moment. No need t o panic. The steel rescue rope wouldn't have broken just like that. More likely, the truck driver had slowed down to make sure that the frantic jolting didn't break every bone in our bodies.
Gradually, we were forced out of the water and dragged along the slowly arching shore. The sound of the truck engine broke through the battering surf. The truck drove along the shore westward where the setting sun pierced through the thunderclouds painting the sea orange.
M y muscles cramped with exertion. My body had turned into one smarting bruise. When I decided that the driver had apparently taken us on a scenic route around the Continent, the vehicle stopped. Here the shore was as steep as ever, but a strip of sandy ridge showed in the water between two cliffs.
Our rescuers were shouting something, but I couldn't understand a word. Another flare descended and hit the sand illuminating the ridge's outline with a panoply of sparks.
"Get out!" Georgie yelled, spitting out brine. "That way!"
He slapp ed the water pointing at the shore. The rescue rope drew tight but not as tight as before. I looked up. Three men by the cliff edge were heaving the rope in, pulling us closer to the shore where the surf was weaker.
We dangled on the rope like dead fish unable to wriggle off their hooks. If we didn't get up and walk, the surf would smash us against the cliffs, too close to each other for comfort.
"Hold -" I choked on a mouthful of brine, coughed and croaked, "Hold hands!"
The men on the cliff pulled the rope harder.
"We're coming out!"
T hey pulled the rescue rope hard, dragging us out of the water. Then the line slackened. The shore loomed close as they let go of the rope and we all collapsed on the sand.
My hands refused to move as I unclasped myself from Wladas. I turned over onto my back and stared into the dark sky.
" Hey!" I heard from above. "Hello?"
Georgie swore and explained,
"These are McLean's men, may clones screw their asses."
"Which means?" I scrambled to my knees.
Wong sat cross-legged next to a squatting Jim. A bit further, the captain rubbed his eyes spitting out wet sand.
Wladas lay face down. I reached to check on him when he stirred and turned onto all fours, shaking his head.
"What was that about McLean's men?" I asked Georgie.
"They'll present us with a bill now," he answered enigmatically and forced himself onto his feet looking up. "That's why they dragged us out."
I rose, too. "Tell me. But be quick."
"Nothing to tell, really. This clone's ass McLean chartered us to take a seaweed shipment to the fort. Not for the record, you understand. That we did, but we also took a return shipment."
"Also for McLean?"
"Worse. It was for the riggers. And they'd already paid for the delivery. In gold. Now the ferry has sunk and all their equipment with it."
"In gold?" I stared at Georgie, not quite believing it. "I thought Pangea had no mineral resources of its own?"
"It hasn't," the captain spoke without taking his eyes off the cliffs. "The gold was jumped from the Earth. Remember the Arctic goldmines transport caught in the jump? Well, surprise surprise, it ended up here. Pointless trying to retrieve the gold as it would cost more to jump it back. So the locals use it to mint our money."
Grunt waved at where the Continent lay to the north. "It's a long irrelevant story," he glanced at Georgie. "But to cut it short, McLean is not in a good mood. He's the one responsible for the delivery of the shipment to the riggers. Our cargo has gone down and we haven't. So he must have sent those there raiders."
" Some of the fishermen must have seen the ferry sink," the crane operator added. "He had plenty of time to get back to New Pang and tell McLean the story."
From the cliffs above, someone shouted in English ordering us to hook up to the rope two at a time.
"Yeah, I got the idea," I watched Wong attach Wladas to the rope. "You've got a lot of answers to find, first to McLean and then to the
Gradually, we were forced out of the water and dragged along the slowly arching shore. The sound of the truck engine broke through the battering surf. The truck drove along the shore westward where the setting sun pierced through the thunderclouds painting the sea orange.
M y muscles cramped with exertion. My body had turned into one smarting bruise. When I decided that the driver had apparently taken us on a scenic route around the Continent, the vehicle stopped. Here the shore was as steep as ever, but a strip of sandy ridge showed in the water between two cliffs.
Our rescuers were shouting something, but I couldn't understand a word. Another flare descended and hit the sand illuminating the ridge's outline with a panoply of sparks.
"Get out!" Georgie yelled, spitting out brine. "That way!"
He slapp ed the water pointing at the shore. The rescue rope drew tight but not as tight as before. I looked up. Three men by the cliff edge were heaving the rope in, pulling us closer to the shore where the surf was weaker.
We dangled on the rope like dead fish unable to wriggle off their hooks. If we didn't get up and walk, the surf would smash us against the cliffs, too close to each other for comfort.
"Hold -" I choked on a mouthful of brine, coughed and croaked, "Hold hands!"
The men on the cliff pulled the rope harder.
"We're coming out!"
T hey pulled the rescue rope hard, dragging us out of the water. Then the line slackened. The shore loomed close as they let go of the rope and we all collapsed on the sand.
My hands refused to move as I unclasped myself from Wladas. I turned over onto my back and stared into the dark sky.
" Hey!" I heard from above. "Hello?"
Georgie swore and explained,
"These are McLean's men, may clones screw their asses."
"Which means?" I scrambled to my knees.
Wong sat cross-legged next to a squatting Jim. A bit further, the captain rubbed his eyes spitting out wet sand.
Wladas lay face down. I reached to check on him when he stirred and turned onto all fours, shaking his head.
"What was that about McLean's men?" I asked Georgie.
"They'll present us with a bill now," he answered enigmatically and forced himself onto his feet looking up. "That's why they dragged us out."
I rose, too. "Tell me. But be quick."
"Nothing to tell, really. This clone's ass McLean chartered us to take a seaweed shipment to the fort. Not for the record, you understand. That we did, but we also took a return shipment."
"Also for McLean?"
"Worse. It was for the riggers. And they'd already paid for the delivery. In gold. Now the ferry has sunk and all their equipment with it."
"In gold?" I stared at Georgie, not quite believing it. "I thought Pangea had no mineral resources of its own?"
"It hasn't," the captain spoke without taking his eyes off the cliffs. "The gold was jumped from the Earth. Remember the Arctic goldmines transport caught in the jump? Well, surprise surprise, it ended up here. Pointless trying to retrieve the gold as it would cost more to jump it back. So the locals use it to mint our money."
Grunt waved at where the Continent lay to the north. "It's a long irrelevant story," he glanced at Georgie. "But to cut it short, McLean is not in a good mood. He's the one responsible for the delivery of the shipment to the riggers. Our cargo has gone down and we haven't. So he must have sent those there raiders."
" Some of the fishermen must have seen the ferry sink," the crane operator added. "He had plenty of time to get back to New Pang and tell McLean the story."
From the cliffs above, someone shouted in English ordering us to hook up to the rope two at a time.
"Yeah, I got the idea," I watched Wong attach Wladas to the rope. "You've got a lot of answers to find, first to McLean and then to the
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