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Buying Time
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Alex sat in the back of the taxi, cursing quietly to himself.
“How could I have been so stupid?” he whispered. “What the hell was I thinking? I’m really in for it now.”
He couldn’t work out just why he had acted the way he did. The circumstances had been more than a little suspicious — but to leave the case; why didn’t he just carry it off the plane with him? He had acted so out of character — it was years since he had panicked like that.
He breathed deeply, trying to take stock and work out just how he could salvage the situation. He could go to Stanstead Airport when he got off the coach and try to reclaim the case. That in itself was very risky. Customs were bound to have searched it.
Oh, this was a bad situation to be in; he cursed his stupidity again.
The other option was to try and contact Dragor, although it was likely that he had left for a safe-house straight after their meeting. Alex knew he would get a dressing-down from Dragor either way, but he may have some useful advice or information.
“Driver, change of plan. Could we stop off at Green Lane please?” said Alex.
“Gone past there now, mate,” grunted the driver dully.
“Well, turn around then,” he snarled. Alex wasn’t a big man, but he had a presence about him, and could exude a certain ferocity when he needed to.
“Alright, alright, keep your hair on,” grumbled the driver. “You’re the one paying for your mistakes.”
“That’s right,” whispered Alex to himself. He wondered what the price of this particular error would be.
“Where about’s mate?” asked the taxi driver, as they pulled into Green Lane.
Alex looked up from the note he was scribbling on the inside lid of his cigarette packet.
“Slow down, keep driving straight down here,” he said peering out of the window at the run-down houses and shop-fronts.
“Here, stop here,” he called, as they pulled up to a derelict semi-detached house. “Wait for me; I’ll only be a second,” he said as he dashed out of the car.
“Hey, wait!” shouted the driver, but Alex had already disappeared down a narrow overgrown alley alongside the house. “Shit,” he cursed. “You’d better come back, you arsehole.”
After a few seconds, Alex appeared out of the alley and jumped back in the car.
“Drive please,” he said, looking around anxiously. “The Angel Hotel, Grove Street.”
“You sure this time?” muttered the driver miserably.
* * *
“I can’t go on any further, I just can’t, I’m sorry.”
O’Keefe sat crouched against a low rock, his arms wrapped around his knees.
“Look, Dan, we had this out back in the cave,” pleaded Davisson. “If we don’t get those spare tanks, we are going to die. We don’t know if that thing is still there or not, it’s been over four hours.” Saul knelt next to O’Keefe. For all his words he still couldn’t help himself from glancing anxiously around for any sign of the creature. A deep buried fear had been awakened by its presence.
“I just can’t do it,” sobbed O’Keefe.
Davisson glanced inquiringly up at Starling who gave a hopeless shrug.
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“Look, Dan,” said Saul desperately, “the suits are failing. If we leave you here we may not be able to find you on the way back; we can’t afford to split up.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t,” whispered O’Keefe despondently.
Davisson gave a sigh and stood up.
“Okay, Dan, it’s alright. Just stay here and sit tight. Don’t try and make it back to the cave on your own, understood? We’ll get the air tanks, then we’ll pick you up on the way back.”
O’Keefe didn’t acknowledge the three men as they trudged off through the howling gale, following Starling’s ailing positioning system.
Davisson looked at his arms and hands as they walked. A thick crust of red corrosion caked his gauntlets. The paint covering the metal plates on his suit was blistered and chipped in the harsh environment. He pulled open the wrist panel to run his suit’s diagnostics and the metal case broke off in his hand. He crumbled it between his fingers and it broke up into flakes of rust. He wondered how long his suit would remain intact, and tried not to ponder the integrity of the spare air tanks which they were desperately searching for.
Starling stopped and crouched down just ahead of them. Davisson froze, staring hard into the dust cloud, trying to glimpse any sign of the nightmarish creature. He crept cautiously up to Starling’s shoulder.
“What is it?” he whispered.
Suddenly from out of the dust reared a towering black shadow. There was a loud crack like a whip, and Saul fell backwards with a shriek, his arms held up over his face. He caught a glimpse of the shadow speeding towards Starling, who crouched paralysed with fear. The great black shape struck him and engulfed him in an instant.
