‘Over on the mountain, thunder magic spoke

“Let the people know my wisdom, fill the land with smoke”

Better run through the jungle

Better run through the jungle

Better run through the jungle

Whoa, don’t look back to see’

Creedence Clearwater Revival

Tuva and another grabbed Jan roughly and led him away from where Christo and Aurelie stood, deep in conversation with the enemy.

He glanced back, anger growing as Christo threw back his head and laughed, placing an affirming hand on Vash’s shoulder. It seemed as though something in the world had broken; this strange, gaunt dictator had wandered out of screens and posters and into real life. And just like that, they were all supposed to believe he was an ally.

‘Today’s your lucky day, huh?’ Tuva sneered as she followed his gaze.

Jan hardly heard her. Christo had announced to them all that Vash had always hated the Dyn. But what did that matter, if his actions didn’t match his words? He was a collaborator and his hands were steeped in blood regardless of what feelings he might secretly harbour. Jan knew all too well what his involvement meant; whether it succeeded or failed, the revolution wouldn’t wipe away Arco. Work with collaborators and what did you become? Wastelanders knew this – they had seen it happen before. Half the self-styled rebels out there fought using Arco’s armaments. Christo was even more naive than Jan had feared if he didn’t suspect Vash’s motives.

As for Aurelie; she was no longer the enigma she had been. She wanted him dead; she was a threat.

Jan noticed a sudden shift in Christo; the man’s easy stance grew rigid. The change rippled outwards from him across the revolutionaries gathered on the beach, as everyone fell still. One by one they turned again to watch the cliff edge and Jan instinctively followed, his captors momentarily distracted. At last he heard it, barely audible above the rain and surf but growing in intensity, getting closer. The sound of gunfire and the drone of rotor blades. The column of soldiers, pursuing them so patiently ever since their flight from Conurbation Fifteen, had arrived.

Without warning the autocannons mounted on the crawler let rip, thudding out shells that arced away from the shore. The shots seemed to tear the revolutionaries from their collective trance, and as if on cue the beach exploded with frenetic activity.

‘- everyone into position,’ came Christo’s voice from the radio on Tuva’s belt. ‘Have the mortars fire over the cliff – spotters on the crawler can direct fire. Otherwise dig in. We only need to buy time.’

‘Tuva, I need a weapon,’ Jan called as she turned to leave him.

‘What, so you can turn it on us again? Piss off,’ she spat. ‘You stay away from our fight, and if Arco’s having a really good day they might just take you alive.’

‘Without one I’m just dead weight. I’ve got as much reason to make sure the bathyscaphe leaves as anyone,’ he pleaded.

‘You’ve got to be joking. You think Christo still wants you on the sub?’ Tuva laughed incredulously. ‘He trusted you, but he’s no fool. He won’t make that mistake twice.’

‘You think Vash deserves a place?’

‘What, because he’s a collaborator? If he is then what does that make you? You were conspiring with one of them, remember? At least he can claim to have been doing it for our good. What’s your excuse?’

‘Tuva, she’s still alive,’ he said, grabbing her shoulder as she turned to leave again. She spun round, elbowing him hard in the stomach. Jan doubled over, gasping for breath. He collapsed onto the wet shingle with his hands still bound tightly together and rolled over, trying to force himself to a sitting position.

‘Touch me again and you won’t live to regret it,’ Tuva hissed, eyes flaring with anger. ‘Stay out the way. Or better yet, go lie on one of the barricades. At least then you’d be good for something.’ She stalked off in the direction of the trenches, directing the revolutionaries to mounted weapons and cover.

Jan cast his eyes around, momentarily at a loss as to what to do. The bathyscaphe, now slung beneath a massive float, had been mounted between the twin hulls of a crude catamaran which lay at anchor just offshore. Waves were already swirling beneath its bulbous hull, yet even now Pao and the other technicians clambered over it, running last-minute checks as the tide rose and the enemy closed in around them.

His only hope of seeing his daughter again was to somehow get the Dyn onto the catamaran, then aboard the sub. But how? Even with his hands bound, Jan could stand and manage a run, but what would be the point? Tuva or Aurelie would gun him down before he ever made it to the sea, let alone the bathyscaphe.

The revolutionaries were dug in, seeking what little shelter the shallow trenches and makeshift barricades afforded. The clouds seemed to descend on them, as if even the sky was hoping to block their escape. He heard a faint rumble, which dopplered as it grew louder.

