Below their feet, unseen by any eyes, the force fields brushed against the arid soil, and exactly as Dodge had predicted, pushed back with equal energy. Three furrows appeared across the savannah, trailing out behind the X-314 as it almost landed — almost, because although the energy bubbles were squashed nearly flat, there remained a few inches of space between the fuselage and the ground.
The plane slid across the grassy plateau like a skater on slippery ice. Molly deployed the braking flaps, but there was little else she could do to slow their headlong slide across the terrain. The force fields created almost no friction as they plowed up the landscape. The airplane’s considerable mass slid along for nearly a mile before aerodynamic resistance brought them to a halt.
On the flight deck, there was a general sense of exhausted relief. Molly collapsed back into the pilot’s chair, with perspiration beading on her forehead.
“Well done girl,” Hurley boomed. “That was some crackerjack flying.”
Molly blew a stray lock from in front of her face. “Thank Dodge. Those wheels of his made for the smoothest landing I’ve ever pulled off.”
Hobbs shot Hurricane a sharp look, and this time Molly had nothing else to distract her attention. “Where is Dodge?” she asked, unable to staunch an eruption of worry. When Hurley did not immediately answer, she rushed him and grabbed the lapels of his bush jacket. “Where the Hell is he?”
“He fell Molly,” Hobbs intoned, placing a calming hand on her shoulder.
“Then he’s all right, isn’t he? He had one of those things on; he said he could just fly down.”
Hurley shook his head sadly. “He saved us all Molly; never forget that.”
He expected her to break down in hysterics, but instead she released his shirtfront and averted her eyes. A lifetime in the hardest place on Earth had inured her to loss. Africa had taken her parents and many other loved ones; it was a hard place and only hard people survived.
“I’m going to see if there’s any damage,” she said slowly, not meeting anyone’s stare as she moved off the flight deck. “To the plane. I’m going outside.”
Hurley looked to Hobbs with an unspoken question, but the clergyman shook his head. Hurricane sank wearily into a chair. “I never should have let him go out there.”
“He seemed like a remarkable young man. I wish I had gotten the opportunity to know him better.”
The big man nodded dumbly, then began patting his pockets. He found his metal cigar case and opened it, but inside there was only a jumble of broken brown leaves. He closed it with a sigh. “It was him, you know.”
Hobbs chose that moment to also take a seat. “I know. When did you realize it?”
“I guess from the very start, but I didn’t want to admit it.” There was another long silence. “The question now is: what do we do about it?”
“There’s no ‘we’ Hurricane. I’m not going to fight anymore.”
A spark of anger enlivened Hurley’s countenance, but he kept it in check. “How can you say that, Padre? Didn’t you learn anything from Krieger?”
Hobbs gave a heavy sigh. It was an old argument, fanned to new urgency only because of the Hell they had just escaped. “What would you have me do? Kill him?”
“If that’s the only way, yes. We owe it to Dodge and every one of the boys we left behind. Damn it, they did not die for nothing.”
“I can’t kill again. The ghosts…” He leaned forward, cradling his head with his fingertips. He suddenly looked very old. “I’ll do what I can. Where do we start?”
Hurley thought a while before answering. “Those mercenaries down below. Since we saved their skins, the least they can do is answer a few questions.”
Hobbs brightened perceptibly at that. “Amen, brother.”
Hurley found Molly sitting on the sponson, just outside the hatch. The ground was a good eight feet below the dangling soles of her shoes. She looked up when she heard him, and self-consciously wiped her eyes. “I couldn’t figure out how to get down.”
He pulled the mooring line from the cabin and allowed it to drop down to the grassy plain, after which he conspicuously pushed the hatch door shut. “Let’s take a look, shall we.”
He took both her hands in his and lowered her down to the savannah, and then like a gymnast, swung down and landed lightly beside her. Molly was already gazing in fascination at the underside of the airplane, or more specifically, at the layer of air which separated it from solid ground.
“That’s incredible,” she gasped, sliding one flat hand into the void.
“See any damage?”
The girl seemed grateful for the distraction. “None at all. I couldn’t have set her down that smooth on water.”
“Do you think you could get her back up?”
Molly rose and put her hands on her hips. “I could certainly try. But she’s not going anywhere until we can refuel her.”
“Already done. The previous owners were flying around their own filling station. There’s a good five hundred gallons reserve stacked up in barrels inside the cabin. Ought to be enough to get us back to civilization.”
She glanced involuntarily toward the hatch, and as she did, made note of the fact that Hobbs had not joined them. “Where’s dad?”
“He’s…ah, talking to our captives.”
As if to underscore his ironic word choice, a bloodcurdling shriek resonated from the great hollow body of the aircraft. Although Molly, who had delivered countless babies and sewn up or cauterized dozens of machete wounds, had experienced a rich catalog of screams, she had never heard anything like the unnatural cries coming from the fuselage. It sounded as if a door to Hell itself had been opened and the damned were fighting to escape their eternal torment. She shuddered and looked to Hurley for an explanation. “Talking to them? What’s he saying?”
“He’s unburdening their souls.” The big man gently took her hand and led her away from the plane. “Let’s give him a few minutes. He knows what he’s doing.”
The screams continued to rattle her nerves. She couldn’t imagine what her father, a man of peace and God, could be doing in the plane that might elicit such outcries, but the thought chilled her to the bone. After a few minutes however, the deluge of agony abated. “So what’s next?”
Hurley stared at the distant horizon. “I don’t know how much you know already, or how much the Padre wants you to know, but I can tell you this much. There’s an evil out there, an evil we — your dad and I — fought once before.”
There was an undercurrent of sadness in his tone. She didn’t know him that well, but his voice was that of a man haunted. That was something she understood.
Before he could elaborate, the sound of a door banging against the side of the plane drew their attention. Hobbs emerged onto the sponson, drenched in sweat and seemingly on the verge of collapse, but wearing a grim smile. “We have him.”
Am I dead?
Dodge remembered falling… remembered a moment of pure, absolute horror… remembered also a feeling of acceptance and sublime readiness to accept this final fate… then darkness.
The darkness was absolute but he was conscious, of that much he was certain; conscious and corporeal. He lay prone on a hard surface and could feel something cool and solid beneath his fingertips.
“I’m still alive,” he said, curious to see what would happen to the sound of his voice in the strange, otherworldly blackness.
“Shhh!” The voice was a soft hiss, from somewhere to his right. “He’ll hear you. Here, drink this.”
A hard container — Dodge immediately identified it as a canteen — was thrust into his hand. Without questioning his unseen benefactor, he rolled over and fumbled with the offering until he located an opening. He then pressed this to his lips and tilted the whole thing up until tepid brackish water flowed into his mouth. “Thanks,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Where am I?”