Expendable - James Alan Gardner [78]
The log cracked. I hoped the bogey did too.
Our tree trunk rocked wildly as waves swept across us, hard and fast. For a moment, my attention was occupied with keeping hold of the Bumbler and the stunner; to avoid losing the weapon, I transferred it to my other hand. That left only my numb arm for clinging to the tree trunk. Awkwardly, I slung the arm over the tree, not holding on but only propped up with the trunk snug under my armpit.
I was just turning back to look for the bogey when it jumped straight out of the water.
It was a shark the size of a killer whale, but clear as glass and just as stiff. As it soared upward, head clearing the water, then fins, then tail, I could see its nose was starred with cracks from its collision with the log: the beast wasn’t invulnerable. Without hesitation, I raised the stunner and shot straight at its cracked snout while it still sailed through the air.
The sonics struck the glass like a gong. For one brief moment, the bogey reverberated—a pure deep tone of whale song. Then the arc of its jump brought it splashing into the river, more than a ton of glass bellyflopping in front of me.
Tsunami time.
Submerged
One moment my numb arm was propped over our tree trunk; the next I was hammered by a wall of water, knocking me loose and burying me under its weight. It drove me deep below the surface, battering my head and shoulders, almost stunning me. Instinct was all that kept me holding my breath. I was left disoriented, dizzy…which way was up? And even if I could figure out the direction to swim, could I do it with one bad arm and the Bumbler weighing me down?
Yes, I could. I could do it.
The rebreather was still around my neck. I shoved it into my mouth, cleared it, and took a breath. Air. Yes. I was in control.
Light meant up, dark meant down. The light looked a long way off, but I could make it. I just had to take it easy. Once I found air again, I could search for Oar. Probably she was still afloat; with strength like hers, it would take more than a tidal wave to knock her off our tree trunk.
I swam upward, filled with the calm that comes when survival demands it. Up toward the light. I could see it better now. I could….
Bump. My outstretched hand touched glass.
The whale-shark floated between me and the surface.
Around the Belly
Maybe it was dead. No, it had to be a machine; say that it was broken, not dead. But I had shot it three times, it had smashed into the river bottom and the log, then it had suffered the crashing smack of bellyflopping into the water after its jump. All that buffeting must have taken its toll.
The machine lay still now. I prayed it was too damaged to move. Keeping my hand against the thing’s hull, I began to feel my way around it: under its belly, up to fresh air.
Clang.
The sound was soft. I didn’t hear it so much as feel it through my fingertips. Something had shifted inside the glass machine.
Just broken equipment, I told myself, banging together.
I didn’t believe it. I gave a good kick, trying to hurry to the surface.
Whir.
An engine spun into life. I could feel that through my fingers too.
Shit.
I was still palming my way along the hull when the whale-shark started to move. The motion was jerky—damaged. I wanted to press my stunner against the machine’s glass belly and keep pulling the trigger till the gun’s battery was exhausted; but there might be an echoing backwash that left me unconscious in the water. My arm was still numb from that earlier bounce-back. All I could do was hurry, and hope Oar and I got out of the water before the glass monster came to its senses.
The hull under my hand was starting to curve upward. I was around the bulge. Pushing off, I swam hard toward the light. Beside me, the machine moved forward, its wake pulling me around in a spiral. Ignore it—up was up, and I was almost at the surface.
For some reason, I thought I’d