Adam Baker - Impact

‘Smells pretty rank.’

‘So everyone keeps telling me. You two aren’t exactly shower-fresh, so pardon me if I invite you both to go fuck yourselves.’

Frost uncapped her canteen. They passed it back and forth. Shallow sips.

Hancock shook the canteen and listened to water slop in the half-empty bottle.

‘Who are we kidding?’ he said. ‘We’re not going anywhere. All of us in fucked-up shape. Guess we could have walked days ago, but the moment has passed.’ He looked around the flight deck. ‘Face it. This place is our tomb.’

Frost looked like she wanted to argue, but didn’t have the energy. She contemplated the gun in her hand. She stroked the grip with her thumb.

‘Don’t let me end up like them,’ she said. ‘Take care of it, all right? Make me that promise. I don’t want a living death.’

‘Maybe you were right all along,’ said Noble, addressing Hancock. ‘Maybe we should fire up the nuke. Take the fuckers with us.’

They sat in silence a while.

Hancock’s eyelids began to droop. His head nodded towards his chest. Deep breaths evolved into a congested snore.

Frost struggled to stand.

The sound of her boots scuffing deck plate jerked Hancock awake.

‘Where are you going?’ asked Hancock.

‘I’m going to take a look at the tail section. Try and figure out what these bastards have planned.’

‘Outside? On your own?’

She shook her head.

‘I’ll cut through the bomb bay.’

‘Then give me a gun. Anything happens to you, Noble and I will be left defenceless.’

Frost thought it over. She took a spare mag from her pocket and tossed it to Noble.

She reached up and fumbled on the ledge above the Electronic Warfare Officer console. She retrieved Hancock’s Beretta. She handed it to him butt first. He loaded a clip and chambered a round.

‘Watch where you’re pointing that thing.’

Noble unclipped a pocket of his survival vest and tossed Frost a radio.

‘If you run into trouble, holler.’

Frost climbed down the ladder to the lower cabin.

She climbed into the crawlspace. She examined the bomb-bay door. The steel hatch was heavily dented. One of the creatures had been unable to figure out the D-ring latches and tried to punch its way inside.

She twisted the latches and pulled back the door.

The interior of the bomb bay glowed infernal red, like she was crawling into a furnace mouth.

She slid from the walkway and stood straight. Trapped day heat. She wiped sweat.

She side-stepped the disassembled Tomahawk hanging from its launch bracket. First glimpse of Hancock’s work. The payload cowling unscrewed and set aside. The physics package disconnected and part removed. Tools scattered on the floor.

She walked the length of the bomb bay, balanced along a narrow grate walkway. She hugged wall conduits and held wall spars for support.

Sudden jolt. Shudder and metal shriek. The airframe shook. Frost fell to her knees. The missile suspended above her creaked and trembled in its cradle.

Static crackle:

‘Frost? You feel that?’

She pulled a radio from her pocket.

‘Yeah. Whole place shook.’

‘Okay down there?’

‘Something going on at the rear of the plane. Fuckers are up to something. Let me check it out.’

‘Watch yourself.’

She got to her feet.

She reached the rear hatch.

She crouched and released the door latches.

She opened the door slowly, pistol in one hand, flashlight in the other.

She shone her flashlight into the narrow crawl channel. She climbed inside and headed for the tail.

Fifteen yards of conduit that took her past the aft gear well and fuel bladders towards the ECM equipment.

She reached a seam of ragged metal and scraps of foil insulation. The tail had been restored, crudely shunted back in position. She probed the crude join with her fingers. Glimpse of stars through fissured metal. Whistling night wind.

The flight deck.

Frost sat on the floor and wiped sweat from her face.

‘They’ve shunted the tail back in position. God knows how. Didn’t see anyone. Just reached the rear, and there it was. Think they’re planning to fly out of here? Jam this bird back together, take her for a ride?’

Hancock sat staring at her. A look of apprehension on his face. He nodded towards the pilot seat.

‘What’s up?’

He mimed hush.

Frost got to her feet. She pulled the pistol from her waistband. She crept towards the pilot seat.

Noble reclined in the chair. His flight suit was unzipped. His belly was a blackened mess. He stroked the metallic spines that furred his skin like chest hairs and stared, unfocused, at the flight controls in front of him.

‘Oh Christ.’

‘Best stay away,’ he said, without looking round.

‘Dude, I’m sorry.’

He shrugged.

‘When did it happen?’ asked Frost.

‘I honestly don’t know.’

‘Said you were attacked on your way back from Apache. The limo. Reckon you got bitten?’

‘Before then, I think. Maybe back in Vegas.’

‘You can’t remember?’

‘Maybe the virus breached the wire. Obvious scenario: one of Trenchman’s guys got bit when he left the compound on a supply run. A raiding party sent out to loot a supermarket. They got jumped while they loaded a train of trolleys with canned goods. Kind of situation they could deal with easy enough. Minor skirmish in the grocery aisles. Bunch of headshots. But one of the guys got bitten on the wrist or ankle, and hid the wound from his buddies. He brought the disease back to camp and, in the days that followed, started to infect his comrades. Picked his moment. In the showers, in the barracks. Waited till he was alone with a guy, then took them out. The virus quietly, methodically, taking over the camp.’

‘A hunch, right?’

‘Yeah. Supposition. We arrived on base. Someone infected Guthrie. Guthrie infected me. Then we all climbed aboard the plane.’

‘He bit you?’

‘Maybe he spat in my food. Or maybe he sneezed. Ever think of that? The virus could, under the right circumstances, be inhaled. The nasal membrane is pretty thin. It would be an effective entry point.’

‘You’ve been sick the whole time we were out here?’

‘I think so.’

‘How can you not know? We’re talking like it’s guesswork. Why can’t you remember any of this shit?’

‘I’m not real any more. I’m a simulation. I have Noble’s memories. I have the architecture of his personality. But Noble’s long gone.’

‘You’re here, now, talking to me.’

‘But no longer conscious.’

‘You’re aware that you’re unaware?’

‘I’m not aware of anything. You ask a question. The ruin of Noble’s mind vocalises a response. It’s not a conversation. More of a seance.’

‘What does it want? This disease. This sentient cancer. What does it want with us?’

‘An unanswerable question. It’s a viral organism. You can’t judge it on human terms. You can’t hope to understand its designs and desires.’

Noble casually reached up and tore a flap of skin from his forehead. The ribbon of dried flesh tore away revealing glistening muscle and, beneath it, white bone.

A dribble of blood rolled down his temple. He wiped it with the back of his hand like he was mopping sweat.

He reached up and tore his hair away like he was peeling off a wig. He threw the scalp aside. It hit the deck with a wet slap.

Frost adjusted her grip on the Beretta. Safety to Off.

‘One last question. The crash. Mechanical failure? Or did you guys sabotage the plane?’

Noble turned and smiled. He leapt onto the pilot seat, punched his way through the patched ejection hatch and began to haul himself out onto the roof.