Flares erupted from the crawler atop the cliff, brilliant against the clouds, and a missile shrieked through the blinding haze, narrowly missing its mark. One of the helicopters followed; flying low, gatling cannons burring as it strafed the beach, the noise almost unbearably loud. He cowered where he lay and struggled desperately to free himself. The helicopter shot out over the sea and banked around. Still unable to loosen the cords around his hands, Jan boosted himself to a standing position. As the noise of the rotors began to louden again he half sprinted, half stumbled towards the circle of vehicles that marked the location of the Dyn prisoner, his bound hands throwing off his balance, finally reaching a supply truck and sliding past its bulk. Another strafing run sounded behind him.

The Dyn lay in that sheltered place, still immobilised. It fixed one of those soulless eyes on Jan as he came into view, only speaking as he drew close.

‘Still alive. You are resourceful, that is good.’

‘Not for much longer, not if I don’t get off this beach. Arco’s here to rescue you.’

‘I hear. But I don’t want their rescue – nothing has changed. Take me with you and I will ensure you see your daughter unharmed.’ Jan winced, but he didn’t press the alien further. They still had a deal.

‘I’m not much good to you at the moment,’ he said, showing the Dyn his hands, still trussed behind his back.

‘That is no problem. How do you think I was able to get to the photograph?’

The Dyn shifted, straining against the restraints that pinned it down. Jan took a precautionary step back, gaping as it contorted its right forelimb in a way that would have implied broken bones, had it been a terrestrial animal. It was sickening to watch, despite the Dyn’s alien physiology. The long blade-like claws that adorned each forelimb retracted and with a final twist the Dyn slipped free of the rope that had bound it.

‘You could have escaped whenever you wanted.’

‘Yet I didn’t,’ came the Dyn’s response. The stutter of gunfire was growing louder beyond the ring of vehicles.

Jan approached the Dyn warily and turned his back so that it could cut him loose. He did his best not to cringe away as its cold skin brushed against his, but the anticipated death blow never came. His hands were freed and the Dyn withdrew.

‘We need to wait for a distraction before we can make for the sub,’ said Jan, rubbing his wrists where the rope had chafed. ‘Arco will be forced to push down onto the beach if they’re hoping to free you – that will be our best chance. Until then, lie low.’ He fumbled with the knots that still bound the Dyn’s other limbs.

He heard the crump of explosions as the mortar teams fired a volley at assailants still unseen. It just lay there, unresponsive.

‘Do you understand?’ he pressed.

‘I understand.’

‘Good. Time to make myself useful,’ said Jan, glancing around furtively. He ducked away from the shelter of the vehicles and backed out into the open, making for the nearest trench.

The first helicopter flew back out over the beach, exchanging fire with the crawler, heavy calibre machine guns raking over the armoured top decks. The crawler’s autocannons found their mark, lines of tracer converging on the helicopter, sending it spinning out of the sky. The rotor blades shredded apart as they hit the waves, sending debris and spray flying. As Jan closed to within meters of the trench, a pair of missiles streaked out of nowhere, arrowing into the side of the crawler. He felt the concussion in his chest.

The first missile detonated ineffectively against the crawler’s armoured flank. The second made it through. It must have ignited something within, as a brilliant flash gored the massive vehicle open, throwing up a great pillar of smoke and sending scraps of debris raining down on the beach. Jan saw a few surviving revolutionaries dashing clear, abseiling down the cliff in disarray. With the crawler gone it wouldn’t be long before Arco had secured the clifftop, enabling them to lay down suppressing fire.

Jan made it to one of the trenches just moments before the first shots thwacked into the barricades. He dived to the ground beside a revolutionary. The fighter, head mostly covered by a metal shell-helmet, didn’t even turn to look at the new arrival, preoccupied by enemies on the cliff above.

‘I don’t have a weapon!’ Jan shouted, his voice drowned out as another barrage of mortar shells struck the clifftop. The suppressing fire abated.

‘Out the way!’ The fighter motioned impatiently for Jan to move, and crouching low he returned fire, taking advantage of the brief lull. Spent rounds clinked off the shingle.

He’d done his frantic best to plan ahead, but already the available ways out seemed to be vanishing. If he could get hold of a gun, then he had a better chance of making it to the bathyscaphe. If he could rendezvous with the Dyn then maybe he could get it aboard and escape… But who was he kidding? Christo was right. They were all out of plan. He couldn’t pretend this was anything more than improvising.

