Lost Time (16 page)

Matt doesn’t hesitate. “No one. It’s just the two of us.”

A second later, my door opens and someone pokes a rifle barrel into my ribs. “Get out.”

“Hey,” I say, lifting up my hands. “Easy there. We didn’
t—”

He grabs my elbow and drags me out of the plane.

“What the hell do you thin
k—”

The butt of the gun slams into my ribs. “Shut up.”

I try to grab the stock, but he knees me hard in the groin, and I land heavily on my side.

“Fucking long-haired wetback ain’t no miracle. I told ’em that, but they never listen to me.” He kicks me in the gut. “What’s the trick, asshole? You got some sort of secret cure you ain’t sharing with us?”

I try to roll up onto my hands and knees, but he shoves me down hard onto the tarmac. Someone puts a boot between my shoulder blades, pinning me down.

The first guy reaches into the plane and pulls the blanket off Shannon.

“Well, lookee what we got here. Nice o’ y’all to deliver us such a pretty young thing.”

Chapter 24

Shannon: The Supreme Sacrifice

I
hear frightened voice
s—
and then someone yanks off the blanket.

I let out a startled yelp.

Bearhart starts barking again, but before I have a chance to calm him down, an old guy in a shabby biosuit grabs my wrist and drags me out of the plane. I jump down on the tarmac, my heart pounding in my throa
t—
and see Mr. C lying face down on the ground, some guy’s foot on his back.

“Mr. C! Are you all right?”

I hurry over to help him, but the old man catches up with me and pulls me back. “He’s fine, little missy. Mikey there is just teaching him some manners. Ain’t ya, Mikey?”

“That be right, Grizzly. Just teachin’ him som
e—”

“No he isn’t,” I say. “He’s hurting him. Let him up!” I turn and look at the guy holding on to me. His face is covered with a tangled nest of gray whiskers. “Please. He’s the only human who can survive Outside, and we have to figure out how he does it before all the biodomes fail.”

“Lord Almighty,” Grizzly says, grinning, “if you ain’t a firecracker. What’s your name, sweet pea?”

“Shannon,” I say, trying not to sound scared. “Who are you, and why are you trying to hurt us?”

“Shoot, if we’d known you were in the plane, missy, we would have rolled out the red carpet.”

The guy holding down Mr. C laughs. “Mercy, I ain’t had a blond in near on twenty years, and you look ripe for the picking.”

Mr. C tries to grab the guy’s ankle, but the man kicks him hard in the side. “You want us to shoot you, you keep that up, dirt face.” He kicks Mr. C again.

“Stop that!” I say as Mr. C curls up on the gravel, his face all bloody. “What are you, criminals?” It’s the worst thing I can think of to call them.

I try to jerk my arm out of the old man’s grip but he won’t let go. “Now, now, little lady. Don’t you go getting yer dander up. Mikey is just protecting hisself.” He motions with his gun toward Mr. C, and two more biosuits grab him from behind and lift him up.

“And I kin guarantee you won’t have no time to spend worrying about biodome failure with all that baby-making we got planned. Ain’t that right, Grizzly?”

Mr. C struggles to get loose, and the old guy raises his rifle.

“Mr. C, no!” I say. “Stop! All of you stop!”

“You heard the lady,” Grizzly says, grinning at Mr. C but not lowering the rifle. “It won’t cause me one iota of grief to shoot you, mister. Despite what the President thinks, you look more like an abomination than a miracle to me.”

They try to force Mr. C into a kneeling position, but he struggles against them until one guy knees him hard in the back. “Lack of respect, wrong attitude, failure to obey authority.”

“Please Mr. C,” I say, “don’t fight them.” I turn and look at Grizzly. “They won’t hurt me. I’m no good to them dead.”

The old guy steps forward and grabs Mr. C’s hair, jerking his head up. “You should listen to little Miss Shannon. She’s obviously looking forward to our southern hospitality.”

“Fuck you,” Mr. C says and spits in the guy’s face. The saliva lands on Grizzly’s scratched faceplate and dribbles down. The old man stares at it for a minute, then slams the butt of his rifle into Mr. C’s head.

“No! Please,” I say. “If I cooperate, will you give them fuel and let them go?”

“Why, certainly, young lady,” says a new voice.

All the shabby biosuits turn toward a short guy in the only new-looking suit I’ve seen so far.

