Read Online Empire: Book 2, The Chronicles of the Invaders (The Chronicles of the Invaders Trilogy) by John Connolly, Jennifer Ridyard - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Connolly, Jennifer Ridyard
Ads: Link
with which to work on the splinters, if necessary. Paul and Steven left him to it, and set about figuring out a way to secure a line to the shuttle.
Paul found a loose strut on the walkway’s support rail, and tied one end of the wire securely around it. The shuttle platform was a single sheet of metal, with no holes or slats into which a weighted cable might jam, so their best bet seemed to be to aim the strut for the shuttle itself. It stood on raised landing pegs, not dissimilar to those of a helicopter, so Paul tried for the nearest of those. The first time he missed entirely, and the second and third times he managed only to hit the shuttle itself, even knocking something from its body with the final impact.
“Was that bit important?” he asked Steven.
“I’d prefer not to be up in the air when we find out,” said Steven. “Maybe you could try not to reduce the shuttle to scrap metal before we even manage to board it.”
After each attempt Paul had to draw the strut carefully back across the sand. The last thing he wanted was for one of those creatures to pull it underground, and perhaps him along with it.
Paul threw again. This time the strut caught beneath one of the pegs. Paul gave it an experimental tug. It held. He leaned back and hauled as hard as he could. Still the strut did not move.
“That may be as good as we’re going to get,” he said. He fixed the other end of the cable to the walkway.
“Somebody is going to have to be the first to try it,” said Steven.
“That would be me.”
“I’m lighter.”
“You’re the pilot. If you fall, we’re stuck here.”
“Peris can fly a shuttle.”
“Not like you can. Look, I did the throwing, and I’ll take the chance. Once I’ve made certain that the line is secure, you can follow me down. We’ll take the shuttle to the wall and pick everyone else up from the air.”
De Souza would have to be helped on board, but Rizzo looked like she could make it herself. Thula had removed most of the silicon shards from her flesh, although smaller fragments probably remained, and she was now sitting up and taking water. The back of her shirt was dark with blood.
Paul was wearing his combat gloves. They’d give him a pretty secure grip on the cable. In an ideal world he’d have a clip to attach to the line, but the world in which they found themselves was far from ideal. Instead he fashioned a support harness from his bandolier. It wouldn’t be much help to him if the line didn’t hold, but if he lost his grip it might prevent him from falling to the sand. In the end, it was a psychological comfort, if nothing more.
Peris and Thula came over as Paul, seated on the walkway rail, was hooking his makeshift harness over the line.
“Are you sure about this?” said Peris.
“No,” said Paul. “Not that it makes much difference.”
At that moment the wall shook and a section nearby came loose and tumbled to the ground, leaving a massive gap in the wall. Had the wall weakened on the other side, it might well have landed on the shuttle, dooming them.
“On your way, then,” said Peris. “We don’t have all day. And if you need further encouragement, take a look over there.”
He pointed north, to where the fierce blue skies of Torma had vanished.
“What is that?” said Steven.
“A sandstorm,” said Peris. “It’ll sweep us from the walls, if they don’t collapse first.”
Paul said a silent prayer, curled his legs over the wire at the ankles, gave the line one final tug, and began his descent. He moved quickly, wanting to spend as little time as possible suspended over the rippling sands. He tried not to think about falling, to concentrate only on dragging himself along the line. His arms were aching already, and he was not even halfway there. His own body, his exhaustion, the heat, all conspired against him. The line sagged above him, dragged down by his weight. He had a vision of the strut shifting, its perilous hold on the
Paul found a loose strut on the walkway’s support rail, and tied one end of the wire securely around it. The shuttle platform was a single sheet of metal, with no holes or slats into which a weighted cable might jam, so their best bet seemed to be to aim the strut for the shuttle itself. It stood on raised landing pegs, not dissimilar to those of a helicopter, so Paul tried for the nearest of those. The first time he missed entirely, and the second and third times he managed only to hit the shuttle itself, even knocking something from its body with the final impact.
“Was that bit important?” he asked Steven.
“I’d prefer not to be up in the air when we find out,” said Steven. “Maybe you could try not to reduce the shuttle to scrap metal before we even manage to board it.”
After each attempt Paul had to draw the strut carefully back across the sand. The last thing he wanted was for one of those creatures to pull it underground, and perhaps him along with it.
Paul threw again. This time the strut caught beneath one of the pegs. Paul gave it an experimental tug. It held. He leaned back and hauled as hard as he could. Still the strut did not move.
“That may be as good as we’re going to get,” he said. He fixed the other end of the cable to the walkway.
“Somebody is going to have to be the first to try it,” said Steven.
“That would be me.”
“I’m lighter.”
“You’re the pilot. If you fall, we’re stuck here.”
“Peris can fly a shuttle.”
“Not like you can. Look, I did the throwing, and I’ll take the chance. Once I’ve made certain that the line is secure, you can follow me down. We’ll take the shuttle to the wall and pick everyone else up from the air.”
De Souza would have to be helped on board, but Rizzo looked like she could make it herself. Thula had removed most of the silicon shards from her flesh, although smaller fragments probably remained, and she was now sitting up and taking water. The back of her shirt was dark with blood.
Paul was wearing his combat gloves. They’d give him a pretty secure grip on the cable. In an ideal world he’d have a clip to attach to the line, but the world in which they found themselves was far from ideal. Instead he fashioned a support harness from his bandolier. It wouldn’t be much help to him if the line didn’t hold, but if he lost his grip it might prevent him from falling to the sand. In the end, it was a psychological comfort, if nothing more.
Peris and Thula came over as Paul, seated on the walkway rail, was hooking his makeshift harness over the line.
“Are you sure about this?” said Peris.
“No,” said Paul. “Not that it makes much difference.”
At that moment the wall shook and a section nearby came loose and tumbled to the ground, leaving a massive gap in the wall. Had the wall weakened on the other side, it might well have landed on the shuttle, dooming them.
“On your way, then,” said Peris. “We don’t have all day. And if you need further encouragement, take a look over there.”
He pointed north, to where the fierce blue skies of Torma had vanished.
“What is that?” said Steven.
“A sandstorm,” said Peris. “It’ll sweep us from the walls, if they don’t collapse first.”
Paul said a silent prayer, curled his legs over the wire at the ankles, gave the line one final tug, and began his descent. He moved quickly, wanting to spend as little time as possible suspended over the rippling sands. He tried not to think about falling, to concentrate only on dragging himself along the line. His arms were aching already, and he was not even halfway there. His own body, his exhaustion, the heat, all conspired against him. The line sagged above him, dragged down by his weight. He had a vision of the strut shifting, its perilous hold on the
Similar Books
