Last to Rise(52)

All we had time for was trying to live, trying to do what we’d come for and then get out.



I went left, straight to the machine, but Pasha yanked me back. Four men that way sounded in my head. He was a handy guy to have around. I nodded and let him lead the way.



Those few minutes so shredded my nerves, I can barely even recall them. I certainly went off going Outside ever again, even if I could get steak or bacon. It wouldn’t have tempted me if it was wall-to-wall naked ladies sluiced in gravy. The sheer openness of Outside scoured what little courage I had so that I wished for the comfort of buildings to surround me, for walkways to catch me in their stifling net.



A cry went up behind, in front, all around it seemed. Pasha didn’t steer us wrong, knew who was where, when they moved. But a minute – or was it an hour? – later even he conceded defeat. With a sign that we could go no further, not forward or back, we huddled behind a rock that had split, leaving us a tiny hole to cower in.



I could see through the crack a little. The machine, looking squat and powerful and mindless. A jumble of men, of tents and shouting and fires cooking whatever it was that was driving my stomach to distraction. Even through all that, the constant gnawing hunger of the past weeks meant that the smell of cooking meat wasn’t far from my thoughts. Just a taste would do. Just a little lick.



I blinked the thought away and carried on looking. Past the tents they’d made a corral of sorts, and in the dim light of the moon shapes shambled about in it, snuffling and making the odd, and I mean odd, squeak. A pair of beady little eyes peered out of the gloom, right at me, and the thing gave an almighty shriek like Namrat had hold of its bollocks and was twisting for all he was worth. I shot backwards into the hidey-hole and tried to press myself into the rock while I processed what I’d just seen. I couldn’t be 100 per cent certain – I’d only ever seen them up close in books, or, once, dead and laid out on a slab – but I was pretty sure it was a pig. The bastards really did have pigs. Bacon on the hoof, or trotter or whatever. But I soon had other things to worry about rather than salivate over.



An ominous whoomph sound in front, another behind.



“What the fuck was that?” I whispered.



You don’t want to know, Pasha thought at me. Really. If you’re going to do it, it needs to be now.



I peered back through the split in the rock, making sure to avoid the pig’s eye. The machine sat there, looking mean and pissed off. Half a dozen men crawled over it with spanners and other tools. Two more had what looked like a sodding great bullet and were loading it into the back of the muzzle.



Someone screamed behind me like their arse was on fire, counterpointed by the subtle crack of dislocating fingers.



Now, Rojan, now!



The crack of my own fingers, and there it was. I tried to ignore the screams around me, inside me, and concentrate on the engine. Too much, it was going to take too much, enough to send me batty but what choice did I have?



At the back there, where a pipe belched out thick, black smoke in oily streamers. Under those steel plates… I didn’t know if I had it or not, only knew it was something big and complicated, but we were out of time, out of luck. Another twist, another surge, what felt like a vein popping inside my head, and whatever it was, it was gone. I hoped Lise could get some use out of it, and dry-heaved behind the rock.



I stayed there for a while, I think, with the cool rock comforting my sweating face. More meat roasted or burned somewhere close but it had an odd tang to it, one I’d never smelled before that made my grumbling stomach shut up. Someone shook my shoulder and wouldn’t let up so I turned to find Pasha. His face was pale, sweating like my own, a touch of panic in his eyes and the jerky way he was moving.



“Thank fuck. Come on, I think I’ve bought us some time but you have to get us out of here. Rearrange us the hell out.”



“Can’t do three, you know that,” I managed to mumble. Myself and one other, and that was pushing it, especially after what I’d just put my hand and brain through. Even on a good day – and trust me, this was not a good day – I’d struggle to do three, in fact I’d never tried it because two was almost enough to burst a blood vessel. I was pretty sure three would leave me good for nothing but the knackers’ yard, and I didn’t want to test my theory. “Back to the tunnel, that was the plan.”



The way Pasha’s lips twitched into a grimace said it all, that I didn’t want to look, or know; but I looked anyway, or tried to.



“The tunnel isn’t an option right now. You don’t need to see why. Just get us out before those guards realise what I’ve made them do, and stop doing it.”