“Of course, we will,” he says and gives me a slight bow. “I apologize for the over-zealous welcome you’ve received. Can’t be too careful in times like these, and it’s been a long time since we’ve had such enchanting company… Miss Shannon, is it?”

I nod, but get a creepy feeling about hi
m—
like he’s the smart, handsome guy in a sci-fi flick that turns out to be keeping dead bodies in the freezer of his spaceship.

Mr. New Biosuit nods at the old guy. “Put him in the plane.”

“And fill it up with fuel,” I say. “Otherwise I won’t cooperate.”

The guy named Mikey grabs the shoulder of my suit. “Ain’t no womenfolk calling the shots around here, miss
y—
less’n of all some low-ranking breeder female.”

“Easy there, Brother Michael,” the short guy says and puts his hand on Mikey’s arm. “She’ll learn her place soon enough.”

Mikey releases me, and I watch him drag Mr. C back to the plane.

And then I see Madders. He’s by a huge truck, his well-cared-for biosuit standing out among the patched and ragtag suits from Catersville. Two guys have him pinned against the truck’s door, while another holds a large knife up to the chest of his biosuit.

“Him, too,” I say and point at Madders.

“Of course, Shannon, dear. All in God’s time.” He gestures toward the truck and his men release their captive. Madders starts walking toward us, but Grizzly holds up his rifle. “One more step and you’re a dead man.”

“It’s okay, Madders,” I say, trying not to cry. “I’ll be fine.”

He hesitates. “Shannon, I can’t just leave you here.”

“Ain’t got no choice, flyboy,” Grizzly says. “Unless you’re fixin to be a martyr.”

Madders glances at the plane, then looks back at me, his face tortured. “Shanno
n—”

“You got one minute before I start practicing my skeet shooting, buddy. Fly or die. Don’t make no difference to me.”

Huge drops of rain splat against my helmet as Madders starts up the propeller. I watch them stuff Mr. C’s limp body into the plane, hoping he’s just unconscious and not... worse.

“Tell Mom I love her,” I sa
y—
even though I know they can’t hear me. “And that she was right.”

Someone takes my arm and tries to pull me toward the biodome, but I refuse. “I want to see them take off,” I say and bite my lip har
d—
so I don’t start crying. “You’ve stolen my future. The least you can do is let me watch it go.”

We stand there in the rain as the plane taxies out to the runway.

“Goodbye, Madders,” I say, tears streaming down my face now. “Take good care of Bearhart for me.”

“That’s enough of that.” Someone yanks my arm, pulling me toward the shabby biodome. “We ain’t got no tolerance fer crybabies here. Yer a full-grown woman now, and it’s time you started acting like one.”

A minute later, I can hear more than see the Cessna rise into the dark storm clouds and disappear.

Chapter 25

Diego: Lights Out

W
hen I come to, I hear moaning, and it takes me a minute to realize it’s my own. I’m huddled up in a cramped space, the drone of an engine reverberating in my teeth. It hurts to breathe, and my head feels like someone used it as a piñata. I use my sleeve to wipe the caked blood out of my eyes and then look around.

I’m in the backseat of the plane, and it’s pitch black, not a single light visible on the ground. I lean forward and look up into Matt’s faceplate, the blues and reds of the instrument panel reflecting off it and turning him into some evil alien in a horror movie.

He points to my headset and taps his helmet, and I nod.

With some difficulty, I crawl over into the co-pilot’s seat, fasten my seatbelt, and plug in the headphones. “Where’s Shannon?”

“They got her,” he says. “She managed to convince them to let us go before they marched her inside that wreck of a biodome.”

“Christ, Matt. We have to go back!” I’m shaking so badly the headset slips off and bangs against my knee. “We can’t just leave her there with those religious nuts!”

He puts his hand on my leg. “We can’t go back, mate. Even if there were something we could d
o—
which there isn’
t—
we don’t have enough fuel. Our best bet is to get to C-Bay and convince them to send out a rescue party.”

“Fuck.”

He pulls Shannon’s blanket from the floor behind his seat and hands it to me. “Here. Sorry about the cold. We’re up a bit higher than I planned, and it looks like those idiots broke the cowling when they fired off that damn M2, so we’re not getting any cabin heat.”

I nod, suddenly aware of how cold I am.

