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Authors: James Burkard
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channel. It probed the wreckage of Harry’s car that was half-submerged, resting on a concrete slab under the water. Frantically, he pulled Susan behinda broken section of overgrown wall.
He could feel his strength ebbing as the adrenaline rush that had sustained him for so long gradually burned itself out. Even the effort of trying to keep both their heads above water was becoming too much. He tried to find a handhold in the darkness, but the back of the wall was slick with a jelly-like scum that gave no purchase. He clawed blindly at the concrete until, at last, his desperate fingers found a rusting reinforcing rod sticking out of the wall and he grabbed it and held them both above water.
The searchlight played back and forth across the channel. In its flickering backlight, Harry could see his own hand, pale and claw-like, grasping the twisted steel rod. He noticed that he was still wearing his wrist phone. He had forgotten all about it. With a surge of hope, he hit the emergency-call button. Nothing happened. The phone was dead. The intense electro-magnetic pulse from the grav-core blast had fried its circuits. With a sob of despair, he ripped it off his wrist and threw it away.
Time lost all meaning after that. He vaguely remembered holding Susan close, brushing wet strands of hair away from her face, and whispering in her ear, telling her that it was going to be all right, everything was going to be all right, just wait and see, help was on the way, he lied.
Later, he heard the whine of a grav-car slowly coming towards them and his heart leapt with hope. He pulled himself up and looked over the edge of the wall. He was about to scream “Here! Here we are! Save us!” when he saw the armed men standing in the grav-car, silhouetted against the glare of the searchlight from across the channel. One of them wore a hooded robe. When he shifted position, the searchlights picked out a large, silver medallion that hung from a rawhide thong around his neck. Harry recognized the medallion instantly. It was the Seraphim, scimitar crucifix with the gun-sight circle centered where the swords crossed.
This wasn’t help, this was who ambushed them! He noticedthe rocket tubes welded into the front fenders of the car and a small plasma canon mounted on the hood. Then the hooded Seraphim flicked on a handheld spotlight. The light swept back and forth across the water and Harry ducked back behind the wall as the car glided towards him.
Maybe they were just scavenging, he thought hopefully. Even wrecked, his car would be worth a fortune. All they had to do was put a couple grav-units on it and pull it out. On the other hand, they could be looking for him and Susan. In that case they might both be better off dead.
The stories of psychopathic cruelty and cold-blooded slaughter that came out of the Sinks were legendary. Hollywood had turned more than a few into blood-dripping B-movie classics. Hell, Harry had even played in in a couple, but nothing had prepared him for the sheer, helpless terror he felt cringing behind that wall, holding Susan’s lifeless body and hearing the grav-car closing in. The spotlight played over the concrete block they were hiding behind, etching its shadow sharply against the water.
With Susan unconscious, her breathing shallow, he could not even risk diving underwater for fear that she would drown. Any moment now, the grav-car would sweep around the corner and the spot light would pin them like insects against the concrete. Harry held Susan close and steeled himself for what was coming.
Instinctively, he reached into his jacket and felt the butt end of the ancient thirty-eight, snug in its shoulder holster. If this had been one of his heroic blockbusters, he would have taken out the little thirty-eight, killed the four Seraphim in the oncoming car and then, with Susan slung over his shoulder, he would have jumped aboard and manned the plasma canon, blowing away the oncoming Seraphim gunboats and shooting
He could feel his strength ebbing as the adrenaline rush that had sustained him for so long gradually burned itself out. Even the effort of trying to keep both their heads above water was becoming too much. He tried to find a handhold in the darkness, but the back of the wall was slick with a jelly-like scum that gave no purchase. He clawed blindly at the concrete until, at last, his desperate fingers found a rusting reinforcing rod sticking out of the wall and he grabbed it and held them both above water.
The searchlight played back and forth across the channel. In its flickering backlight, Harry could see his own hand, pale and claw-like, grasping the twisted steel rod. He noticed that he was still wearing his wrist phone. He had forgotten all about it. With a surge of hope, he hit the emergency-call button. Nothing happened. The phone was dead. The intense electro-magnetic pulse from the grav-core blast had fried its circuits. With a sob of despair, he ripped it off his wrist and threw it away.
Time lost all meaning after that. He vaguely remembered holding Susan close, brushing wet strands of hair away from her face, and whispering in her ear, telling her that it was going to be all right, everything was going to be all right, just wait and see, help was on the way, he lied.
Later, he heard the whine of a grav-car slowly coming towards them and his heart leapt with hope. He pulled himself up and looked over the edge of the wall. He was about to scream “Here! Here we are! Save us!” when he saw the armed men standing in the grav-car, silhouetted against the glare of the searchlight from across the channel. One of them wore a hooded robe. When he shifted position, the searchlights picked out a large, silver medallion that hung from a rawhide thong around his neck. Harry recognized the medallion instantly. It was the Seraphim, scimitar crucifix with the gun-sight circle centered where the swords crossed.
This wasn’t help, this was who ambushed them! He noticedthe rocket tubes welded into the front fenders of the car and a small plasma canon mounted on the hood. Then the hooded Seraphim flicked on a handheld spotlight. The light swept back and forth across the water and Harry ducked back behind the wall as the car glided towards him.
Maybe they were just scavenging, he thought hopefully. Even wrecked, his car would be worth a fortune. All they had to do was put a couple grav-units on it and pull it out. On the other hand, they could be looking for him and Susan. In that case they might both be better off dead.
The stories of psychopathic cruelty and cold-blooded slaughter that came out of the Sinks were legendary. Hollywood had turned more than a few into blood-dripping B-movie classics. Hell, Harry had even played in in a couple, but nothing had prepared him for the sheer, helpless terror he felt cringing behind that wall, holding Susan’s lifeless body and hearing the grav-car closing in. The spotlight played over the concrete block they were hiding behind, etching its shadow sharply against the water.
With Susan unconscious, her breathing shallow, he could not even risk diving underwater for fear that she would drown. Any moment now, the grav-car would sweep around the corner and the spot light would pin them like insects against the concrete. Harry held Susan close and steeled himself for what was coming.
Instinctively, he reached into his jacket and felt the butt end of the ancient thirty-eight, snug in its shoulder holster. If this had been one of his heroic blockbusters, he would have taken out the little thirty-eight, killed the four Seraphim in the oncoming car and then, with Susan slung over his shoulder, he would have jumped aboard and manned the plasma canon, blowing away the oncoming Seraphim gunboats and shooting
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