Offworld (19 page)

When they were straddling the watercraft, Terry spoke up
again.

"What happened back there?"

"Nothing," Chris lied. `Just lost my grip on the rope."

Terry muttered, "Looked to me like you weren't even holding the
rope yet, but whatever ..

`Just hold on," Chris shouted.

Terry wrapped his arms around Chris' torso as Chris gunned the
jet ski.

Chris let his instincts guide him as he attempted to follow the
coastline westward for a block or two. Their path was clogged and
blocked at so many turns by so much debris that they had no choice
but to pick their way through the surge.

The endless rain was beginning to take its toll on his body; the
heavy drops constantly hammering him were bringing about soreness
and exhaustion. It made him wonder how Trisha was weathering it,
considering what he knew about her. His eyes were burning and
aching, his eyelids in a state of constant squinting to try to keep the
water out and see in the darkness.

Soon, something caught Chris' eye. A wrought iron gate surrounded
on both sides by masonry stones, peeking out from beneath the high
water. Beyond the open gate was an empty patch of land, though
dozens of enormous and ancient trees dotted the landscape, each one
dripping with long gray tendrils of Spanish moss that blew wildly as
the wind abruptly picked up.

The graveyard was much bigger than it had first appeared, and
Chris decided it was a good place to cut through, hoping the walls
would block off a fair amount of the more dangerous debris.

"There!" Terry shouted, pointing over Chris' shoulder. The wind
was blowing so powerfully he could barely hear him.

Beyond the cemetery and on the other side of the street was the
outer gate of Keesler Air Force Base.

`All right, according to Owen's map, the airstrip is on the far side of the base, directly northwest of here," Chris said. "Hangars are adjacent, near the base's center."

"I was kind of hoping the water would get shallower the more
inland we went," Terry shouted in his ear.

Chris looked ahead. No such luck. The water was easily twelve to
fifteen feet high; that wouldn't do for getting a helicopter or anything
else in the air. Anything they found would be submerged.

They turned and followed a wide two-lane road that ran directly
past the visitor's entrance. There was no need to stick to the roads,
of course, with the water being so high, but Chris was finding that
road areas were more easily traversable, with only a stray car here
and there to circumnavigate; no unexpected structures rising up out
of nowhere in the dark to block their path.

They followed the road through what appeared to be a number
of barracks on both sides of the street, until Chris spotted a road that
seemed to break diagonally northwest.

His thoughts drifting back to Trisha and the others, he poured
on the speed.

They'd just cleared the slight left turn when a vicious burst of wind
blind-sided them, lifting the jet ski up off the water and sending both
him and Terry airborne.

"This generator's a piece of junk," Trisha decided.

Owen gave a short nod, his hands working furiously over a second
small backup he'd found in a supply closet. It had seen better days.
"The light itself is state of the art, a thing of beauty. I imagine the
lightkeepers never believed they'd have to make use of the generator.
It looks like the light usually runs off the city grid"

"Which is dead," Trisha added.

They knelt inside the light room atop the lighthouse, hoping to
put their heads together to get the light up and running. Even if it was
frustrating work, Trisha had to admit she was glad for the chance to get out of the rain, however briefly. She sat back on her haunches, taking
a deep breath and wiping the exhaustion out of her eyes.

"If we do get it to work," Owen commented, "it's not going to
shine for very long."

"Then we have to pick our moment."

"Hey," Mae called out.

Owen ignored her, but Trisha looked up. Mae stood just outside
the tiny window that allowed access to the exterior, sticking her head
inside the light room. Trisha had nearly had it with the useless little
girl. She was dead weight, and she was doing nothing but slowing
them down at every turn. It was probably her fault they were stuck
here to begin with.

"Hey," Trisha echoed, without enthusiasm.

"Something's wrong," said Mae.

"Yeah?" Trisha replied. "You think so?"

The words had barely left Trisha's lips when she noticed that
Mae's short, soaked hair was being blown up hard from behind-hard
enough to nearly obscure her face.

Trisha slowly stood and stuck her head out of the window. The
wind had increased drastically, and it slammed into her, forcing her
to squint. Just when the gust passed, another whipped up in its place,
twice as hard as the last, knocking her back inside the light room.

