Ice Station - Matthew Reilly [49]
He lowered himself further. Now his waist was out of the chair and his eyes were level with the whale’s sharp, pointed teeth. The whale grunted as it heaved on the heavy steel chair.
Slowly, Schofield lowered himself an inch further out of the chair.
And then he encountered a problem.
He was now sitting so low in the ejection seat that he couldn’t keep a hold on the armrests anymore. He needed something to hold onto, something from which he could push himself out of the seat. Schofield desperately looked around himself, searching for something to grab onto.
Nothing.
There was absolutely nothing to hold onto.
And then Schofield’s gaze fell upon the killer whale’s teeth in front of him.
I don’t believe this, Schofield thought as he reached up with both hands and took hold of two of the killer whale’s enormous white teeth.
Suddenly the ejection seat jolted and slid again and Schofield felt it lift slightly off the deck. He had a sudden, horrifying thought.
It’s reached the edge of the deck.
And now it’s tipping over it . . .
Holy shit.
Schofield gripped the whale’s teeth tightly and pushed hard off them, and hurled himself clear of the ejection seat. He slid out from the chair, out from the side of the big whale’s mouth, and fell clumsily onto the deck just in time to see the killer whale’s rear end drop back into the pool. As its tail entered the water, the big whale’s body tipped upward, and its head reared up, lifting the entire ejection seat off the deck. Then the killer whale’s enormous black-and-white frame began to slide downward, into the water, and the great predator took its prize to a watery grave.
Schofield was on his feet in seconds, moving quickly across the deck toward Rebound, Gant and Mother.
He spoke into his helmet mike as he ran. ‘Montana, this is Scarecrow, report.’
‘Still up on A-deck, Scarecrow. Snake and Santa Cruz’re up here with me.’
‘How many up there?’ Schofield asked.
‘I count it as five military and two civilian,’ Montana’s voice said. ‘But two of the military guys just made a break for one of the ladders and went down a level. What? Oh, fuck –’
The connection cut off. Schofield heard a scuffle.
‘Montana –’
Suddenly, a French commando stepped out onto the deck in front of Schofield himself.
He was the last of the five French soldiers who had fallen into the pool, the only one of them to come out of it alive. He looked like death warmed up – dripping wet, scowling, and mad as hell. He glared at Schofield, then raised his crossbow.
Without missing a beat, Schofield drew a throwing knife from a sheath strapped to his knee and threw it underhanded. The knife whistled through the air and thudded into the Frenchman’s chest. He dropped instantly. The whole thing took two seconds. Schofield never stopped walking. He stepped over the slumped body, retrieved his knife and the dead French commando’s crossbow, and kept moving.
He spoke into his helmet mike again, ‘Montana, I say again, are you all right?’
‘I copy, Scarecrow. I’m okay. Revision on my previous count: make that four military and two civilians. Put me down for one more frog.’
‘Put me down for one, too,’ Schofield said.
Schofield arrived at the entrance to the south tunnel, where he found Gant and Rebound. They were dragging Mother into the tunnel.
Schofield saw Mother’s leg immediately. A bloody, jagged piece of bone protruded from where her left knee should have been.
‘Put her somewhere safe, stop the flow and give her a hit of methadone,’ Schofield said quickly.
‘Got it –’ Gant said, looking up at him. She cut herself off abruptly.
Schofield’s anti-flash glasses had been lost in the water in the battle with the killer whales and Gant saw his eyes for the first time.
Two prominent vertical scars cut down across both of his eyes. They were unmissable, hideous. Each scar stretched downward in a perfectly straight line from eyebrow to cheekbone, scarring the eyelid in between.
Gant winced when she saw them and regretted it as soon as she did so. She hoped Schofield didn’t notice.
‘How are you feeling, Mother?