Tomorrow War (16 page)

Five minutes passed. Then a huge roar was heard from the cavern. There was an explosion of smoke and a flash of flame, and suddenly the Z-16 airplane shot out of the cave opening like a bullet out of a gun.

It went by the mercs so quickly, the wind in its wake left a half-dozen tiny tornadoes to wreak havoc on the recovering soldiers, scattering their meager belongings, and in some cases, taking the cigarettes right from their mouths.

The Z-16 then left the ground with another roar of its double-reaction engines. There was a second burst of smoke and flame, and suddenly the airplane was hurtled upward, its long wings beginning to flap like some kind of mechanical gooney bird as it soared away.

The plane never did level off—it just kept climbing at a forty-five-degree angle, finally disappearing from the mercs’ view not a minute after it had left the ground. The orbiting airplanes, seemingly startled and taken by surprise by the Z-16’s sudden acceleration, all kicked in their own double-reaction engines and were soon in hot pursuit of the strange climbing aircraft.

And then, just as quickly, Long Bat was quiet again. The wind began blowing a bit, and the sun returned to its murderous intensity. The wounded mercs went back to their lounging and their cigarettes.

Only a couple kept their eyes on the sky, trying to see the last of the strange group of airplanes, which had come and gone so quickly.

“Those Americans,” one soldier said at last, as all visual trace of the six aircraft finally disappeared. “Always in a hurry to go nowhere.”

B
Y NOON ON THE
second day of his journey, Viktor’s small open boat had traveled nearly five hundred miles.

He was no stranger to the currents in this part of the world—he’d sailed the very south Atlantic many times while on board the huge ship with many rowers. But even he was astonished at the speed that his boat was moving.

He had a pair of oars aboard, but he had not yet had to use them. As soon as he cleared the shallows around West Falkland Island, he’d picked up a convenient southwesterly breeze, which soon had him traveling at a rather amazing forty knots.

Somewhere around the Burrwood Banks, he picked up an even stronger wind, which added another fifteen knots to his already very rapid pace. He was going so fast at some points, he had to put his head between his legs just to get a good breath of air. Never had he imagined he would have made this much headway in so short a time.

The boat was holding together just fine. Its sturdy construction, superior wood, and double fasteners made it so solid, Viktor could hardly hear a squeak. His mast was also doing well—it was made of zylon and would resist tearing under the most violent situations. Or so he hoped.

And lastly the ocean itself was cooperating. For even though the wind was blowing at a howl, the surface of the sea itself was unusually calm, with hardly a wave or swell. And all this, while going against one of the strongest currents on the planet—it was enough to make Viktor question whether everything he was experiencing here was natural.

It was almost as if … and it sounded silly to even think it … but it seemed like a massive hand was pushing him along, massive lips blowing on his sail, giving him a speed that would be the envy of any vessel captain, big or small, wind-powered or not.

All of this conspired to keep Viktor’s mind on sailing rather than where he was going. The truth was, he didn’t have the faintest idea. Something deep inside him—way, way down deep in his soul—had told him, no …
commanded
him to get in a boat and head west, and that’s what he was doing.

He was a stranger in this world. He had little knowledge of the weird events that passed as commonplace in this universe. He’d seen some odd things during his time aboard the ship with many rowers—but he knew little of what would be considered otherworldly here. Or better said, what activity would seem to his eyes
para
normal, but to anyone else simply “normal.”

He was about to get a huge lesson on this topic.

The trouble started when the sun went down.

It took awhile for him to actually enter the darkness. He was moving so fast that he was almost keeping pace with the sun’s descent. But finally he watched he huge red ball dip below the western horizon. After that, night fell very quickly.

The stars came out almost all at once, and suddenly he was moving just as swiftly under a tapestry of spinning constellations and absolutely blazing galaxies.

He sailed along like this—wind in his hair, tickling his goateed face—when he detected a slight turbulence in the water in front of him. It was a wave—a big one—and he was heading right for it.

