The Wastelands (Part II of the Runner Series)

Chapter 35

My fingers grip the ship's rope like a vice as the balloon below me slowly deflates. Shit. My hiding place is literally disappearing around me.

I chance a look upwards and make a cursory assessment of the rafters overhead, in the next moment reaching up and grabbing hold of an overhanging beam.

As silently as possible I pull myself up, crouching low on the beam and shimmying down its length into the shadows, careful to keep my breaths even and my steps light.

Situated in the narrow gap between the dome's ceiling and the topmost rafters I am afforded a view of the goings-on below me. The silver balloon continues to deflate, sputtering softly as the helium slowly leaks free and the ship gradually sinks down to the ground. The sounds of high-pitched laughter echo up at me as the men aboard the ship breathe in the constricting gas, talking and joking in their temporarily-nasally voices. I nearly roll my eyes at the all-too-familiar humour, somehow expecting these cold-hearted soldiers to be above such childish amusements.

"Any cargo?" One of the shipyard workers calls out, giving a demonstration of helium's effects and spurring another round of laughter. He clears his throat and shouts a curse at the crew, finally garnering an answer.

"Nothing today." Someone, presumably the captain, yells back. There is a soft thud as the plank is raised against the side of the ship. "There were a couple brushfires a few miles back, however. Might be worth checking out the area tomorrow."

"Bloody pyros." The shipyard worker adjusts the plank, throwing a thumbs-up and standing back so the men can disembark.

I count the people filing out, storing the number away in case I need it later. The soldiers are dressed in their trademark dark clothing, layered with scarves wrapped around their heads and cascading down their backs into capes. There is the glint of polished steel at their waists and a clunky half-mask dangling around their necks. I pay careful attention to the masks, biting my lip as I consider their invaluability. The nerve gas gives these strangers a sizable advantage over us, but having those masks on our side would help to even out the playing field.

The strangers' footsteps are heavy on the grated floor beneath them, ricocheting off the low ceiling. The tight knit of the floor keeps me from seeing below the hangar, but my vantage point allows me to make a general assessment of the dome's topmost room.

There are only four airships staked and hovering alongside the one I just hitched a ride on. A small smile pulls at my lip as I consider the tight quarters. It appears as though this paltry collection makes up their entire air force. How interesting.

I watch as the men make their way towards a conspicuous pillar placed prominently at the center of the hangar, walking around to the far side and disappearing from my field of view. Keeping my back to the wall, I creep as slowly and silently as possible around the span of the dome, maneuvering so that I am behind the crew members.

There is a soft, grating noise and I freeze in place, pressing myself flat against the wall. I watch as one of the crew members reaches forward and pulls open a hinged gate, revealing an entrance into the pillar. One by one the men file inside. I feel my eyes stretch wide as the gate slides closed and the mysterious, mechanical groaning noise starts up again. To my amazement, the floor inside the tube begins to lower, pulling the men down into the abyss below.

The shipyard worker moves below me, professionally efficient and oblivious. I bite down hard on my lip, my mind whirring with a thousand questions as I register the man pushing the hovering ship into place against the wall, securing it tightly and disappearing down a set of stairs set against the far side of the room.

I remain perfectly still, every sense on high alert while I listen for the telltale sound of heavy footsteps tapping against the grated floor. Hearing nothing, I lower myself carefully to the ground, landing with near-silence as I bend my knees and tuck into a roll, absorbing my fall with a practiced precision.