knives..." Lars knitted his eyebrows and mumbled, "How the fuck could I forget them?"

  He spat out a quick command. His two remaining men walked onto the jetty following those who carried the crates.

  "You'll have knives in a moment. But handguns are a problem," Lars made a helpless gesture. "You have three Colts you took off McLean's raiders. He's the one with handguns. In the forest, you need something more powerful... something you can trust."

  "I see. Let's go, then," I clenched my fist and scratched at the cut. The pain was nearly gone. "You think I could get some from the riggers?"

  Lars gave it a thought and nodded. "Make sure they don't sell you bullshit. Plenty of garage guns around. Mainly in New Pang though."

  "Got it. And what about communications? Something like a radio transmitter?"

  "I'm not a commissary," he chuckled. "Communications are a problem. Whatever equipment there is is all under lock and key. Better not ask them about it. They might misinterpret you."

  I didn't ask him why. Electronic equipment had to be worth its weight in gold here.

  Lars lowered his voice and added,

  "Once you're at the riggers, ask to see Fritz Havlow. He's technically Russian, from the Volga Germans. He used to be a tanker engineer so you can't fool him when it comes to machines. He'll get you whatever you want. The commune leaders listen to him so they'll sell you a car or a truck, full tank, no questions."

  "How will I know him?"

  "You can't miss him. Red hair, eyebrows, goatee. Constantly chews tobacco."

  "I'll remember."

  "Just don't show him the money before you agree on the price."

  "Will do."

  "And don't forget what I told you about the cybers' weapons. Try to bring them here, okay?"

  We walked out onto the jetty. Grunt gave me an armful of knives collected from among the loggers. Wong jumped into the boat and I followed him. With Georgie's help, I checked the bags' contents, inspected the knives - they were sharp and handled well - and asked Wladas if they'd clued him in on the local medications. Hearing his affirmative, I turned to the river bank. Grunt and Lars seemed to be talking, or rather, Grunt was listening to the logger's instructions. "I'll have to warn them about it," I heard. Lars Swenson slapped Grunt's shoulder and told him to get under way.

  Warn them... Who was he going to warn and about what? My hand stung. I glanced down at it, winced and looked back up.

  Lars waved us goodbye and strode away. Georgie yanked on a lever. The motor coughed and started burbling. Jim grabbed an oar and shoved off from the jetty. Grunt turned the steering wheel and guided the boat between the jetty and the beacon. There he put on speed and headed southward toward New Pang.

  I plumped down on the bench. The river curved in front of us, its banks covered by the rainforest. As the day broke, the trees and shrubbery merged into a thick mass of brown and green. The words that Swenson had said to Grunt kept worrying me. But I brushed the thought aside. First things first. The guns.

  Wong opened the crates. He checked and handed out the carbines. Then he sat next to me and began assembling the machine gun. The carbines were the M14 army type, with wooden stocks, detachable twenty-round magazines and diopter sights. Not the best choice for jungle warfare, but indispensable on open terrain such as a desert.

  The captain and Jim sat in front, Georgie and Wladas at the stern.

  Soon the jetty and the loggers' tollgate disappeared around the bend. My hand didn't hurt any more. The redness was now gone, and the pale scar had all but disappeared. The boat glided along the water. Grunt had put his foot down, and the wind lashed at our faces bringing tears to our eyes so I was forced to sit with my head down to one side.

  We loaded the magazines and shared out the remaining shells. Then we distributed the bags for the hike ahead. We had a lot to carry: a backpack each with three days' worth of rations and raiders' gear, including a pneumatic crossbow complete with a harpoon and a cylinder containing a flare and harnesses for three people. There was also a decent pair of naval glasses in a case. Each of us had a waist bag with two flask holders for water and some local moonshine, well known for its excellent antiseptic properties.

  When we finished sorting out the bags, I opened the crate with explosives. The motor's high-pitched whining had changed to a drone as Grunt dropped the revs and took his hand off the gas. The boat slowed down.

  I stood up. Jim began shipping the oars into the oarlocks. Grunt raised his arm pointing at a barely noticeable bayou to our right.

  "Now we must keep quiet," he said. "Not a sound until I give you the all-clear. Understood?"

  I nodded and looked over my shoulder at the opposite bank. Georgie was busy securing the motor. Wladas slept cuddling the first-aid
bag. The Chinese had moved to the prow and sat there cross-legged holding his gun in front of him.

  "How much more do we have to row?" I whispered in Grunt's ear.