A flash of lightning illuminated the area, and standing high like a
cylindrical tower three hundred yards from the lighthouse was a snaking black tornado. It coiled from the storm clouds straight down to the
water, churning up debris of all shapes and sizes, and transforming
the rain into a maelstrom.

"Inside!" Trisha grabbed Mae by the jacket and yanked her through
the window.

Chris spun and bounced underwater, fighting and fighting to
find the surface but barely able to tell which way was up. Finally, when all hope seemed past, his shoulder slammed into something
rough and hard, and he pushed himself what he hoped was skyward. One desperate final heave let his face break the surface of the
churning water but at the same time he heard a terrifying crack and
felt something crush against his leg. He looked up; a large branch
was breaking off from a tree and pointing down toward him. He
guessed that the end of the branch was what was pinning his foot
under the water.

Chris strained to pull free, but the branch pinched his ankle snug.
And now he noticed a searing pain in his shoulder from where he'd
run into the tree. The water blew harder and came close to submerging his entire head. The tree branch's weight shifted in the wind, and
he was plunged under.

He fought to return to the surface, barely able to get his face out
and gasp for a breath before going under again. He paddled with his
one good arm and managed to break the water's surface.

"Terry!" he screamed before the water took him again.

His eyes bulged wide, but he couldn't get back above the water,
no matter how hard he tried.

A hand grabbed the back of his shirt from behind and gave a
sharp tug. Just like that he was being hoisted free and up to the surface
and its glorious oxygen.

When his head broke the surface, he gasped deep and long. He
shook off the pain he felt in his shoulder and looked around. Terry
was treading water a couple of feet away, still holding onto the back
of his shirt.

"You okay?" Terry called out.

"Yeah," he replied.

"Your shoulder looks messed up"

Chris glanced down at it. "It's dislocated."

"We'll have to find some place solid to pop it back in."

Chris looked around. The jet ski was gone. "There's a building
over there...

"Can you swim that far with one arm?" Terry asked.

"I'll get there." Holding his bad arm limp against his chest, Chris
kicked off the tree, pulling with every ounce of strength with his good
arm, trying to keep up with Terry.

Rain and water and wind slammed against the side of the lighthouse, causing the structure to tremble and sway. The tornado outside
was like a slow-moving freight train, unstoppable and aimed exactly
at them.

Trisha, Owen, and Mae sat halfway down the tiny spiral stairwell, listening to the devastating sounds outside and hoping that their
diminutive cast-iron refuge would be up to the challenge of keeping
them safe until Terry and Chris returned. Of course, Chris and Terry
would never approach the lighthouse as long as there was a tornado
so close, so everything pivoted on what the twister did and how long
it lasted.

From the depths of the lighthouse came a terrible wrenching
sound, and suddenly the stairwell surged with water as the lighthouse
door pulled free. Trisha screamed despite herself, the water bubbling
toward them. Twenty feet below and rising.

Something hard slammed against the side of the lighthouse just a
few feet above their heads, leaving a massive dent where the structure
buckled inward several inches.

Owen's eyes met Trisha's. They both knew what the other was
thinking. They'd spent too much time together over the last three
years not to. There was a mixture of suppressed fear, focusing hard
to hold it together and remain professional. Trisha didn't even look
at Mae.

The thunderous twister approached right outside, and the lighthouse shook down to its foundation. It was as if Paul Bunyan was
standing out there, grasping the lighthouse with both of his hands
and shaking it back and forth, trying to rip it free.

The light room above rattled and whined, threatening to tear itself
from the rest of the tower and fly away into the ocean.

The large, rectangular building greeted them with locked doors
and windows, but Chris spotted an outdoor fire escape that could
lead them to the roof if they could find a way to bring down the
extension ladder.

Chris, exhausted and straining to see in the dark, did his best to
tread water as Terry climbed onto a floating dumpster and jumped
up high enough to grab the first landing of the fire escape. He pulled
himself up and swung over the railing, then quickly extended the ladder so Chris could reach it. With great difficulty Chris worked his way
slowly up the ladder, rung by rung with his one good arm, grinding
his teeth the whole way.

Another landing and another ladder and they were on the roof. It
was slightly angled, yet the pitch helped them to keep their balance
as they faced into the wind.

Chris all but collapsed, rolling over onto his back. He didn't care
that the rain and the wind scoured every square inch of his body. He
was merely grateful for the rest.