It actually came upon him so quickly, there was little he could do but ride up and over it, which he did, with much heart pounding. The swell was at least twenty feet high, frightening enough for Viktor’s eyes to start searching in every direction for any similar monstrous curls.

He would soon spot another. Then another. And another.

One moment he’d been sailing smoothly along—the next he was heading for a patch of water so turbulent, the waves so high, they were blotting out half the star-filled sky.

Then just as quickly, banks of clouds moved in from all directions, blocking out any chance to navigate by starlight and making it considerably darker.

Then the rains came. Then the wind—his friend for all these hours—turned against him.

Inside of a few very anxious heartbeats, the breeze had shifted around from southwest to northeast. And just as quickly, Viktor found his small boat battling against a gale that was approaching hurricane proportions.

What watery hell was this!

He grabbed the sail’s leader with one hand and his crappy little steering wheel with the other and began to ride up the sides of waves that would have dwarfed the largest skyscrapers in this world of bigger-is-better. Overhead, the clouds thickened farther, lightning was now around him. The first clap of thunder was so loud, his ears began to bleed. Even through the clouds and mist and roaring waves, Viktor could see the dim outline of land many miles to the north. Then the answer to his question somehow popped into his head.

What watery hell
was
this? It was Cape Horn, the very tip of South America. The graveyard of ships.

The waves grew even higher and the wind blew even stronger as if the Cosmos had decided to reveal its full fury now that Viktor knew his enemy’s name.

His little boat was suddenly broadsided by a rogue wave from the right side. It was all Viktor could do to keep himself from being washed overboard. No sooner had this crisis passed when another wave hit him from the left; the impact dislodged half his provisions from the forward hold and washed them overboard.

Viktor could no longer see now, the salt water was stinging his eyes so badly, he had to keep them closed. The roar in his ears sounded like a thousand artillery guns firing at once. His hands were bleeding, he was holding the sail leader and the little steering wheel so tightly.

Then he began to wonder strange things. If he were to perish here, where would he go? Would he become a ghost? Would he go to another universe? Or would he simply become a few mouthfuls for the fish and then be …
nothing.

He heard a voice say, “Option number one, actually ….”

Viktor somehow was able to remove enough salt from his eyes to open them. What he saw startled him to his core. There was a man sitting right in front of him!

Viktor began blabbering something, but coherent words would not come out.

“You will become a ghost,” the man said so calmly, his words stung Viktor’s ears. “Like me.”

Suddenly it seemed as if the storm around Viktor’s boat did not exist. Although the wind was still howling, and the waves were crashing, and the rain was coming down in long hard sheets, he could not feel them. He could only stare in astonishment and terror at the man who so suddenly appeared on his tiny boat.

“Who … who
are you?”

The ghost smirked with morbid amusement.

“You mean, who
was
I?” he said. “My name, way back when, was Vogel. I was a pilot.”

All around him the storm grew worse, but Viktor was no longer paying attention to Nature’s fury. He was shaking too much. A ghost. He’d heard they were reality in this world—but never did he ever think he’d be talking to one. Yet here he was, a man sitting, talking, moving—just like a human. Yet when Viktor stared hard enough, he realized that he could see right through him, like a magician’s tricks with mirrors, or in another place, a hologram.

“B-but why …?” Viktor stuttered. “Why have you come to m-me … here? Like this? In
this?”

Vogel let the wash from a huge wave pass right through him.

“I’m not really sure,” he said. “But I think I’m supposed to tell you a few things and warn you about a couple others—”

“Warn me?” Viktor mumbled. “About what?”

The ghost shifted his position slightly.

“You’re out looking for this guy named Hunter?” he asked. “Hawk Hunter?”

“I am,” Viktor replied. “Why? Is he dead? Like you?”

The ghost became visibly agitated for a moment. “Why does everyone expect me to know that?”

