Core Punch (6 page)

“It's also a potential witness.” It wouldn't have any trace evidence left on it, thank you, WTF, but domestic pet idents have been legalized maybe forty years ago. Personally, Vi didn't trust a cat ID. Cats were genius, but so bitter. She'd seen a case where she knew the cat was yanking their chains. Luckily some evidence surfaced that cleared the guy, because that cat hated him. “Why is it here? If it was dumped, then it was probably the killer that did it.” She gave him a quick look. That was the most expression she'd seen on his face ever. “We have to make a reasonable attempt to secure a potential witness.”

“Reasonable is not an option in our current circumstances.”

That was the most gritted she'd ever seen his even, white teeth. And they still had to try to collect Fido. Yup, his name was Fido. That was the pooch equivalent of calling your kid John Doe. Maybe it had run away.

“Regs,” she said, careful not to look at him. It wasn't a loud sigh, but it was capitulation of a sort. Her gaze flicked between the WTF-lashed exterior and her screen with the dog signal. “It's there, on those blocks of freeway to our left.”

“And just how do you propose we secure our…witness?”

“The pooch is on my side. Wind is hitting from your side. I'm thinking I'll open my hatch and call it. By the time we're close, it can jump in.”

“And if it does not?”

“Then we keep going. That's as reasonable I can be.” And way more than Joe wanted. It was crazy, but half the regs were. Vi called them the ROUCs, the regs of unintended consequences. They resulted from someone trying to hammer a nail into your table leg with a bludgeon. You might get the nail in, but you broke the table and a couple of chairs. And possibly the floor. And the table leg. “Fido's gonna have to help save himself.”

Vi had a feeling she knew what Joe would like Fido to do, but if he cursed, it wasn't in English.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Check your straps. I'm gonna pop my hatch and we'll see what that does to our progress before we try to, you know, change anything.” She checked her straps. Wished she had more confidence in them. Be a bad time to find out they were mostly for show. “Ready?”

“As it is possible to be.”

“Three…two…one…” She released the hatch.

A gust hit the skimmer, flipping it on its side.

T
he skimmer righted itself
. But not before sending a minor flood in on them. Joe blinked water out of his eyes. He lacked a hand free to do anything but steer. The wind howled into the cabin of the skimmer like the
skitterments of
hoarsh,
pelting them with particles of flying debris. Joe felt Lurch trying to assist as he fought to keep the craft from spinning out of control. The forward view began to fog. Joe boosted defog function and almost lost control of the skimmer.

I suggest keeping both hands on the controls.

No crapeau
. Joe began to understand Vi's fondness for the word. It was a succinct response to the blatantly obvious, and an accurate reflection of dire when modified by “in deep.” Regs for a
danstrg
dog.

“You got it?”

“Yes.” Not completely, but as much as he was going to “have it.”

“All right, start your veer left.”

He did not dare look at Vi, or anything but what was ahead, trusting her to warn of what threatened from the left as the skimmer began to close on the debris pile. This level of trust was difficult. He could barely hear her over the wind and rain.

“Fido!!!”

The wind seemed to fling her shout back at them. Then it tried to jerk them into a spin. The skimmer flipped on its side again. Righted itself. A small lake of water began to form around their feet.

Dogs have excellent hearing.

“Here, Fido! Jeez, I feel stupid shouting that.”

Why? Other than the fact we are trying to call a dog in a storm?

It is a generic dog name. Like your false name.

Joe frowned. Lurch had given him a generic assumed identity? His arms burned. Lurch risked easing the pain, though not as much as Joe would have liked. Could their enemy really have eyes on them in this storm?

Yes.

“Okay, no more left. We're close—too close—that's better. I can see him. He's getting up—oh, man, this is gonna to be bad—”

Joe sensed, more than saw, the blur of motion. Heard Vi's oomph, as air was forced out her lungs. The skimmer flipped to the side. He could not be sure but for several seconds he believed there was a dog butt pressed against his face. The skimmer righted itself. Filling his lap with dog. Almost they careened off course.

“Get him off!” he roared, as they hurtled forward toward he knew not what.

And then the canine scrambled between them into the rear seat.

“Right, go right!” Vi cried out as she hit the hatch control.