The revolutionary next to Jan slumped forwards, his helmet holed by a high calibre round, his rifle slipping from his grasp. Jan dived for the man’s weapon and hefted it, settling the stock against his shoulder.

A dark shape roared overhead, close enough that Jan could feel the downdraft, twin blades fanning the smoke away. The helicopter discharged another volley of micro-missiles on the line of trenches, and the world whited out as explosions engulfed heavy weapons, support vehicles and revolutionaries alike. Jan ducked down again, getting as low as he could and only daring to raise his head when the gunship had passed.

Armour clad Enforcers leapt from the helicopter as it descended to hover barely fifty metres from where the Dyn lay, still concealed, and they fanned out amid the smoke and debris, taking advantage of the chaos to push on the trenches.

As the helicopter attempted to lift away it was caught in the glare of Christo’s strange gun, the metal glowing with heat where that pale beam of light caught it. The fuel on board went up and the aircraft spiralled out of control, belching flame. Christo was running towards the Arco troopers, seemingly heedless of the danger, already turning the gun on the advancing figures. A number of Enforcers, caught out of cover, collapsed in flames as Christo’s beam weapon played across their useless armour, and the revolutionaries rallied around him. Their triumph was short-lived, as more reinforcements arrived.

Jan turned his weapon towards the advancing squad. The recoil sent his shots wide, the noise deafening. Another revolutionary was knocked down beside Jan, a burst of gunfire from a squad of Enforcers zipping very close to his shoulder. Another squad rushed towards Jan and the surviving revolutionaries.

Jan levelled his rifle at another Enforcer, braced for the recoil this time, and fired again until the rifle clicked; no more ammo. The remaining Enforcers reached their position, one of them drawing a bayonet knife. Jan swung the butt of the rifle wildly at the soldier’s arm.

The stock of the rifle smashed the knife out of the enemy’s hands and another jab at the his face sent him sprawling to the ground. Jan grabbed a fallen gun, swinging it around as he fired. The stubby carbine coughed and fired a nanowire flechette that tore the enemy’s chest armour apart.

He never even saw who threw the grenade. A moving shape caught his eye, and before his mind had processed the thought he was backpedalling frantically. Then the blast came.

As his vision cleared and the ringing in his ears died away Jan patted himself down, frantically checking for shrapnel wounds; he seemed to be okay. Then he caught sight of a body lying nearby, its face obscured by an unruly tangle of black hair. His heart dropped.

Jan rushed over to where Christo lay, momentarily oblivious to the precariousness of his position and dragged him back into cover, fearing the worst. The man was still alive, but only just; his pulse was weak and his breathing ragged. A brutal gash marred his torso, cutting from diaphragm to navel. Jan tore his top into strips and did his best to bind the wound.

Jan glanced from the catamaran, still floating on the sea behind, to Christo and back, torn by indecision. Of the Dyn there was no trace, it’s hiding place was already overrun. He just had to hope it had somehow escaped. If he didn’t move soon the Enforcers would be upon him and he would never see Eva again regardless of what had happened to the alien. But Christo was hurt, and he couldn’t bring himself to leave him there to die.

‘We need help!’ he called over the din of battle. ‘Christo’s injured!’ His own voice sounded distant and wrong. A couple of fighters ran past, but they either didn’t hear him or didn’t care.

‘Someone, help me!’ Jan called again, his voice hoarse.

Another figure clambered over the barricade, rifle slung over one shoulder; Tuva. She snarled when she saw him and for a moment he thought she would shoot him, but then she noticed Christo and rushed to kneel by his side. She cursed under her breath.

‘We’re going to get you out of here, Christo,’ she promised, barely bothering to conceal her distress. ‘You’re not going to be a martyr today. How bad is it?’ she asked, turning to Jan.

Jan’s expression must have said all that needed saying.

‘Help me get him up,’ she snapped. ‘We’re leaving. Might not be how he pictured it, but right now I don’t give a crap.’

Together they lifted him, one under each arm, and struggled down to the surf as quickly as they could manage. Christo’s beret and bandolier, the affectations of a revolutionary, lay discarded behind them.

Caught between the withering hail of fire from the clifftop and the soldiers pressing from the flank, the resolve of the remaining fighters collapsed. They fled in disarray, in the only direction they could. Breaking cover, many never even made it to the sea before they were gunned down. Jan’s only hope of making it off the beach himself lay in being one target amongst many.