“But the engine is fine,” he says, “at least so far. I thought about landing to check on the cowling, but I didn’t want to waste the fuel.”

“How much did they give us?”

“Not enough. We’re a bit less than an hour out from C-Bay. Should be able to see the lights soon
—
assuming we don’t run out of fuel first.”

“Shouldn’t we be looking for a place to land?”

“In ideal conditions, yes. But without a moon, we’d need to be low to the ground to see anything useful, and if we run out of fuel down there, we won’t have enough glide to get to safety.”

“Christ.”

“Best we can do right now is keep our fingers crosse
d—
and hope to hell they know we’re out here.”

I cover myself with the thin blanket and then stare out into the moonless night, shivering as I watch the stars twinkle in the frigid dark.

I’m sorry, Lani. I know it doesn’t mean much now, but I promise I’ll get her back. I promise.

Twenty minutes later, the Chesapeake Bay Biodome rises above the horizon like a full moon, glowing eerily in the pitch-black night.

“That there is one beautiful sight,” Matt says. He switches on the radio and makes voice contact a minute later. He gives them our coordinates and adds, “I estimate we’re twenty minutes out, tower.”

“What’s your state, over?”

“Flying on fume
s
from twenty-year-old unleaded gasoline.”

“That shit’s gonna fuck up your engine, fife.”

“It was that or walk the rest of the way.”

“Where’d you let them put that crap in your plane? Over.”

Matt briefs them on what’s happened. They already know about the Lou, but they had assumed we went back to KC when we didn’t land. Turns out, if the plane
had
gone down, they’d never have found us.

“Fife, the manifest says you’re transporting Miracle Man and an eighteen-year-old girl. They still with you?”

“Negative. Catersville took Shannon out of the plane at gunpoint,” Matt says, his voice sounding hollow. “Dieg
o—
that’s Miracle Ma
n—
fought back, and they beat him up pretty bad. Told us to get out before they opened up with the machine gun. We’re lucky most of the fuel was already in the plane when they discovered Shannon, or we’d be gator bait.”

“Are you telling me you
left her there
, fife?” There’s a waver in the voice of the radio operator. “Son of a bitch, that place is packed full of nut cases. If they tried to take
my daughter
, I’
d—”

“Thanks for the advice, tower. We’ll let you know when we have visuals on the runway or splash, whichever comes first. Over.” He waits for the acknowledgment and then switches off the radio.

“Well,” he says. “If we go down now, at least they’ll know where to look.”

“And then I wouldn’t have to tell Lani that we left her daughter at a backwoods biodome full of religious perverts who plan to force Shannon into sexual slavery.”

“Bloody hell, Nadales, it’s not as if we had a choice!”

“Yeah, well, you’re not the one who convinced Lani to let Shannon come with us.”

We fly on in silence, C-Bay slowly filling the horizon.

Until the engine cuts out.

Matt tips the wings, and it roars back to life. “Shite. You may just get your wish, Nadales.” He switches on the radio. “C-Bay tower, zero-niner-fife on south-south-west approach, we are out of fuel, over.”

“Roger that. We have you on visual, zero-niner-fife. We advise that you glide her in as far as possible. We’re scrambling a rescue boat now. Watch out for the gators.”

“Alligators? In Virginia?”

“Yes, sir. If you have rocket flares, fire one now and look for the old freeway. There are a few sections still above water, over.”

“We copy.” He switches to just me. “Damn it, I forgot about those
flares from
Dulce Base. They’re in a plastic box under the seat. Just point the gun barrel out the door, aim as high as you can, and pull th
e
”
—t
he engine cuts out agai
n—
“trigger.”

I scramble for the box of flares.

“C-Bay approach, zero-niner-fife. We have lost engine power and are going down.”

As Matt starts flipping switches and adjusting dials, I set off a flare, lighting up the ground below us. Masses of slithering bodies scramble off an island overpass and back into the dark water.

Mierda.

“There’s the raised highway!” Matt says and banks hard to the left.

Two terrifying minutes later, the plane comes to a stop on a short section of dry roadwa
y—
no gators in sight.

The flare falls into the water, shrouding us in darkness.

After my eyes adjust, I can see a tiny dot of light moving across the wate
r—
way out on the horizon.

Matt nods at me, and I fire another flare.

A minute later, the lights are coming toward us.