She twisted in her seat and brought the shield down between them and the canine. It howled, though Joe did not know or care why. He shook water off his face and almost howled, too. He wrestled with the controls, trying to change course. Ominous scraping along her side of the skimmer. The sound diminished as the hatch re-sealed. He had not realized how much sound it filtered out.

“Straighten out now!”

It was not that easy to do as requested, but Joe gave it his best, panting almost as much as the dog behind its shield. There was another nasty scraping sound, though this one was of shorter duration.

“I think there might be a way through this.”

Their forward lights appeared to bounce off the rain more than they pierced it, but beyond it, he thought he saw what she saw.

“If it is a large enough opening.” There was only one way to discover that. “You will need to try to watch both sides as we approach. I will need to focus forward.”

“Right. No problem.” She'd leaned forward as far as she could, as if that would help her pierce the storm.

The flashes of lightning did help. Except when they didn't.

And then it stopped. Rain and wind. The skimmer wobbled several times before he adjusted to the lack of both.

“What—”

Vi's, “Oh
crapeau
,” came at same time as the warning whine from their weather tracking screen.

Tornado. Or downburst.

“
Crapeau
, indeed.”

V
i felt
the skimmer surge forward and instinctively pressed back into her seat. “What are you doing?”

“The opening might provide protection if we can reach it before—” he stopped.

Joe didn't like to state the obvious. Maybe it was the wrong time, but she had to say it.

“We make it and I'm gonna kiss you.” It would either motivate him. Or make them crash.

His eyes widened, then narrowed, his grip on the controls more determined.

Motivation. Sweet. Now all they had to do was survive the next five minutes. Her gaze flicked back and forth between the debris getting closer on either side. When it flicked right, her gaze got to graze Joe's intent face. Inexplicably, she felt her spirits rising at the sight. This was not a man to give up without a fight. Maybe they'd make it—

The rear of the skimmer began to twitch. As if the tornado plucked at it with gusty, grasping fingers.

The debris got closer.

Sounds of objects hitting the sides of the skimmer. Bigger objects. A large branch blocked their view for several seconds before being dragged up and back.

The slot they aimed for looked pretty small all of a sudden. She didn't think—didn't dare speak and break his concentration again.

Felt like they were going too fast—

The skimmer shuddered harder.

Joe put the pedal to the metal—whatever that meant. It was a phrase from Grand Paw Paw which made no sense at all. Their pedals were for braking.

Hole got closer. Smaller.

Vi squinted, because she couldn't close her eyes, half turned as if bracing for a hit.

Felt the skimmer shudder when he reversed thrust by actually applying pedals to metal.

Was flung against the straps holding her in.

Scraping sounds, above this time. Some shrieking of metal on rock.

Stopping. Stopped.

Another fling against straps. A few stars cart-wheeling past….

A roaring, like a mighty engine going over. Wild crashing sounds. The wrath of the gods for sure.

Fido whined, might have tried to dig his way deeper into the backseat.

She reached out, eyes still stuck straight ahead and grabbed Joe's arm, felt down until she found his hand. Gripped it.

Fido howled now, a terrified sound she would have echoed had that been possible. Fear had a choke hold on her throat.

The skimmer moved back with a jerk, but it stopped, and then the vortex was in front of them.

In one flash of lightning, she saw the cone and its load of debris before it vanished from sight again.

The wind and rain came back with more fury, as if enraged that they weren't dead.

They weren't dead.

Joe locked them in hover mode, using his free hand. She almost asked why, but at the moment she didn't care. Vi released her breath in a gust.

“Damn.” She looked at Joe. The edges of her mouth tipped up some. Couldn't quite get her smile on, even though inside she was beaming.
They weren't dead
. The dog whined and scratched the shield. “Sit!” she ordered. Then she grabbed the neck of Joe's suit and pulled him toward her. Planted that promised kiss right on his sort-of purple mouth.

It didn't taste like a color. It tasted like man, no cool in it either. The guy hid a lot. Like how good he could kiss….

The dog barked sharply, as if annoyed. She ignored him until he threw himself against the shield with a howling whining sort of bark that shook their slings.