Jan and Tuva waded into the surf, Christo a dead weight between them, his head lolling and his feet dragging through the water. Tuva muttered assurances to Christo all the while, as much to convince herself, Jan suspected, as to console the comatose revolutionary. He glanced over his shoulder; the Arco troops had stopped advancing, firing in short bursts at the fleeing mob plunging into the sea.

He ignored the bodies floating face down in the water that rose around him and the bullets whizzing past, keeping his eyes fixed determinedly ahead, on Aurelie and the bathyscaphe.

‘Jan?’

He was so focussed on keeping his head above the waves, on getting to the bathyscaphe, that he didn’t even notice the sudden absence at first, a silence more deafening than the battle that had preceded it.

‘Jan!’ hissed Tuva, more urgently this time.

The shooting had ceased, as abruptly as it had begun.

‘Look – Arco are pulling back…’ He turned to look back at the beach and even as she spoke the words his blood ran cold at the realisation. ‘The Dyn – they’re going to bomb us.’

They didn’t hesitate, swimming for the catamaran as hard as they could, thrashing at the water, dragging Christo along with them. Jan drew on every last reserve of strength he had left. His vision clouded, but he forced himself to keep struggling against the waves.

He pictured the sky above the clouds alive with alien stars, visible even in full daylight. An entire constellation, radiating malevolent intent, manoeuvring into position overhead. They had minutes at best to get as far away from here as possible.

The other survivors had also realised what was happening. Fortunately they had a head start on most of those fleeing, but, not burdened by Christo, the others were catching up.

The lonely bark of a warning shot sounded from the catamaran, bleak and hopeless. The revolutionaries were desperate and in no mood to listen – what difference would it make to heed that warning if it only meant death moments later at the hands of those above? More shots rang out in quick succession and Jan saw a man fall from the deck into the waters and the gathering crowd below, to shouts of outrage and desperation. Aurelie and a pair of guards held the line for now, but for how much longer? Soon they would be overwhelmed by sheer weight of numbers.

‘Get back!’ Aurelie shouted, her face betraying dismay when she saw Jan and Tuva amid the crowd.

‘We have Christo – he’s injured!’ Tuva called as they swam closer. That drew their attention. ‘There’s medical supplies on the sub. He needs help urgently!’

‘There’s no room – Christo wouldn’t want to jeopardise the mission…’ Aurelie trailed off as she saw the injured revolutionary, the expression on her face pained. The mob around them erupted anew with accusations, threats and pleas.

‘Christo built this revolution!’ challenged one voice. ‘He should get his chance.’

‘Just let him on long enough to see to his wounds. Please, I can help him,’ implored another.

‘We stick to the plan,’ Aurelie said firmly. She’d lowered the gun.

‘What plan? You said you weren’t leaving us to die!’ You could scarcely see her wince.

‘Where’s the Arco traitor – is he already onboard?’

‘Coward! You only want to escape yourself!’

‘Get back!’ Aurelie shouted again as another man attempted to climb up the hull. One of the guards kicked at his hands, forcing him to let go. Pao whispered in her ear, the words inaudible over the mob, but Jan knew what had been said. They were ready to leave. Despair flooded through him.

Suddenly something fast and serpentine rushed past his leg. Without warning the Dyn exploded from the water, clambering up the hull and using it’s tails to swing itself onto the deck in a single fluid motion. It scythed Pao and Aurelie’s legs out from underneath them with another whiplash flick of those tails then turned on the nearest guard. He fired on the alien but his sidearm didn’t even slow it down. The Dyn slit his throat with a swipe of a vicious blade-like claw.

‘Help me get Christo on board,’ said Jan, climbing up after the Dyn. Tuva didn’t respond.

Jan looked down to see Tuva as paralysed with shock as everyone else was, the survivors suddenly momentarily unsure whether they really wanted to be up there on the catamaran afterall.

‘Come on, now’s our only chance,’ he urged, dropping a rope. Blank faced, Tuva did as he suggested, looping the rope under Christo’s arms then pulling herself up after him.

The final guard had put the bulk of the bathyscaphe’s float between him and the Dyn, and opened fire on it with an assault rifle, driving it into cover. Behind it Aurelie scrambled for her own weapon, but she was too late. The Dyn plunged from the deck, only to reemerge behind the second guard and in an instant it had him hostage, a claw at his neck.