Viktor just shook his head, and was soaked by yet another rogue wave. “I don’t know …,” he sputtered. “I just … well, assumed that …”

“Assumed
what?”
the ghost snapped back. “That all ghosts know each other? That every person who has ever died and found themselves in this position, knows every other unlucky soul?”

“I’m sorry,” Viktor mumbled. “I had no idea what it was like to be—”

“What? To be dead?” the ghost rankled. “Well, let me tell you, for spirits like me, it’s no fun at all. I must have done something really bad while I was breathing. But damned if I know what it was. That’s the worst part: You don’t necessarily know what you did wrong. Oh, I mean, some souls do. But some don’t. I don’t. Not really, anyway.”

It was to Viktor’s credit that, even under the perilous circumstances, he knew enough to change the subject. Not to spare the spirit’s feelings, but to retain his own. The less he knew about the dead, the better.

“You said you were here to tell me something,” he asked the ghost. “About Hawk Hunter?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the ghost said agitated again. “I guess I’m just supposed to tell you that you’re not the only one looking for him. Dead or alive—there’re some other dudes who are trying to find him, as well.”

“Interesting,” Viktor yelled over to him. “But how does that help me in my search?”

The ghost growled back at him. “How am I supposed to know? I’m just here to fill you in on that aspect. Maybe if you find these other people it will aid you in your search for Hunter—or more likely, his body.”

Viktor began to reply snottily, but found himself holding his tongue. Instead he yelled back, “What else? What else did you come to warn me about?”

The ghost did not reply right away. Instead he looked over his left shoulder to the raging sea beyond.

“Well, this gets complicated,” he said, finally turning back to Viktor. “But I guess you’re a special case or something. And it ain’t like I’m not trying to make my wings, you know? So, I have to tell you something that not many people know in this place.”

“And what is that?” Viktor yelled back.

The ghost moved a bit closer. Even in the perilous elements, Viktor could feel an additional chill go through him.

“Well, sometimes, if the conditions are made right,” the ghost began, “people in this place—people like you, though I don’t know why you’re so damn special—can see things that may have happened in another place. And another time. And at another point in the globe. Why this happens, or how? I don’t have the slightest idea. All I know is that these things happen, and they apparently happen for a purpose—and if it happens to you, then you better damn sure make the most of it. If you don’t, you’ll wind up just like me, talking to schmucks just like you ….”

Viktor shook his head. “What the hell are you talking about?”

The ghost didn’t reply. He just looked over his left shoulder again and then turned and pointed off into the raging darkness.

“I’m talking about things like that!” he said.

Viktor looked in the direction the ghost was pointing, and soon his eyes focused on the most unbelievable sight!

It was almost as if there was suddenly a very clear patch of weather in the midst of the raging gale. And what he saw first was a submarine. Not the enormous ones that he’d heard prowled the seas of this world. The sub, while large, looked like it was built by people from another place.

It was long and thin and had odd ornamentation on its snout. It looked almost Nordic in its design. It was black with some red lining here and there.

But the strange thing was, an aerial carousel of aircraft was circling the huge sub and was firing at it. There were helicopters—dozens of them—and not the crappy Beaters that were favored by the people of this place. These were sleek, powerful, smaller machines armed to the teeth—and they were sending vast streams of bullets and rocket fire into the helpless submarine.

Viktor tried wiping the salt water from his eyes over and over again as if the brine was causing this vision. But it was not. What he was seeing before him was real—and oddly familiar.

It seemed to go on forever. The battered submarine trying to get away, the swarm of aircraft pouring sheets of flame into it.

How strange was this!

Viktor was mesmerized by the vision—until the ghost turned back to him and got his attention again.

“Oh, yeah,” the ghost said. “There was one other thing I was supposed to warn you about.”

Viktor tore his eyes away from the surreal battle and looked back at the ghost.

“And that is?” he asked him.

The ghost just pointed behind Viktor’s shoulder.

“That ….,” was all he said.

Viktor turned and saw an enormous wave heading right for him. It was so large it blotted out everything else.

He’d just turned back in time to see the ghost slowly fading from view.