She eased back from Joe a millimeter or so. Oh yeah, there was fire in there. His eyes fairly blazed. Vi found her smile, and he matched it and then some. Water dripped down her face and his. He had a drop on the end of his sassy nose. She caught it with the tip of her finger. For an instant it looked like he might say something. Or pounce. Then he sighed. But he touched her cheek with his finger, the light touch edged with tender, before he said, “We must—”

“Yeah, we must,” she admitted. Her whole body wanted to keep leaning his way. Her lips wanted to continue the kissing. She sat back. She was a grownup. Darn it. Matched Joe's sigh and raised it. She gave herself a shake. If they'd made it to the freeway…she tried to do math, wasn't sure how well she did it. “So, we've gone two, maybe three blocks and used up a quarter of our fuel. Maybe we should wait here?”

Yeah, they might be under several tons of really old concrete, but she knew what was out there.

Joe considered the suggestion, then shook his head. “I do not believe we are above the storm surge here.”

Vi looked down at her weather screen.

It was as dark as the view outside.

“
W
hat else is offline
?” Joe asked, checking the panels closest to his station. His screens appeared to be functional, but they were all related to skimmer operations. It was a relief to be stationary, even if only briefly. Though the brief respite from stress seemed to have released additional body heat into the all-enclosing emergency gear. Apparently it could get hotter.

The stress upped your body temperature?

Joe bit his tongue and ignored the interjection. And the derisive snort. If he thought about the kiss—and there it went up another degree. Now was not the time. He pushed aside the question of whether there would ever be a time to think about that kiss and tried to focus on their current problem.

“All uplinks to satellite data are gone. Our underbelly vid was already out, but it looks like we've lost top and both side vids, too.” She tapped something. “Rear vid is still operational, because, you know, seeing where we've been will be so helpful to our current circumstances.”

He now recognized sarcasm and didn't make the mistake of pointing out that the rear vid wouldn't be helpful. The one screen he almost wished had gone out was the one recording their fuel supply. He did not dare shut off the engines when he was not certain they would re-fire. The only good news, in their current position, they were burning minimal fuel. Without data, all he had were his eyes to study the storm. Did it seem less dark? The wind continued to lash the trees, though perhaps not as fiercely. And the rain might be slackening off. Though he had never engaged in wishful thinking, the possibility remained that the worst of the feeder band had moved away from them.

“I think we might be sort of between feeder bands,” Vi said, confirming his visuals. “One of those weather jokers was talking about what it was like. This might be that.”

“Yes,” Joe said, as if he'd remembered, instead of getting the info from Lurch, “intense rain and wind, followed by little rain and less intense wind.” Winds that could still gust up into the 100 mph range without warning.

“Do we dare make a run for it?” she asked, her eyes big in a white, wet face. Tendrils of hair clung to her skin where they'd crept out from under her head gear.

He considered the question. Without real-time access to weather data, it was risky. Staying was suicide if the storm surge reached them.

I have an idea, but you will not like it.

He was also sure he would not like it. Joe's sigh was silent.
What is it?

The 72'r kits.

V
i stared up
, though she could see nothing but clouds. It was irrational to feel that if she looked hard enough she could see past the storm to the city above. How was it faring as WTF moved in? What kind of weather would they be experiencing? She thought she'd paid attention, that she knew what to expect. She was wrong. It was like being in that dream, the one where you were back in school and you find out there's a test and you haven't studied for it, and besides, you didn't know you were taking that course. Had she really thought she was a weather “expert” after listening to a few vid reports? Talk about having the illusion of knowledge. Was this how people had felt during Chen when they found themselves trapped on the ground? The loss of life had been the worst since Katrina. And they'd had experience with hurricanes then. Her city, the floating city, hadn't experienced a hurricane since Chen. Was her family all right? If—
when
they got to the airport, would rescue be there? How much time would Captain Uncle give them to reach the airport? Would there be a city up there to flee to if they did?

“I have an,” Joe paused, his tone heavy with reluctance, “idea.”

