Point Apocalypse (17 page)

I looked at
my hand. The cut was almost gone. Curiouser and curiouser.

The night covered the
rainforest. The fire crackled sending sparks flying into the air buzzing with midges. From time to time, something rustled in the thickets or a bird crowed in a tree.

When
Lars finished his fish and got up, I said,

"
Take you, for instance. How come you know Russian so well? You've got a Scandinavian name."

Lars glanced at me sideways.
"My mother was an Inkeri from the North West of Russia. I left her when I was twenty and moved to my father in Sweden. Started earning good money felling wood. Three years later I returned to get her and..."

"And what?" I looked up at him.

"She was denied clearance. So I went and roughed up the Consul real good. Then they nailed me."

"W
as it a long time ago?"

"Quite," he turne
d and walked away saying, "You'd better sleep in the hut. There's a thunderstorm brewing."

His large
silhouette disappeared among the trees. We heard, "Don't worry about the wildlife. My men will watch over you. They'll wake you up in good time."

Chapter One

The River

T
he thunderstorm came at midnight. Amid blinding light, claps of thunder rattled the hut. The roof did little to stop the downpour and rainwater was soon running down the ceiling. I rolled myself up in the tarp trying to sleep, but the noise kept me awake.

T
he rain stopped. The air grew sultry. It clung to your throat preventing you from breathing, thick with sweat and the liquor breath emitted by Grunt and Georgie who snored away next to me. Neither them nor Wladas seemed to be affected by the thunderstorm.

Finally, I gave up and got out.
I curled up outside by the hut door and dozed off for an hour or two until Jim arrived to wake us up.

A few minutes later, we all walked down a trail towa
rd the river. The rainforest was waking up filling the path with animal noises and bird calls. The dawn shone through the leafy branches. My head was buzzing with the lack of sleep and I kept reaching for the water flask packed by Jim. One time I lost my footing and nearly stepped into a young termite mound. Georgie pushed me away just in time and twirled his finger around his temple. According to him, they were not deadly but would guarantee an itch from hell for the best part of next week.

We took a narrow trail to the river, following in each other's steps. Jim,
Grunt and Wong had gone in front. I stopped and raised my wounded hand to my eyes. It was warm, and the pain pulsating in my forearm was quite bearable.

"You okay?"
Wladas asked.

"Yeah," I splashed some water onto the wound and clenched my fist a couple times watching the reddened scar.
Then I looked up.

Two enormous steel
structures loomed over the river bed. They reminded me of the Maunsell fort towers used in the Second World War for anti-aircraft protection. Quite a few of them still stood in British shores. But these had no trace of rust, their meter-thick supports smooth and intact. The armored forts were solid without a single rivet or seam. A hanging walkway connected the two - definitely man's work, but the towers themselves had to be Forecomers' creations. A tall rod stuck out of one of the forts, exactly the same as the one I'd seen near New Pang. The top of it pulsated with a bright white light bathing the river and its banks in its soft glow.

Jim headed for a long log jetty. There, Lars
Swenson waited for us by a moored motor boat. Several armed men stood nearby guarding a stack of crates. A sentry looked down from the walkway above.

Wong
headed for the river. Grunt followed. Wladas, Georgie and myself stayed put. The neurotech rubbed his eyes, took a deep breath and hiccupped. The hangover was getting the better of him. I gave him the flask and turned to stop Georgie who tried to bypass us on the narrow trail.

"What's this, another
beacon?"

"Yeah," h
e wanted to walk past but I motioned him to stand still.

"What's its purpose?"

"Dunno."

"
What does it run on? If I understand correctly, it never goes out."

Georgie
shrugged. "They went on two years ago. Just before the generals' coup. Neumann had been busy with them for a long time and he couldn't do it. They just lit up on their own." He looked up at Swenson gesturing to us to hurry up. "Come on now. Time to hit the road."

We walked to the river.

"
They
lit up, you said? How many are there?" I asked. "How many beacons in total on the Continent?"

"Four," Georgie pointed east. "The
re's one in the desert, and another one in the mountains."

"And w
hat's there inside?" Wladas asked catching up with us. He handed the flask back to me. "Any machinery?"

"No one knows," Georgie answered. "You can't get inside.
You can neither blow or cut them open. No idea what's in there."

"So it can't be
steel," the neurotech said yawning.

"Maybe not."

We stopped by the jetty where the others were already waiting. Lars paused studying us.

"Everything all right?
Did you sleep well?"

"Not bad," I glanced at the yawning
Wladas who shook his head and rubbed his sunken stubbly cheeks.

Lars grew serious. "Let's
get to the point, then."

By the looks of him, you
wouldn't say he'd been drinking alongside the rest. His voice was strong, his breathing level. A strong guy.

"You," he pointed at ea
ch of the seamen, "check the boat, the kits, the bags, everything you packed last night. Grunt, you report to me once you've finished. Mark - the money," Lars handed me a fabric tube with what felt like coins inside. "This should be enough for a car and some juice."

"How much here?" I weighed the tube in my hand.

"Three hundred. Two hundred can get you a good truck with enough gas for a round trip."

Wladas
coughed in his fist. We looked up at him.

"Tell Jim to show him the first-aid kit," I offered noticing the
sign of the red cross on one of the bags. "Wladas is a doctor but Jim has grown up here on Pangea. Let him explain all about the local lotions and potions."

