Chapter Thirty-Nine

 

 

 

Ryan held on to the metal bar at his side, but the impact was so severe that he bent it away from its fixing point. He lurched forward and took the initial wave of cold, salty water full in the face.

 

It made him gasp for breath and blinded him.

 

"Ob-slits!" Doc shouted, surprisingly the quickest in the wag to realize what had happened and where their principal danger lay.

 

"Close them," J.B. ordered, but the deluge shorted out some of the electrics and his voice disappeared.

 

It felt like the cumbersome LAV was going clear to the bottom of the Hudson.

 

Ryan managed to slam the hatch shut, locking it tight, but he was soaking wet and could still hear water pouring in somewhere below him.

 

"Mildred!" Krysty yelled.

 

"I'm stuck."

 

Doc, with a ragged edge of panic riding over his voice, said, "I can't reach past her to shut the port."

 

The vehicle still hadn't stopped plunging, and Ryan was conscious that they were also being moved slowly sideways by the current. There was another solid jarring thump, and they tipped over farther.

 

The engine was faltering, coughing and cutting out, barely managing to maintain ignition. Amid the bedlam Ryan was aware of J.B. muttering a calm litany of curses. "Got to close that ob-slot! Can you reach it, Krysty?"

 

"I'll try. Gaia! The water's twenty below freezing and I'm soaked. I think if Yeah. Sorry, Doc."

 

The sound of the torrent suddenly ceased, and Ryan heard locks snapping shut.

 

Doc's voice, calmer, said, "Don't apologize, my dear young lady, having my mouth filled with the toe of your boot is a small price to pay to render us a mite more waterproof."

 

Gradually, like a mortally wounded whale, the wag seemed to be stablizing itself, becoming level and rising steadily toward the surface of the river. The engine was still reluctant to fire properly, but at least it was running.

 

"Intercom's out!" J.B. shouted. "But I got control."

 

Ryan had fumbled in the chaotic darkness and located a small periscope. He raised it with a hydraulic, hissing sound and looked through the lens. He couldn't see a thing, couldn't even judge whether they were underwater or whether they'd broken the surface.

 

"Everyone all right?" he called.

 

"Wonderful," Doc replied.

 

"Cold, wet and bloody miserable," Mildred called.

 

"Surviving, lover"

 

"We above the water yet, Ryan?" J.B. asked. "I'm stone-blind here."

 

"I'll risk opening the ob-slit. Rest of you keep 'em shut."

 

Only a few of the dim lights inside the vehicle were still functioning. Ryan screwed his eye up, shaking wet hair off his face, found the locking handle and eased it up a little. Nothing happened, so he took a chance and threw it clear back, ready to shut it again if the river flooded in.

 

"We're out," he called. "Still a lot of snow, but I think it's easing some. J.B., can you turn her around and give me a chance to recce?"

 

"Sure. Reverse port and forward with starboard. And around we go."

 

The wag began to swing.

 

Ryan stared out into the night, straggling to catch a glimpse of anything that might give a clue about where the shore lay.

 

"Can I ask a question?"

 

"Sure, Mildred," J.B. said.

 

"Just what happened back there? One minute we're driving along and next moment we're falling into deep water."

 

Doc's laugh echoed through the wag. "Just like life, isn't it?"

 

Ryan detected a faint flicker of light, but the LAV was swinging steadily and he couldn't be certain. He was about to ask J.B. to pull her the other way, but he decided it would be better to let it go around one more time.

 

"Ran off a dock, Mildred," the Armorer shouted. "Blame our high and mighty nav-man up there."

 

"What are you complaining about? Fireblast, it's a sure signal you're feeling better, J.B., moaning like this. I said I'd get us into the river. And I did."

 

"Sure. Want me to stop circling?"

 

"Not yet. Yeah, there it is. One more time around, but real slow. Ready to check when I say the word. I can see something. Must be the shore. I'll open the hatch and try to get out. Should be able to see from there."

 

"Make sure we're high enough out of the water," J.B. called. "Open up the big hatch if we're not, and we'll float like a lead balloon."

 

Ryan eased it open a quarter inch. A little water seeped in, but there was no serious problem. He flung it all the way back, wincing again as the biting gale dashed snow in his face.

 

Out in the night air it was surprisingly easy to get his bearings. The wind was blowing steadily from the north, and he knew the river ran more or less north-south. So once he stared into the driving blizzard, shielding his eye from the snow, he knew the Newyork shore lay to his right. Over to the other side were the big swamps.

 

Ryan stuck his head back inside. "You hear me, J.B.? Steer right."

 

"Sure."

 

"And open up your hatch, as well. Get a bit wet, but you'll be able to hear me."

 

"Sure."

 

They made the turn, heading in a ponderous quarter circle. In the gaps between the snow flurries Ryan thought a couple of times that he saw a distant, flickering light.

 

Krysty joined him. "Making me feel pig-sick down in there. Rather be wet and cold."

 

"Don't know where we are. I figure we must've gone in the river a couple of blocks too late. So we need to go south for a quarter mile or so."

 

"You got the map?"

 

"Sure. But it's falling apart with the water. I can remember it."

 

"Think we'll make it?"

 

She was hanging on to his arm. Though they were so close, the blackness meant they couldn't even see each other's face.

 

"I know we'll get to where we're going. The rest is" She felt him shrug.

 

The flow of the river was another factor in the impossible equation. They didn't know how fast it was flowing, so they didn't know how far south they were being carried. And, since they hadn't known where they were in the first place, there was an awful lot of guesstimates involved.

 

"Snow's easing some, lover," Krysty said.

 

The wind was also dropping, but still whipped whitecaps off the tops of the waves all around them.

 

The LAV butted its way through them, its blunt nose making a loud, thwacking noise and kicking up a wall of white spray.

 

Ryan was steadying himself on the side of the turret, the long barrel of the blaster against the side of his leg. His own G-12 caseless was strapped securely across his shoulders.

 

"How'm I doing?" J.B. shouted. "Still can't see."

 

"About as you're going now," Ryan replied.

 

The map had shown two prongs of fallen rock and stone, like the straight horns of a cow. Stanton said they'd been warehouses once, but now they provided a kind of natural harbor that the scalies sometimes used for their fishing rafts.

 

Once shore was reached there was a big arched tunnel that gave access, so Stanton believed, to the heart of the muties' empire.

 

The engine now sounded healthier, and Ryan was grateful for the storm. If the night had been calm, then the scalies would have heard them coming five miles off.

 

"Can I come up top?" Doc shouted. "I fear the poor remnants of Stanton's feast are about to reappear."

 

"Careful of the controls," Ryan called.

 

Three seconds later he was in the blackness of the river, swimming for his life.

 

One moment he and Krysty had been pressed close, then the turret began to swing around, the barrel of the Bushmaster catching Ryan just below the knees sending him teetering off the slippery, wet metal into the Hudson.

 

Krysty hung on to the blaster, hearing Doc's voice very faintly.

 

"Sorry. Caught my foot on some lever. Hope it wasn't important. I said, I hope it's not important."

 

Ryan heard nothing, just the rushing, bubbling sound of the river beating in his ears. He kicked his way to the surface, hampered by the weight of the rifle. His head above water, he looked around for any sign of either the wag or the shore, but he couldn't see either. He could just catch the distant rumble of the six-cylinder diesel engine.

 

Then something brushed against the side of his leg.