Falling Light
Page 13

Disoriented, bewildered, she forced her chilled muscles to work. She didn’t trust her shaky balance on the streaming wet deck. She crawled past the cabin Michael had entered until she reached some kind of flattened door.
Think nautical. Maybe that was the hatch. She tried the latch. It was locked. She stumbled toward the cabin again as the boat’s powerful engine growled to life.
She managed to grab hold of the edge of the narrow doorway as Michael slammed the boat into reverse and gunned the engine. It roared out of the slip. The water was so rough the boat bucked violently as they pulled out. It slammed against the neighboring boat and dragged along the side with a long, earsplitting screech.
“Is the hatch locked?” Michael asked without looking at her. As soon as the boat was clear of the slip, he spun the wheel hard and changed gears, and the boat’s engine labored to comply.
“Yes,” she gasped. She looked through the rain-smeared glass back toward shore. Fire trucks ringed the bombed vehicles, which were still blazing in spite of the storm’s deluge. Silhouettes of armed men raced toward the dock.
“Get down,” he told her.
She got down.
More gunfire. Some of the bullets may have struck their boat. She wasn’t sure. With her head so close to the deck, the roar of the engine filled her ears. The boat creaked in complaint as Michael threw the throttle wide open. He returned fire in short, sharp bursts. Then the gunfire ceased.
She couldn’t see anything so she closed her eyes and waited. It felt like a long time. Nothing was stable, nothing. They rose and fell, shuddering with each wave they hit. With the small cabin door broken, they were exposed to the storm. Frigid, filthy water swirled around her.
She thought of sliding out the open doorway with the next toss of the waves, and she groped until she found something that was bolted to the deck. She wrapped an arm around it, anchoring herself in place.
At last, Michael said, “Okay. We’re out of gunshot range. Mary. You can get up now.”
She nodded in the dark. It sounded good in theory.
A hand connected with her shoulder, groped down her arm and tightened in a grip just above her elbow. “Come on,” he coaxed.
With his help, she forced her cramped and trembling body upright. He pulled her back against him with one arm and held her tight, while he maintained a strong grip on the steering wheel with the other. The control dials provided a slight illumination. Beyond the tiny cabin she could see the Lake swelling into waves that had to be as high as fifteen feet.
Michael put his mouth by her ear. “How bad off are you?”
She said through numb lips, “I’m pretty depleted.”
“I want you to do one last thing if you can,” he told her. “We need to try to get farther out into the bay. Take the wheel and hold us on our course while I break into the galley. It’ll be just for a few minutes. Can you do that?”
She nodded. He pulled her in front of the steering wheel. Her cold hands and feet were about as wieldy as blocks of wood, and she had lost most of the strength in her grip, so she wedged her forearms in between the spokes of the wheel. She felt the power of the storm vibrating through the tension in the structure.
Michael disappeared. She kept her hold on the wheel by leaning her body against it. She held on through a dark, swirling space of time, while the engine strained and the boat rose and plummeted again and again.
Then he was back, shouldering through the narrow doorway. He came up behind her and enveloped her in a dry blanket.
“Waste of a g-good blanket,” she stuttered. Her clothes were as sodden as if she’d tripped and fallen in the water.
“There’s more down below.”
He reached over to turn off the engine and pulled her away from the wheel.
“What are you doing?” she gasped.
It was terrifying to hear the sound of the engine die away, to be replaced by the wild sounds of wind and rain and the interminable roar of the Lake.
“There’s nothing more we can do,” he said. “The boat’s engine is too small—we’re not making any headway against the storm. We have to trust Astra now, and the entities that are allied with her. Come on.”
He clamped an arm tight around her and supported her drunken progress along the treacherous slippery deck. Then he transferred his grip to around her waist. He half-carried her down the narrow steps to the galley, twisting to slam the hatch shut behind them.
A battery-powered emergency light was fastened high against one wall. By its faint glow she could see a tiny kitchenette and a small table bolted to the floor, surrounded by booth seats. Against the far wall of the kitchenette was a narrow doorway that led to darkness.