"
Good idea." Lars called Jim and repeated my words to him. "Want to check the guns?"

I
shook my head. "Just load everything on board. Wong will check them later."

"
Oh well," Lars waved to his men who began carrying the crates to the boat. "There're some carbines, explosives and a machine gun. Everything's been oiled and is ready to fire. I've checked the guns myself."

"How about a few knive
s and handguns?" I raised my wounded hand and traced the cut with my finger. The stinging had subsided a bit.

"Knives..." Lars knitted his eyebrows and mumbled, "How the fuck could I forget them?"

He spat out a quick command. His two remaining men walked onto the jetty following those who carried the crates.

"You'll have knives in a moment
. But handguns are a problem," Lars made a helpless gesture. "You have three Colts you took off McLean's raiders. He's the one with handguns. In the forest, you need something more powerful... something you can trust."

"I see. Let's go, then," I clenched my fist and scratched
at the cut. The pain was nearly gone. "You think I could get some from the riggers?"

Lars gave it a thought and nodded. "Make sure they don't sell you
bullshit. Plenty of garage guns around. Mainly in New Pang though."

"Got it. And what about communications?
Something like a radio transmitter?"

"I'm not a commissary," he chuckled.
"Communications are a problem. Whatever equipment there is is all under lock and key. Better not ask them about it. They might misinterpret you."

I didn't ask him why.
Electronic equipment had to be worth its weight in gold here.

Lars lowered his voice and added,

"Once you're at the riggers, ask to see Fritz Havlow. He's technically Russian, from the Volga Germans. He used to be a tanker engineer so you can't fool him when it comes to machines. He'll get you whatever you want. The commune leaders listen to him so they'll sell you a car or a truck, full tank, no questions."

"How will I know him?
"

"
You can't miss him. Red hair, eyebrows, goatee. Constantly chews tobacco."

"I'll remember."

"Just don't show him the money before you agree on the price."

"Will do."

"And don't forget what I told you about the cybers' weapons. Try to bring them here, okay?"

We walked out onto the jetty.
Grunt gave me an armful of knives collected from among the loggers. Wong jumped into the boat and I followed him. With Georgie's help, I checked the bags' contents, inspected the knives - they were sharp and handled well - and asked Wladas if they'd clued him in on the local medications. Hearing his affirmative, I turned to the river bank. Grunt and Lars seemed to be talking, or rather, Grunt was listening to the logger's instructions. "I'll have to warn them about it," I heard. Lars Swenson slapped Grunt's shoulder and told him to get under way.

Warn them... Who was he going to warn and about what? My hand stung. I glanced down at it, winced and looked back up.

Lars waved us goodbye and strode away. Georgie yanked on a lever. The motor coughed and started burbling. Jim grabbed an oar and shoved off from the jetty. Grunt turned the steering wheel and guided the boat between the jetty and the beacon. There he put on speed and headed southward toward New Pang.

I plumped down on
the bench. The river curved in front of us, its banks covered by the rainforest. As the day broke, the trees and shrubbery merged into a thick mass of brown and green. The words that Swenson had said to Grunt kept worrying me. But I brushed the thought aside. First things first. The guns.

Wong
opened the crates. He checked and handed out the carbines. Then he sat next to me and began assembling the machine gun. The carbines were the M14 army type, with wooden stocks, detachable twenty-round magazines and diopter sights. Not the best choice for jungle warfare, but indispensable on open terrain such as a desert.

The captain and Jim sat in front, Georgie and
Wladas at the stern.

Soon the jetty and the loggers' tollgate disappeared around the bend. My hand didn't hurt any more.
The redness was now gone, and the pale scar had all but disappeared. The boat glided along the water. Grunt had put his foot down, and the wind lashed at our faces bringing tears to our eyes so I was forced to sit with my head down to one side.

We
loaded the magazines and shared out the remaining shells. Then we distributed the bags for the hike ahead. We had a lot to carry: a backpack each with three days' worth of rations and raiders' gear, including a pneumatic crossbow complete with a harpoon and a cylinder containing a flare and harnesses for three people. There was also a decent pair of naval glasses in a case. Each of us had a waist bag with two flask holders for water and some local moonshine, well known for its excellent antiseptic properties.

When we finished sorting
out the bags, I opened the crate with explosives. The motor's high-pitched whining had changed to a drone as Grunt dropped the revs and took his hand off the gas. The boat slowed down.

I
stood up. Jim began shipping the oars into the oarlocks. Grunt raised his arm pointing at a barely noticeable bayou to our right.

"Now we must keep quiet," he said.
"Not a sound until I give you the all-clear. Understood?"

I nodded and looked over my shoulder
at the opposite bank. Georgie was busy securing the motor. Wladas slept cuddling the first-aid bag. The Chinese had moved to the prow and sat there cross-legged holding his gun in front of him.

"How
much more do we have to row?" I whispered in Grunt's ear.

"Not
too far," he answered. "A couple kilometers at most. We'll take turns rowing."

He glanced at me and explained,

"They can't see us from the gate: the forest's too tall. But river drivers may hear us. Their camp is not far from here."

"I see."

The loggers had seen us leave for New Pang. The only person who knew our real destination was Lars Swenson. But if he didn't want his men to know, what had he tried to warn someone against?

Jim touched my shoulder and motioned me to sit down.
He took Wong's vacated place on the bench. I sat next to him, placed the carbine in my lap and spat on my hands before taking up the oar.