Aurelie barely hesitated, but it was enough. The Dyn flung the man’s body at her as she opened fire, diving for the hatch. It pulled itself inside, disappearing into the depths of the sub. She rounded on Jan, face livid, pulling him towards the hatch as the other revolutionaries came to their senses.

‘We have to get the Dyn off the sub,’ she hissed.

‘There’s no time. Do you want to start a fight with that thing inside?’ he asked.

Aurelie’s expression was thunderous, but she didn’t stop Jan as he pushed past her and Pao, helping Tuva manhandle Christo’s inert form through the hatch and down into the bathyscaphe.

‘Are you sure we can’t take anymore?’ he asked her, although if Jan was honest with himself he already knew her answer.

‘We can’t take everyone! There’s not enough room!’ Aurelie shouted over the rising uproar.

Pao struggled inside, as the first boarders began sprinting for the hatch. Jan and Aurelie followed Pao, swinging the hatch closed just seconds before the press of bodies hit them. He caught a glimpse of frantic scrabbling hands, of faces contorted in desperation, faces he recognised, pleading with him, wondering why they had been left behind to die. Then the heavy door was shut and their pleas silenced. Even their fists beating against the thick metal sounded distant.

Jan slid down the ladder, dropping into the capsule. There really wasn’t enough room; they were a seat short, even if you ignored the Dyn, which would have been some feat considering the bulk of its coiled form. It lay in a corner, motionless and unresponsive, as though none of the events of the past hour had ever happened.

Vash had folded himself, spider-like, into one of the seats furthest from the entrance and closest to the Dyn, seemingly entirely unperturbed by it’s presence. Tuva had already strapped Christo into one of the seats opposite and was doing what she could to see to his wounds, before she in turn would have to strap herself in. Christo was drifting in and out of consciousness, glancing around the cramped capsule, too disoriented to comprehend where he was or who he was with.

Pao busied himself with the controls as Jan staggered to his feet, still trying to take in his baffling surroundings. Through the small porthole in the wall, Jan thought he could make out a faint brightening through the clouds, as if the sun had come out, only not so.

Aurelie lunged across the capsule, shoving past Jan and Pao, slamming down a red lever on the console. She braced herself against a bulkhead as the solid fuel motors activated in rapid succession, sending the catamaran skimming away from the shore and throwing those that still clung to the hull into the sea. Jan was blasted into a wall, concussed by the sudden shock of the launch. Through the porthole, the sky brightened further.

As he faded in and out of consciousness, Jan thought it fortunate that they had decided to rig the controls for the catamaran through the bathyscaphe for their just-in-time escape. Then as he remembered those poor, desperate souls abandoned to their fate, he wondered darkly whether that too had been intentional; if Aurelie had designed the escape system with this very eventuality in mind. There was no celebration of their survival. It just didn’t seem right.

‘We made it,’ Christo managed, his voice barely above a whisper, as he reached over to clasp Aurelie’s hand in his. Jan saw her anguished smile as she squeezed his hand back. As he lapsed back into oblivion Jan reflected on the small mercy that at least Christo had not had to see his dream so sullied by its confrontation with base reality.

The Dyn projectiles flared brightly as they sliced through the mesosphere, the intense heat of re-entry ablating their outer surfaces. They were little more than metal needles with steering vanes and just enough intelligence to recognise the landmark they were aimed at – a shallow bay littered with corpses and broken machinery.

As each one rushed downwards at eight kilometres per second, punching contrails of plasma through the clouds, they paid no heed to the strange, ungainly vehicle skimming away from their target across the ocean. The catamaran had barely travelled more than a kilometre when the projectiles struck.

They impacted in a perfectly choreographed sequence, some at the cliffs and others at specific points along the beach. The explosions merged into a single pulse of heat and light, blasting out a plume of vapour that formed the beginnings of a mushroom cloud. Of revolutionary and soldier alike, there was no trace.

The blast front arrived only a few seconds after the solid fuel motors cut out and Aurelie released the clamps that had held the bathyscaphe in place. The catamaran was shredded and light shone through the water above the bathyscaphe, boiling it to steam, the shockwave violent enough to render the occupants unconscious. The hull rang like a gong and equipment clattered out of racks to smother the survivors, but somehow the bathyscaphe held together and continued to sink beneath the ocean surface, turning end-over-end like a bloated corpse.

End of Part I