  "Not too far," he answered. "A couple kilometers at most. We'll take turns rowing."

  He glanced at me and explained,

  "They can't see us from the gate: the forest's too tall. But river drivers may hear us. Their camp is not far from here."

  "I see."

  The loggers had seen us leave for New Pang. The only person who knew our real destination was Lars Swenson. But if he didn't want his men to know, what had he tried to warn someone against?

  Jim touched my shoulder and motioned me to sit down. He took Wong's vacated place on the bench. I sat next to him, placed the carbine in my lap and spat on my hands before taking up the oar.

  * * *

  We passed through the bayou keeping nice and quiet until we came out into the open. Grunt let out a sigh of relief. Georgie grinned and began restarting the motor. Wladas had slept through the whole thing. I'd decided against asking him to help and gestured to the others to leave him well alone. Hungover, untrained and unaccustomed to long journeys, he needed his rest.

  The boat motor whirred to life, and Grunt steered her slowly down river. He sat at the wheel staring in front of him. Jim crouched next to him; Wong and myself took the middle bench. Wladas and Georgie stayed at the stern. Jim lifted a bag into his lap and started taking out food.

  I asked Georgie how long it would take us to reach the riggers. Tomorrow morning we'd arrive at their camp, he said.

  "Will we have to sail at night?" I asked.

  "No," Grunt answered. "We need some rest. We'll get to the desert and drop anchor. Then at dawn we'll head for their camp."

  "Why can't we go there now?" I took a packet of food from Jim. "We can spend the night at their camp."

  "We can't," Georgie shook his head. He asked Wladas to hold his food packet and leaned overboard to tweak the motor.

  "Why?" I chewed on a slice of dried meat - or fish, judging by the taste, all life salted out of it. "Why do we need to stop for the night?"

  "Because by midday, the sun will scorch your ass, river or no river. You'll beg for some shadow. You'll even beg for a tree," he nodded at the thinning rainforest lining the right bank. To our left, it still stood thick and strong but Grunt went on, "We'll get to the desert by midday. There we'll wait up until the heat subsides and play a bit of catch-up. Once it starts getting dark, we'll stop again.

  "But why can't we move at night?" I lost it and raised my voice. "What's there to be afraid of?"

  "Humpbacks," Georgie spoke. "They hunt at night."

  "What's that?" Wladas turned to him, his food untouched.

  "It's a fish. A predator," Georgie bared his teeth and spread his arms wide. I thought he showed us the fish's size, but he added, "It's got teeth this big! It'll make quick work of a boat. This clone's ass will swallow you without even knowing it."

  Wladas' eyes opened wide.

  "You eat," Georgie reached for the slice in Wladas' hand, broke some off and volleyed it into his own mouth. "Cheer up. No humpbacks here. They usually hunt by waterholes and on sandbanks. They'll take out an antelope, but not a tiger. Only when it's stupid enough to get into the water."

  His words reminded me of the food in my own lap. I finished off the meat and opened the flask. "This fish, what's it like? Compared to terrestrial species."

  "Fuck knows," Georgie picked his teeth with a crooked fingernail, took the flask from me, spat and took a large swig. "It looks a bit like a haddock but waaaay bigger. And they have a large hump instead of a dorsal fin. That's why we call them humpbacks. It's flat-shaped like a shark so it can run aground easily. Its scales are brown and so thick that a bullet won't touch it. Neumann used to say they're a deve... lopmental species on their way to evolving into reptiles."

  "We won't live to see the day," I said and turned away.

  The Information wasn't too forthcoming with more data on humpbacks. Most likely, the file only included a few key modules relevant to the mission. I didn't like it. Too many unpredictable situations. Too much ad libbing.

  The sun was getting hotter by the minute. The morning freshness was all but gone. We could speed up of course, but what was the point? We were about to stop for the day, anyway. Pointless wasting gas.

  Grunt kept the vessel steady as she crept forward hugging the middle of the river. I stared in front listening to the motor and watching the right bank, almost bare by now: trees few and far between, the thickets interspersed with bald patches revealing the hills beyond.

  Twice the boat had to skirt shallows coming close to the bank. Georgie pointed out an antelope: a strange-looking animal, a bit bigger than a sheep, covered in thick curly hair. Its horns were about a meter long, sharp and slightly curved; his tail, short with a fat tuft of hair at its end.

  When the antelope sheep heard the boat, it disappeared into the thicket. Amid much bleating and rustling, the branches parted as a few more animals emerged. They ran along the bank leaving the boat behind. The leader pranced in front, shaking his head. A few moments later, the small flock reentered the thicket and disappeared. I glanced at the sky and wiped the sweat off my face. The heat nearly melted me. I leaned overboard, scooped a handful of water and sprinkled my face.