The boat rolled, and Michael staggered. He pushed her into the nearest seat. “Can you strip off your wet clothes and shoes?”
“S-sure.” She fumbled with the buttons of the flannel shirt but she couldn’t feel her fingers, so she dragged it over her head and dropped the sodden material on the floor.
The boat creaked and groaned. It sounded like it was alive and in pain. Michael made his way to the shadowed doorway beyond the kitchenette.
She struggled to remove her wet shoes as he dragged two narrow mattresses onto the floor from bunks on either side of the doorway. He stacked them on top of each other. Then he opened a cabinet, pulled out a pile of blankets and pillows and threw them on the mattresses.
He walked back to her, maintaining his balance with bracing handholds on nearby cabinets. She managed to get her jeans unbuttoned and unzipped as he knelt in front of her. He took one of her narrow feet in his hands and stripped off her sock.
“Jesus,” he said. He took her other foot and peeled the sock off. “Your feet are like ice. Lie back.”
She complied, flopping back in the booth and lifting her hips when he told her to. He dragged her heavy wet jeans over her slim legs. She sighed in relief as the freezing denim left her skin.
Michael pulled her back to a sitting position. The blanket she’d kept draped across her shoulders fell away. She was naked except for her panties. He stared for a long silent moment at the high, gentle curve of her br**sts, her narrow rib cage and the slight swell of her abdomen.
Her blue-tinged skin was raised with goose bumps and mottled with several small purplish marks. He gently touched the purple mark on her rib cage under her left breast, then the one at her collarbone.
“Jesus,” he said again. “How many times did you get shot?”
“F-four or five,” she replied. “I l-lost count.”
His eyes were stark and black in the dim light. They shimmered with sudden wetness. “I’m so sorry,” he said from the back of his throat. He pulled the blanket tight around her with hands that shook. “I didn’t sense them hiding there. I never would have told you to run to the dock if I had. I didn’t sense anything but that creature guarding the shoreline—”
“Shut up, Michael,” she said wearily. A convulsive shudder rippled through her aching body. “It’s not your f-fault. God, I feel like I’m never going to be warm again.”
He reacted immediately, standing and drawing her to her feet. With one arm around her waist and the other protecting their progress against the roll of the boat, he helped her to the mattresses on the floor.
She crawled on them and, wracked with violent shivers, she fell face-first onto one of the pillows. She felt weight on her body increase as he piled more blankets on top of her. They smelled like mothballs.
The small room was in near total darkness, like a cave, shot intermittently with white flashes of lightning that showed through two small, round portholes set high near the ceiling. Michael tucked cushions from the booth on either side of the makeshift bed. Then he lifted one corner of the blankets and slid the length of his naked body next to hers.
Compared with the hazardous chill of her body temperature, his skin felt furnace-hot. He pulled her against the wide bulk of his chest, wrapping his arms tight around her, and he hooked one heavily muscled leg over hers. She put her arms around him, rested her head on his chest and groaned as spasms racked her body.
“Shh,” he murmured. He rubbed at her back, her arms and her legs. “It’ll get better in a minute.”
“I know,” she gritted.
Soon the combined warmth from their bodies soaked in deep. Bit by bit the clench of her muscles loosened. She rubbed her cheek against the sprinkle of crisp hair on his chest, savoring his warmth and the simple animal comfort of being held. That was when she realized he was shaking almost as badly as she had been.
She tried to lift her head but his hold on her was too tight. She stroked the broad, taut muscles of his back. “Michael?”
In a voice so low and raw, she could barely hear it over the creak of the boat and the lash of the wind, he whispered, “I can’t lose you. Not so soon after finding you again. Not after so long.”
She was glad she had warmed enough so her reply could be steady and gentle. “You won’t lose me. I’m not going anywhere. My memories are returning, and I’ve got my sense of identity back. I’m not about to let go when I’ve just started to really live. Did you see? I even shot your damn gun.”
With one hand at the back of her head, he pressed her face into his neck. A smile threaded through the other emotions in his voice. “I know, I saw.”
