The Black Lung Captain - Chris Wooding [53]
Others were clambering up onto the ridge. Jez, Crattle, Pinn. They took positions on the edge and covered Crake, Hodd, Malvery, and Silo as they climbed up after. Frey and Grist watched the forest warily. All had gone suspiciously quiet. They could still hear the beast-men rustling about, but no more arrows were loosed, and no more attacks came.
“You think they’ve given up?” Frey asked. He popped the drum of his remaining revolver and slid in fresh bullets.
Grist’s eyes were grim beneath his bushy brows. “Might be they’re smart enough to know when they’ve bit off more than they can chew.”
“Let’s hope so,” he said, snapping the drum shut. Behind him, Malvery was struggling onto the ridge. The last of them. “We all here?” he asked.
“All here, Cap’n,” Jez replied, wiping sweaty hair away from her face with an expression of vague amazement. “Somehow.”
“Mr. Hodd!” Frey called. “Point us in the right direction. Let’s get moving before these beast-men decide to have another go at us.”
“That way,” Hodd said, thrusting out a finger without hesitation.
“Right,” said Frey. “Eyes peeled, weapons ready. Reload if you need to. And if you see anything with more than fifty percent body hair, shoot it!”
THE PROGNOSTICATIONS OF DOCTOR MALVERY—OLD ACQUAINTANCES—A NEW LIGHT IS SHED ON CAPTAIN GRIST
he rain began again in the night. They trudged through the mud, slipping on roots, cold and soaked to the bone. Any hope of shelter had been left behind with their packs. Though they were hungry and tired, nobody had any thought of stopping. They had no idea if the beast-men were tracking them or not, but Frey didn’t want to get caught napping. By unspoken consent, they traveled through the night, making their slow, frustrating, and occasionally painful way through the near-total dark of the rainforest.
The downpour let up at dawn, and a dull light came over the cloud-shrouded land. By then Frey was utterly miserable: half drowned, freezing, and exhausted. But nothing had killed them in the night, and the worst they’d suffered on their journey were scrapes and bruises, so he reckoned they could count themselves lucky.
We’re coming back three men less than when we set out, he thought. But none of them was mine. That’s the important thing. I brought them all back alive.
Grist was plodding along tiredly ahead of him, following in Hodd’s footsteps. Frey eyed the strange metal sphere cradled under Grist’s arm. He hadn’t let it go for a moment, not even when the beast-men attacked.
What are we gonna do about that? he wondered. He didn’t trust Grist not to pull a double cross. Didn’t feel at all easy about letting him hold on to that thing. There’d be another confrontation before all of this was over. He wondered if he’d come out of it so well the second time.
They reached the landing site in the early morning. There was a general exclamation of relief as they spied the gunwale of the Storm Dog rising over the treetops and a round of congratulations for Hodd, who’d guided them expertly by night to get them back to safety. The mood became suddenly buoyant. They’d made it. Even if they weren’t exactly carrying chests of booty, they still felt as if they’d conquered the savage island. Frey’s crew would be glad just to get back to somewhere they could get a good meal and a mug of grog.
The trees thinned out and they walked into the barren clearing where their aircraft stood. The sounds of the awakening rainforest filled the air, and they could hear the distant bellow of the waterfall that fell from the mountains, but otherwise all was quiet. The cargo ramps of their craft were closed, and there was not a sign of another living being. They came to a stop, sensing something amiss.
“Maybe it’s earlier than we thought?” Crake suggested, consulting his pocket watch. “Nobody up yet?”
“Something ain’t right,” Malvery rumbled. “Feel it in my pods.”
“In your pods?” Pinn asked.
Malvery clasped his crotch with one hand. “My pods are shrinking,” said Malvery. “Trying to hide, ain’t they?