She looked at him, saw Fido out of the corner of her eye, sitting back there looking at them like he understood and was curious as well. It was a bit eerie. Even after years of research, no one really knew how much dogs understood, since no one had managed to actually have a conversation with one. Fido met her gaze with a soulful, doggish look. Almost idly she wondered what breed he was. Probably mongrel. Bedraggled mongrel. Not that she was any great shakes. She looked at Joe. Even bedraggled, he was better looking than the dog. And just about everyone.

“What?” She sounded wary. She felt wary.

“The 72'r kits.”

She blinked. “The 72'r kits.” She blinked again. “You mean those old backpacks?”

“The
emergency
backpacks,” he reminded her.

Well, this sure as hounds-of-a-hot-place qualified as an emergency.

He tapped in some command or other and a list appeared on her screen.

She studied it for a couple of seconds. “Water? No clue what an MRE is—”

“I suspect it is some type of sustenance.”

Sustenance was good. “They're in the back.” Newer models of the skimmer had access to the back from the cockpit, but not this one, of course. She leaned forward, trying to look along the skimmer to the rear through her side viewers. They were in here pretty tight. Could one of them even get back there?

Apparently Joe had been doing the same thing. “The skimmer is too close to the debris on this side.”

“There might be room on mine.”

She looked forward. This was probably as good as it was going to get for going outside. She didn't want to think about what would happen if her side hatch got stuck open—so she didn't. She pushed the release. It rose slowly, as if reluctant as she was, letting in a rush of damp air that immediately fogged her face shield. She popped it up, surprised to find the air clammy rather than hot. It was moving, so that was probably why. It wasn't quiet, but the wind wasn't as loud as the last time. The hatch lifted, lifted some more, skimming past the concrete with some really small number to spare. Vi shifted and it scraped. Yeah, that was close.

She activated her head lamp, leaned out, and looked around. The concrete block supporting them extended maybe a foot beyond the skimmer. There was a gap between the block beneath and the one next to them. And the ones over them. She grasped the side and leaned further out, shining the light down the length. It looked like she could get through, though the passage narrowed sharply toward the rear of the skimmer. And just in case she was inclined to be hopeful, the blocks were also coated with green slime-looking stuff. She could see scoring from their landing, and the fishtailing of the skimmer caused by the vortex as it passed over. The wind wasn't too bad, though it still carried small bits of debris. A leaf hit her face and stuck. She pulled it off and flung it to the wind, which grabbed it and carried it away.

She sat back. Took a breath, then looked at Joe, trying for can-do.

“I will crawl past you and do it,” he said.

So she'd failed at can-do. Up next: have-to-do. “I'm not sure you'll fit. It looks—tight back there.”

They didn't even have safety rope in this stupid thing. No grapple as part of her suit. Those suits were reserved for the rescue services. Exactly what emergency was her gear supposed to help with? She tried a smile, apparently did better at that. Or Joe was trying not to add to her abject fear. He gave her a thumbs up, which was pretty out there for him. The dog gave a small whine that might have been encouragement. Too bad they couldn't send him out there, but he'd probably run off.

She lifted her leg out, grasping the sides of the skimmer and lowered her foot until it rested on the block. She moved it around, testing the surface. No surprise there was no downward give or that it was slippery. Thank goodness for the maintenance grips along the side, though they were vertical, not horizontal, which would have helped more.

Regs said she should wear gloves in an emergency where contaminants might be present. Green slime probably qualified as a contaminant. Looked gross enough to be one. But she didn't deploy them. The regs would have to deal. She needed all the tactile advantage she could get, even though the thoughts of what might be in the green goo coating the block made her want to shudder. With a last attempted smile at Joe, Vi brought her other leg out and scooted to the edge of her sling. When her weight shifted to her outside leg, she felt it start to slip. She clutched the sides and said something dubious. Joe made a worried sound.

“I'm okay.” She was such a liar. If she died now—

“Take care.” It sounded like an order, but felt like a plea.

His people were sort of chauvinistic, so this had to be hard for him. “Oh, I will.”

By scraping at the concrete, she managed to get the gripping surface on the bottom of her boots into semi-contact with the concrete. And tried to stand again. This time she got both boots on the block. Okay, that sounded wrong for some reason. Cautiously she inched around until she faced the skimmer. While she'd been turning, Joe had clambered over the center console into her sling. For some reason that helped. Holding his gaze, she felt along the metal until she found a grip.