She stroked his hair. “Do you think I hit anything?”
“Probably not. But you made them duck for cover, which is the most important thing.”
Was it? She relaxed further. “That’s all right then.”
“Yes.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and kept his mouth there. “That’s all right then.”
The boat pitched and tossed, the movement unpredictable. Michael rolled onto his back and held her tight against him, one arm wrapped around her waist and his legs spread wide as he braced them both from the worst of the rolling.
She curled into his side, her head on his bare shoulder, one leg hooked over his. The beat of his heart was steady and calm under her ear. Soon she trusted his support so totally her body fell lax. She had used up too many of her resources to continue being afraid.
For a short while, seasickness tried to take hold. She couldn’t decide if she would vomit or fall asleep.
With a cranky mutter, she focused and shifted something inside and the nausea vanished. Then her own exhausted body took her away from the whirling dark cabin into a darkness that went much deeper.
Chapter Ten
THE ENTITY WAS one of the great behemoths of Earth.
Born several thousand years ago, its body was carved from a massive sheet of ice that had once covered the northern hemisphere. It was three hundred and seven miles long, a hundred and eighteen miles wide, and nearly a thousand feet deep.
Humans ascribed a feminine gender to it, but the truth was that it had neither a male nor female spirit. Generally, it paid no more attention to the humans that relied upon it for sustenance, skimmed across its surface or played along its edges than a dog paid attention to its fleas.
It was also one of the oldest entities on Earth, and now it was dying. Parts of it already rotted with such cancers as decay and pollution and radiation poisoning, from the Cook Nuclear Power Plant in the southwestern part of Michigan, or the greater Chicago area, or the coastline along the city of Milwaukee in Wisconsin. Careless industrialization was slowly but surely bringing its temperature up to the equivalent of a long-lasting fever that would kill off all its marine life.
Because it was so immense, its death would take several decades or even as long as a century. For now, it lay in its rocky bed under an infinite sky, endlessly shifting throughout the interchanging seasons. It was most asleep during the winter, most awake during the summer, most restless during the greening season.
When it was asked if it would dance with the folk of the air, those stern towering thunder spirits, it accepted with easy pleasure. All creatures danced and mated in the spring. But then it was asked to do something more.
Lake Michigan chuckled to itself at the absurdity of the request. Searching for two tiny humanlike creatures along its vast surface was like looking for a pair of needles in a haystack.
Still, it bore some affection for the person that asked, who, while as tiny as a human creature, was after all at least as old as itself.
They had been friends for a long time.
So it would try.
Chapter Eleven
MARY DREAMED OF a darkness that creaked and shifted, of strong, bare, warm limbs that tangled with hers, and of a queasy stomach that never quite needed to empty, nor did it quite allow her to sink into complete unconsciousness.
At some point, her dream shifted outside, to the wild lash of rain and the tempestuous writhing of the Lake. There seemed something sexual in the commingling of energies, the gushing wetness of the roaring wind and the airy, champagne-like bubbling of the foamy waves.
Thunder rumbled like guttural laughter that echoed across the heavens. The sound intrigued her and drew her out of her body. She left Michael dozing, and traveled through the kitchenette and up the steps to the hatch.
Then she passed through the hatch, for it was only a physical barrier, and she stood on the pitching deck. The corporeal sting of the cold and rain could not touch her, but the storm’s energy was exhilarating, and she raised a hand to it in gleeful salute.
Something vast chuckled overhead. Unafraid, she climbed to the top of the boat’s cabin. Once there she crossed her legs and sat, perching on the roof as light as a thought, while the glow from her energy shone like a beacon in the darkness.
Something was happening. Something was coming. She had roused in response to it. She cocked her head and waited.
It came out of the deep so gently, at first she hadn’t realized it had arrived.
Gradually she grew aware that the boat was cupped like a tiny toy held in colossal hands. A black, archetypical eye, huge as the mouth of a volcano, peered at her from below, and all the foaming water was the creature’s streaming hair.