The Toll (Arc of a Scythe) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,21
alignment.
Now the muzzle was just in front of her. She reached forward to grasp it, feeling its opening, smooth and clean as the day it was manufactured. It angered her. Why had humankind put its effort into defying corrosion and the ravages of time for a device of destruction? It was obscene that this thing still functioned.
“Munira! Watch out!”
She pulled her hand back from the muzzle just in time. She felt the blast in the marrow of her bones and in the roots of her teeth. The barrel to which she clung got hotter with the blast.
And then she had an idea. Perhaps this primitive war technology could be defeated with even more primitive sabotage.
“A coconut!” said Munira. “Throw me a coconut! No – throw me a bunch of them.”
If there was anything that there was an abundance of on this island it was coconuts. The first one Faraday threw was too big to fit into the mouth of the muzzle.
“Smaller!” she told him. “Hurry.”
Faraday tossed up three smaller ones. His aim was perfect, and she caught all three, just as the cannon got off another blast. The horizon was now dotted with at least a dozen pillars of smoke.
Focusing, she began to count. She had twenty seconds. She shimmied out farther onto the barrel and pushed the first coconut into the muzzle. It slid down the smooth shaft a little too easily. The second one was harder to stuff in, though. Good! It needed to be. Finally, with the recharging whine hitting a crescendo, she rammed the last one down the gullet of the barrel, forcing it in. It was just large enough to plug it completely. Then, at the last second, she jumped.
This time there was no delay between explosion and sound. The ends of her hair singed. Shrapnel shredded the palm leaves around her. She hit the ground, and Faraday dove on top of her to protect her. Another explosion, along with heat that she thought would ignite their flesh … but then it faded, resolving into twangs of dying metal and the acrid smell of burning insulation. When they looked back, the turret was gone, and the tower was nothing but red-hot wreckage.
“Well done,” said Faraday. “Well done.”
But Munira knew they hadn’t been fast enough, and all they would find washing up on their shores would be the dead.
Loriana was in a stairwell when the blast came and ripped a hole in the ship, knocking her to the deck.
“May I have your attention, please…” said the ship’s automated voice, with far less conviction than the moment called for. “Please make your way to the nearest safety pod and abandon ship at your earliest possible convenience. Thank you.”
The ship began to keel to starboard as Loriana raced back up to the wheelhouse, hoping she’d be able to grasp the situation more clearly from up there.
Director Hilliard was standing before the navigation console. Shrapnel had shattered a window, and there was a cut on her forehead. She had a vague look about her, as if she were wandering the wheelhouse of a dream.
“Director Hilliard, we have to go!”
There was a second blast as another ship was hit. The vessel exploded midship, the bow and stern rising like a twig snapped in half.
Hilliard stared in stunned disbelief. “Was this the Thunderhead’s plan all along?” she muttered. “We’re useless to the world now. The Thunderhead couldn’t kill us, so did it send us to a place where it knew we would be killed?”
“The Thunderhead wouldn’t do that!” Loriana said.
“How do you know, Loriana? How do you know?”
She didn’t – but clearly the Thunderhead had no eyes on this place, which meant it didn’t know what to expect any more than they did.
Another blast. Another ship hit. Their own vessel was foundering, and it wouldn’t be long before the sea swallowed it.
“Come with me, Director,” said Loriana. “We have to get to the safety pods before it’s too late.”
When Loriana arrived at the pods with Hilliard in tow, the main deck was flooding. Several pods had already ejected; others were too damaged to use. Agent Qian lay deadish and badly burned in the corner. Not deadish, but dead. There’d be no way to revive him out here.
There was one pod left, overstuffed with maybe a dozen agents who were unable to close the door because of a damaged hinge. It would have to be closed manually from the outside.