Joe leaned down, so his headlight shone out. He raised his head. “Vi—”

“I'll be right back.” It wasn't easy to look away from the comfort of his worried brown eyes. She was impressed she managed it. Then impressed gave way to holy freaking
crapeau
. She tipped her chin, so her headlamp shone on the wing. Hadn't she just been to this party? She got her leg over it, found the next grip and got the other leg over. Because the engineers who had designed the skimmer hadn't foreseen this situation—or any emergency it seemed—the grips hadn't been placed that close together. She didn't have to let go of one to get her fingers around the next, but her arms were fully extended both directions before she reached grip number three.

About halfway along, she happened to glance down. Mistake. Couldn't see a bottom because of the way the gap between the blocks narrowed. If she fell, it would not be pleasant. With the sky lighting some, she could sort of see around her. Or her eyes had adjusted to the murk. The way the blocks of concrete tumbled together was not that reassuring. They'd been there a long time, she reminded herself, as she reached for the next grip.

“You're doing great,” Joe said, obviously trying to sound encouraging.

Bless his heart. In a weird way, it did help. When, she wondered, had the skimmer gotten this long? A gust of wind roared into the semi-cave, forcing her to press into the side of the skimmer, her feet almost losing their grip, as the debris pelting picked up. Joe's light wavered, then steadied. The wind gust didn't last, thank goodness, though the non-gusting wind wasn't great either. It felt like it wanted to push her back to the cockpit, or blow her out into the rising water. Maw Maw N had PMS for sure.

She reached out. This time the distance between the grips wasn't as far. Her light picked out the rear of the skimmer. “I'm almost there—”

Her hand closed around a grip. She let go of one and started to ease the rest of her to the next.

A piece of the concrete broke off under the weight-bearing foot.

Her other foot slipped. Her hand holding the grip got her full weight with a painful jerk. She spun in a half circle, banging her knee against the edge of the block, the twist almost making her lose her hold on the wet grip. Her light showed jagged chunks, like teeth opened wide to receive her. The height of the grips was just wrong, making the ledge both too low and too high. She tried to get her other hand up and almost lost her hold.

She stilled.

“I”m coming—”

She wouldn't last that long.

“Just catching my breath—”

In a gap in the blocks to her right, her light illuminated eyes….

V
i dangled precariously
off the rim of concrete, all her weight on one hand. He leaned further out, trying to give her more light. He succeeded. His light, added to hers, illumined the shape, just as its the mouth parted enough to show teeth. Was it…?

It is a raccoon.
A pause.
That is not a good thing. They can be vicious.

The raccoon reared back, baring its teeth and hissing. Keeping his light fixed on it, he reached down, feeling for his weapon. The one-touch release took two touches. He eased it clear of the holster and flicked off the safety. Started to change it from stun to kill. Changed his mind. The passage was so narrow, if he hit Vi….

Your setting will not matter if you hit her. She will fall.

Thinking about that will steady my aim.

Joe tried to keep his light steady on the creature as he lifted his arm, took aim—and pulled the trigger. Light flashed in the narrow space, blinding him. There was a yelp. Possibly a thud. Vi or the raccoon?

He heard scraping. Boots against concrete.

“Vi?”

“I'm okay. A little bruised.”

His vision began to adjust. She'd managed to get her feet back on the narrowing ledge. Both hands clutched the hand grip now.

“It's down.” She reached down and pulled her weapon. Fired it. “Don't want it waking up pissed for my trip back.”

Another gust whistled through, its force boosted by being funneled through the cavern. He tried not to think about the objects striking the aging skimmer. Or Vi. Their forward view shield already sported several starred impact marks. How much abuse could it withstand? His breath held as he watched her squeeze past the last hurdle. When she was out of sight, he heard, “You wouldn't have made that. I barely made it.”

He felt the skimmer shudder as the rear hatch opened.

How will she return with two packs?

Lurch had no answer.

It felt as if the wind picked up, not just because of the cavern, but generally. He studied the terrain ahead of them. It did seem that their period of “calm” was coming to an end. He felt Lurch's impatience that she remained out of sight.

She is moving as fast as she can.