“Sure, like what?” Ben asked.
He hiked bony shoulders. “I dunno; just something cool.”
“You got it.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “See you when I get back, big guy. Don’t forget; look after your mom for me while I’m away.”
Zach nodded solemnly. “I will, I promise.”
He stood and Emma put an arm around his neck. “You’re mad, and I love and hate you for it.” Her eyes were glistening as she spoke, but she tried to hold a watery smile. “Bring me something back as well.” She brought her face close to his. “You… just you.”
Ben turned to kiss her. And then stared into her eyes. “Just promise me you and Zach will be here when I get back.”
CHAPTER 25
Ben sat next to Drake and Helen in the cavernous rear of the strike bomber. The plane was an enormous piece of modern flying technology, but for all its size, the jets were whisper quiet and allowed all three of them to become lost in their own thoughts.
Ben’s mind took him back to the airport, and he now thought of a hundred things he should have said to his family. He also tried hard to dampen down the niggling thought that it might have been the last time he’d ever see them. He felt a lump in his throat and swallowed hard to make it go away.
He exhaled and looked across at Drake’s mercenaries. Most dozed with sprawled legs and mouths hung open. Chess’ snoring sounded like someone tearing up canvas sheets. But it didn’t seem to bother the brawny Shawna beside him who was also lights-out.
The huge Francis had his hands clasped together and eyes closed, and Ben wondered whether this was how he relaxed or perhaps he was saying some silent prayers.
Ben then glanced across to catch Balls, or Bianca, smiling at him. She winked and then continued to hold his gaze. For the last few days, she’d been extremely helpful, friendly, and way too flirty. Ben nodded back and knew that Emma would have vetoed her coming along if she had seen any of that.
He let his eyes slide to the last of the group, Buster. Ever since they had departed, the guy had worried him. He’d seen good soldiers become strung out on adrenaline before. Most handled it well when they were young or trained to deal with the stress. But some entered a state of permanent agitation and became hyper-alert, hair triggered, and/or short-tempered. Buster’s eyes were open and constantly darting. Drake said the guy would do his job; he hoped so, as they’d have enough problems to deal with once they walked into their own private hell.
A red light came on overhead, the lights dimmed, and blackout globes lit up. It meant it was time to move into their drop crate, a little bit of new technology they were using for landing that removed the necessity of a formal arrival or letting anyone know they were coming. And it didn’t even need a runway.
Other than them, the drop crate was the only thing in the rear of the bomber, and they filed in and took their seats along either side. It was armored and looked like a cargo container except it was packed with modern technology. The drop crate would slide from the rear of the plane and then a rotating wing on each corner would deploy to lower them to the ground.
There was minimal guidance, and it could only be moved by increasing or reducing power to one or more of the mini-chopper wings. Drop crates were primarily used for cargo drops when the materials needed to be kept intact. It had been used for personnel before but wasn’t recommended, and it also wasn’t really meant to fly, just supposed to find a suitable place to land without breaking the equipment, or bodies, inside.
The other reason they now needed to use it was that Ben and Drake had discovered that for some reason the airport at Caracas didn’t exist anymore, and the capital city of Venezuela that they knew had a population of over 2 million was now little more than a ramshackle town. It seemed a recent re-evolution change had wiped most of it away.
Also, the major river they once traversed, the Rio Caroni, a once mighty coffee-brown water laneway snaking through the Amazon jungle, was down to a trickle in this area. Whatever was happening to their world wasn’t just affecting the population and cities, but now also the geography.
The other obstacles Ben found they needed to surmount were that there were now few modern settlements, no guides, and the Amazon jungle was deemed a largely unexplored no-go place. This last bit filled Ben, Drake, and Helen with trepidation — they always knew it was a place where dangers lurked everywhere, but it was eminently survivable if you had the right experience. But now, something else had obviously changed in there.
Ready for drop, the pilot intoned from the overhead speaker.
Ben sucked in a deep breath. I guess we’ll all find out soon enough, he thought as he tightened the straps across his upper body.
From outside the fortified container came the faint whine of hydraulics and Ben expected it was the bomber’s rear cargo door yawning open. He suspected there would now be howling winds inside the rear cabin, but they were sheltered, locked inside their steel cocoon.
Around them all crated up and tied down were their weapons, climbing gear, and supplies. Ben closed his eyes for a moment as he felt nervousness creep into his belly.
On my mark, 3, 2, 1… mark. So long and good luck, people.
“Here we go,” Drake said. He pulled an extendable arm around in front of him that was a little like an airline tray table and opened the small screen.
There was a clunk, a drop of about an inch, and then the sound of rollers for a few seconds. Finally, there came a sensation of weightlessness. Their tiny steel world dipped, the overhead rotors whirred to life, and then the drop crate automatically righted itself in space.
On Drake’s control console were four small toggles, which he worked, shifting power to one or the other as he checked for a suitable landing space that was devoid of water, rocks, or trees.
They’d hoped to set down about a day’s march from the plateau, as it was the most level ground for hundreds of miles, and then have 48 hours to be there when Primordia was directly overhead.
“There,” Drake said.
Ben leaned across and saw where his friend was pointing — there was a small clearing, just 50 square feet, that would fit them in with little room to spare. There were tall trees surrounding it, but as there were no huge canopies to contend with, the rotors only extended a few feet out from all four corners.
“Get ready, people, coming in on, 10, 9, 8… ” Drake’s hands were a blur as he shifted power around the rotors to guide the crate in. “3, 2, 1… ”
Then the lights went out.
“Oh no,” Helen whispered in the darkness as Ben felt that weird butterfly fluttering sensation that started in his stomach and then tingled all the way from his scalp to his toes.
The light came back on and Ben noticed they had only been around a dozen feet up when the lights were out, and when they came back on, they were still a dozen feet up, even after the lapsing of what he thought had been a few seconds. It was as if time stood still in those void-like moments.
The container gently settled and Ben looked one way then the other. “Everything okay?”
Drake and Helen’s faces were pale and cautious, but the mercs just looked bored.
“Sure, why wouldn’t it be?” Chess asked.
“Hey, where’s Bianca, uh, Balls?” Ben asked, frowning. He quickly looked to the door, but he already knew it was still sealed tight.
“Who?” Chess asked.
“Damnit, Bianca Alejandra, and whatever the rest of her name was. You guys called her Balls?” Ben said and pointed to the vacant space beside Francis. “She was just there.”