Providence - Max Barry Page 0,96
try to slow them down.”
“Come on,” he said. “Jackson, that’s a Providence job. That’s not a three-person, one-rifle job.”
She rose to her feet and unstrapped the converter. She doubted the pool would prove more fruitful than resin in its hardened form, but had to try. The pool’s edges were smooth and the footing treacherous and she slid in up to her knees. She unfolded the converter and dipped it beneath the surface. There were salamanders below her, she figured. More than she could imagine. They had a smooth breeding operation down there, she bet. A production line of killers.
“Anything?” Anders said.
She waited for the converter to confirm it. She shook her head.
“Well, shit,” Anders said.
The goop burped. She froze. A series of small bubbles rose to the surface and popped one after another.
“You should get out of there,” Anders said.
She emptied the converter of liquid and tossed it to him. When she tried to move, she discovered that her boots were stuck. She’d been stationary for a while and had sunk into the muck. Anders slung the gun to his back, bent, and offered his hand. She took it. The pool burped again, a larger bubble.
“One,” Anders said. “Two. Three.”
He pulled. Her boots were dragged free and she sprawled onto the rock like a landed fish. She rolled onto her back. Before her, the surface rose. A salamander heaved itself out of the pool. Its body flopped forward. Its legs reached for purchase. She tried to scramble away but the gravity was hungry and her wet boots had no traction and she slid back into the pool. She went under and orange gunk closed over her head. Panic seized her. She couldn’t see. Her feet slipped repeatedly until finally she found purchase. She broke the surface.
The salamander had climbed fully out of the pool. It was a soldier, she saw, with black, leathery skin, folded wings, and a rough, blocky head. It seemed disoriented. Liquid resin ran from its body, spattering the rock. Anders had the lightning gun. One charge, she remembered. Or zero, depending on how it was feeling at that moment.
“Shoot it!” she said.
The air burst and crackled. The salamander screamed. Its body convulsed. Before she could reach it, it heaved to its feet and began to lumber away. Anders simply watched it go.
“Shoot it again!” she screamed.
He blinked and took aim. The gun emitted a short, dispirited tone, red lights lighting along its side.
She grabbed the converter and began to run. The salamander was fifty feet ahead, wounded but moving fast. After a moment, Anders caught up with her.
“Shoot it again,” she said.
“No juice.”
“Just try,” she said. It had unearthed a charge despite reading zero before; maybe it could again.
He raised the gun, stopped running for a moment, and took aim. The warning tone sounded again.
She hadn’t paused, and Anders caught up to her again. The salamander was continuing to draw away, and now had a lead of two hundred yards. Ahead lay a plain of baking rock.
“Shit, it’s fast,” Anders said. “Do we stop?”
Her suit fan began to whine, cooling her skin. “It’s hurt. We won’t get a better chance than this.”
He was silent. They ran. The salamander moved farther ahead until it became a smudge against the rock.
“We’re exposed out here,” Anders said. “And we should get back to Beanfield.”
She didn’t reply. He didn’t seem to realize it, but the situation had become very simple. They had to catch this salamander and kill it or else die in their suits.
“Jackson. It’s got six fucking legs. We’re not going to catch it.”
For the last few minutes, she had suspected the salamander was drifting to the left. Now it became unmistakable. “It’s heading for the volcano. We can cut it off.”
They adjusted course. Within a few minutes, they’d made up enough ground for her to make out the salamander’s individual limbs again. It was loping painfully, she observed. Then it noticed them and changed direction, beginning to draw away.