Davisson rolled and got to his knees, desperately crawling away, sobbing and coughing. His whole body shook with terror. He tried to blank out the shrieking he heard, blasting in his earpiece, but then he realised it was not screaming at all but laughter.
“It’s the tent; it’s the bloody tent!” he heard Starling call over and over again, laughing with relief.
Davisson stopped and crumpled to the earth. He looked around to see Starling and Nicks struggling with a large piece of tattered silver fabric. Starling was still sitting on the ground laughing softly to himself, as the heavy material whipped about him in the gale. Saul rolled on to his side, gasping in relief.
“The bloody tent,” chuckled Starling to himself. “Thanks for leaping to my assistance Saul,” he giggled.
“I’m sorry, I, er —”
“It’s okay,” said Starling, calming down. “I thought I was a goner there though. Come on, let’s get going.”
“Are we at the camp then?” whispered Davisson.
“No, this piece of fabric has just caught on some rocks. The camp should be about fifty metres ahead.” Starling’s voice had taken on a nervous tone, as the reality of the situation sunk in once again.
They staggered on through the storm, barely able to see ten feet in front of them. Soon dark shapes started to loom out of the red swirling dust. Jumbles of smashed boxes and equipment lay strewn across the rocks.
“There goes the atmos-testing kit,” joked Nicks bleakly, as they came upon the shattered remains of the apparatus. “The tent with the canisters should be over there I think.”
They crept forward, ready to take flight at the first sight of the creature, but all they saw and heard was the howling of the storm.
After a time they discovered the site where the tent had stood. Now only a few fragments of material remained, whipping about in the gale. Amid the jumble of broken equipment they found the stack of air canisters in surprisingly good condition.
“Thank the lord,” breathed Starling. “Dan? Dan, are you still there?” There was a burst of static in their ears.
“Dan, are you there?” asked Saul, looking towards the others in concern.
“Yeah, I’m still here,” came a faint voice, barely audible over the crackle.
“Great, Dan. Look, we’ve found all the tanks, they’re all intact; we’ll be back soon,” Davisson reassured him as they started the process of swapping their canisters over.
“I can hear things — out in the storm,” whispered O’Keefe faintly.
“You just hang in there, Dan,” said Davisson. “Come on, hurry it up, hurry it up,” he whispered to himself as he screwed the valves on the heavy canister, all the while glancing nervously around. “Keep talking to us, Dan,” he said, trying to sound confident.
“I can hear them, I can hear them,” O’Keefe sobbed quietly.
“You’ll be alright, Dan, do you hear? We’re coming back now, okay? We’re on our way.”
“Hurry,” came back the whispered plea from O’Keefe.
Soon they were trudging back as fast as they could towards O’Keefe, struggling under the weight of the two spare tanks — Dan’s and Pattie’s.
Davisson stumbled along between Nicks and Starling. The three carried the two tanks between them, and in his spare hand Nicks carried a short sample axe which he’d found in the wreckage. He glanced nervously from side to side, the weapon held up in front of him. He looked far too strung out, thought Saul.
“Dan, how are you doing?” he asked once again over the commlink. After a few more calls, a weak voice came back:
“Okay I guess. I can see their shadows in the storm. I can hear them.”
The three gave each other anxious glances.
“You just hang in there, Dan; we’re nearly there okay?” said Davisson.
“Okay,” whimpered O’Keefe.
“Gary, how far away are we?” whispered Davisson breathlessly.
They stopped, and Starling studied the panel on his wrist, wiping away the dust and corrosion. He banged it a couple of times.
“Nearly there,” he gasped. “Over to the left a bit, about one hundred metres.”
When they finally came upon O’Keefe, he was in the same position as they had left him. They swapped his tank over for him, then led him back up the gully.
“I could hear them,” he whispered as they walked.
Another quarter of an hour, and they were sitting exhausted in the comparative peace of the cave.
“Okay,” gasped Saul, stretching his aching legs, “now we can wait for the rescue team.”
Nobody said a word, or looked at him. They had not heard anything from Control for almost seven hours now.
They all knew that something must have gone badly wrong back home.