  Wladas did the same. Georgie grinned, immune to the local heat after years on Pangea. Wong stirred in his seat. He pulled off his tank top, wrung it like a towel and lowered it in the water, then put it back on without wringing the water out.

  "Aha," Wladas quickly pulled off his.

  Geogie chuckled. Grunt glanced at us over his shoulder. "Round the bend there's a good place to stop. We'll camp there."

  Once the boat reached the bend, we saw the flat right bank. There, the antelopes were waiting, their heads hung low. I recognized them by the large dark spot on their leader's flank.

  The boat being still at a safe distance from the bank, the antelopes apparently didn't consider us a threat. The leader walked into the water and shook his horns at us, indignant at our intrusion of the flock's usual watering hole.

  "Just look at him," Georgie rose and raised his carbine. "That's one hell of a dinner," he said slowly taking aim.

  He didn't shoot. The animals raised their heads, alerted to the sound of a truck engine from the bank.

  A truck? Was it possible? Who owned it?

  The next moment the water in front of the flock leader parted with a slap. A dark lithe shape lashed out of the depths toward the antelope. A murky blue-black fish eye glinted in the sun. The fish's teeth snapped the animal's neck and the antelope collapsed in the water raising a wave.

  The water seethed. Here and there, more humpbacks were arriving trying to grab the animals' legs. But the antelopes had already darted away, wild with fear, leaving their unlucky leader behind.

  Grunt cursed and stepped on the gas. Jim dropped his oar and barely made it back to his seat. Georgie cried out and very nearly fell overboard. Wladas grabbed his hand at the last moment.

  "Didn't you say they hunted at night?" I didn't take my eyes off the shallows foaming red. The leader's head appeared for an instant, agonizing fear glistening in his eyes. Then the waters closed in above him.

  "Hold on tight!" Grunt ordered.

  I turned to him. We were heading for more shallows. There, a humped back ploughed through the water toward the boat.

  Out of instinct, we opened fire, carbine bullets creating splashes of water all around the powerful fish.

  "Hold on tight!" Grunt repeated.

  It finally dawned on me that he knew best. I dropped the gun and grasped the side of the vessel. The boat took a sharp turn, its prow aiming at the fish. The next moment, the hump disappeared. A flipper-like tail rose and fell as the fish escaped into the depths. Grunt jerked the boat the other way to avoid the shallows and slid between them and the bank.

  "Raise the motor!" the captain shouted. "Do i
t! We'll fuck the propeller!"

  Wladas hugged the motor cap and struggled to lift it out of the water. Georgie grazed his fingers raw as he undid the screws. I couldn't help them, and neither could Wong.

  The keel scraped the sand bank throwing us face down. The motor stood up horizontally on its own, the screw still spinning sloshing water all around. The boat literally jumped across the shallows and landed in deeper water.

  "Lower the motor!" Grunt yelled.

  Georgie and Wladas slammed the motor down against the backboard. The boat jerked and glided forward.

  We grabbed the carbines from the floor and looked back. The predator had chosen not to chase us.

  Grunt cursed out loud, wiped his bald head glistening with sweat and steered the boat toward the opposite bank. We tied up.

  "I know," Grunt turned to Georgie. "Isn't it spawning season soon? The fucking fish is out of its mind then, hunting day and night. But I thought we had another week before it started?"

  "Has to be climate change," Georgie mumbled.

  We dragged the boat halfway out of the water and tied the mooring line to a tree. Then we stretched a canopy between some tree branches, and Jim started setting up camp. Wladas volunteered to help him. Wong stayed on the bank watching the river through his field glasses. I called out to Georgie and Grunt,

  "Did you hear that engine? Just before the humpbacks attacked. The deer seemed to cock their heads to the sound."

  Grunt shook his head. "I was watching the river."

  Georgie nodded. "I did."

  "Are there trucks here?" I asked.

  "Could be raiders," Georgie suggested, then added in reply to my silent question, "Not necessarily McLean's men. There's a penal settlement a few miles upriver. A shepherd and his wife live there. They raise ostriches and goats and keep a whole gang of free workers. They take turns selling their wares in New Pang while the other half raid the area looking for artifacts. Could be them."

  I looked at Wong with his field glasses. "All right then. Let's have lunch and some rest. Grunt? Any more humpbacks ahead?"