Adam Baker - Impact

He saw her attention fixed on the canteen.

‘Cheers,’ he said. He toasted her and took another gratuitously long sip. He screwed the cap back on the metal bottle.

‘You know the deal. All the water you want, in return for the code.’

‘I told you. I don’t remember a single digit.’

‘You’ll remember. When you are strung out, desperate enough. Your subconscious will offer it up.’

‘Untie my hands, at least. What if those things outside decide to attack? I got a right to defend myself.’

Hancock shook his head.

‘Ain’t got the energy to keep chasing you around. I’m going to keep you on a very short leash from now on.’

‘You got the gun,’ she said. ‘I’m in no shape to give any trouble.’

He thought it over.

‘All right.’

He cut her free from the wall stanchion.

‘Thanks.’

She flexed her arms and rubbed wrist welts.

‘Hold out your hands.’

‘For God’s sake.’

‘If they attack, you can run. Save yourself. But that’s all you get.’

He retied her hands.

‘Shift that trunk. Block the ladder.’

A Peli trunk full of life preservers. Frost shunted the box to cover the ladderway hatch.

She gestured to the windows.

‘Maybe you should check outside one more time. See what those bastards are doing.’

He hesitated. He didn’t want Frost to call the shots.

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘We need to know what’s going on out there.’

Hancock crossed the flight deck and pulled back a blast screen. He checked over his shoulder to make sure Frost was still sat on the floor.

‘Anything?’

‘Nothing. No sign.’

Hancock sat opposite Frost.

Frost exhaled and watched her breath fog the air.

‘Getting pretty cold.’

He didn’t reply. He stifled a yawn.

‘Long night, huh?’ she said. ‘How long do you think you can stay awake?’

‘I’ll sleep sound enough, once you’re lashed to the wall.’

Frost cocked her head.

‘Hear that?’

‘Best if you shut up a while. I’m done talking.’

‘No. Seriously. Listen.’

Faint footfalls. Boots on metal.

‘Something’s walking the port wing.’

Brief pause.

Heavy footsteps above them.

‘It’s climbed the fuselage,’ whispered Frost. ‘It’s on the roof.’

They both slowly got to their feet and looked up at support spars, cable conduits and escape hatches, trying to project their vision through the superstructure like X-ray.

Footfalls directly above their heads. Shuffle and scuff. The thing on the roof had come to a standstill.

‘It’s right above us.’

Hancock instinctively raised his pistol and trained it at the roof.

‘What the fuck?’ he murmured.

‘Pinback,’ whispered Frost. ‘Heaviest of the bunch. Got to be Pinback.’

Hancock adjusted his grip on the pistol, like he intended to shoot.

‘Don’t. Wait for a clear shot.’

‘What do you think it’s doing?’ he murmured.

‘Messing with our heads. Trying to spook us out.’

Bootsteps moved towards the front of the plane.

Hancock edged towards the pilot seat, swinging the pistol back and forth, trying to keep Frost covered and trying to position himself in case Pinback dropped through a vacant ejection hatch.

The footsteps reversed direction. They slowly retraced their path, walked overhead and aft towards the rear of the aircraft. Bootfall reverberation diminished to silence.

‘Think he’ll be back?’ he asked, attention still fixed on the roof.

Frost grabbed the pistol with bound hands and pushed it aside. Gunshot. Spark and ricocheted whine. The bullet exited the plane leaving a neat, smoking hole in the fuselage.

Vicious headbutt. Hancock staggered backwards snorting blood.

He tried to take aim. Frost knocked his weapon aside, balled her bound fists and delivered a double rabbit punch to his shattered nose. He yelled with pain. He kicked. She twisted and evaded the flailing boot.

They fell to the floor and wrestled for the Beretta. Frost drove her elbow into the bandage covering his rotted, vacant socket. Bubbling pus and blood. He screamed. He convulsed and released his grip on the pistol.

Frost jammed the smoking weapon against his temple. He recoiled from the hot gun barrel. A faint circle and a trace of the front sight, branded on his skin.

‘Don’t move. Do. Not. Fucking. Move.’

She got to her feet. They glared at each other, both panting, both catching their breath.

‘Empty your pockets.’

He reluctantly tossed spare mags.

‘And the knives.’

Her K-Bar was tucked behind the webbing of his chest rig. He pulled it free and tossed it clattering on the floor.

‘And the other one.’

He pulled a lock knife from his pocket and threw it at her feet.

‘Sit on your hands.’

He sat cross-legged on his hands.

She picked up her knife, reversed the blade and cut her wrist restraints.

‘Over there.’

She gestured to the wall stanchion. He shifted position, as if he were about to stand.

‘No, stay down.’

He crawled to the wall. He sat, resigned, as she bound his wrists to the fuselage frame.

She lowered herself to the floor. She uncapped Hancock’s canteen and drank deep.

He used his sleeve to wipe blood from his nose and upper lip. He stared at Frost, beaming cold hate.

She stretched, massaged her injured leg.

Hancock opened his mouth like he was about to speak, but Frost suddenly froze and mimed hush.

Footsteps on the lower deck. Someone moving around in the cabin beneath them.

They stared at the trunk blocking the hatchway to the compartment below. They listened to the muffled clump of boots, the clatter of equipment and survival gear thrown aside.

‘Shoot,’ said Hancock. He spat blood onto the deck plate beside him. ‘Pull the box aside. Do it quick. Put a bullet in the top of the fuck’s head.’

Frost looked towards the hatchway. She listened as the lower cabin got ransacked.

‘Think it knows we’re here?’ asked Hancock.

‘Of course.’

She slid across the floor to the trunk. She gripped the sides of the box, prepped to push it aside, then changed her mind.

‘Hey,’ she shouted. ‘Hear me down there?’

Sounds from below abruptly ceased.

‘Pinback? Is that you?’

‘Bitch, you’re going to get us killed,’ murmured Hancock.

‘Pinback. Daniel Pinback. Do you remember your own name?’

Long pause.

‘Think, Daniel. Think back. Reach deep. Your wife. Michelle. Remember Michelle? The plans you made. The house you were going to build.’

Crash from down below. Tools kicked by stumbling feet. Pinback resumed his search of the plane.

Frost barked a bunch of take-off commands:

‘Engine four start. Spooling. Increase thrust.’

Sudden silence.

‘Yeah. You remember how to pilot a plane well enough. The very last thing you would forget.’

No sound.

‘Pinback? You still there?’

No sound.

She ejected the mag from the pistol. Couple of rounds left. She loaded a fresh clip.

She slowly pushed the trunk aside and shone a flashlight down the ladderwell.

The lower cabin was empty. A couple of lockers torn open. Tools strewn across the deck.

Frost sat on the lip of the hatchway and contemplated the detritus.

‘What were you doing down there, Pinback?’ she murmured. ‘What was on your mind?’

Sunrise.

Noble and Trenchman walked through the ruined compound.