Chapter Five
They reached the cabin with no time to spare. Night had fallen a good half-hour before, and for the past 15 minutes Jackson had been on high alert.
A wolf pack had been on their tails. From the subtle crack of a twig being trodden in half to the lingering smell on the wind, he’d had no doubt of what was out there.
Pushing a hand into the small of Ki’s back and practically throwing her through the open cabin door, he whirled to close it quickly.
Stumbling, she turned, nostrils flaring. “How dare you—”
Her grumble was cut short as a wolf call rang out from just behind the door. Startled, she gasped, flattening a hand on her chest as her eyes widened.
“Relax. They can’t get inside.” Shifting past her, he made his way through the dark to the table he knew was on the other side of the room. The cabin was small, and he found his arm brushing past Ki’s. She yanked it back instantly. It brought a slight smile to the corners of his mouth.
As he fumbled over the table, his hand clutched the matches and the oil lamp. Pushing his fingers down the sticky glass, he struck a match on the chipped wood and finally lit the oil.
The glow of the lamp lapped and flickered up his arm and face. Turning, he walked over and set it down above the fire place. Ki still stood by the door, a good meter back from it, her hand pushing into her chest. A wolf was scrabbling at the dirt outside, occasionally pawing at the door itself. With every snuffle of its muzzle or scratch of its claws, she gave a slight shudder.
“They will get bored and give up,” he assured her as he grabbed at some dry wood by the fireplace, heaping it into the coals.
“We have wolves in Tarkan, but they would never act like this. They are scared of people.”
He couldn’t stop the mocking chuckle from shaking his breath. “That is because you have hunted them near to extinction. They know to avoid you if they wish to live. Ashkan wolves are by and large left alone. They know to stick to the woods and not come into the towns, but up here is their own domain.”
Her hand dropped from her chest, and no doubt she fixed him with an incredulous look. In the dark all he could see was that rounded bottom lip of hers turn in. “Will you use everything you can as an insult against my people?”
“Only when it is true and it stops you from trembling at the door.” He stood, brushing his hands against his rough, woolen work pants.
Twisting her neck up in that haughty way he’d come to recognize was her main reaction to everything, she walked further into the room.
Small, it only possessed a single bed, a table, a chair, a fireplace, and an old cupboard of supplies. She walked over to the bed, pressing her hand into it as if to check the spring. It was made of old, moldering hay that had seen too much damp, but it was better than the cold stone floor below.
Shrugging over her shoulder, she looked at him, then back down at the bed. Straightening, she tugged higher on her collar and took a steady step backwards.
He knew what she was thinking, and he couldn’t help but laugh. Perhaps she really was a priestess; he’d met few women as reserved as her.
“There should be a canister of wine in the cupboard. And if we are lucky, the last trackers to use this place may have left some cheese and preserves.” He pointed past her, finally controlling the smile that had fattened his cheeks at her quaint behavior.
She stood with her bare arms hooked behind her back, a nonplussed look on her face. “I cannot drink wine. It is forbidden for a priestess to indulge in alcohol. I will need water instead.”
Snickering, he leaned a hand onto the fireplace. “There is no water. And unless you would like to go outside to brave the wolves to pull some up from the well, there will be nothing but wine.”
Patting her throat demurely, she shook her head.
“Your lips are dried and cracked. Presumably you haven’t had a drop of anything since you fell to earth this morning. After all the crying, screaming, and berating you’ve done, I imagine your throat is parched.” Shifting past her, he leaned down to the cupboard and began rummaging within. In seconds he’d brought out a wheel of cheese carefully wrapped in dark cloth and leather, and a bottle of corked wine. Blowing the dust off it, he turned it around, checking the label.
“I will be fine,” she shook her head.
“You will drink,” he pushed the bottle into her chest and he headed for the table. Slamming the wheel of cheese down, he unwrapped it and sliced off a chunk, handing it to her.
She accepted the cheese but did nothing but stare back at him blankly. “Do you really expect me to eat this?”
A harsh laugh pushed his chest forward. Leaning against the table he shrugged expressively. “That depends on whether you want to live. If you feel like dying of starvation and dehydration, then go ahead.”
“I thought you said I was your personal concern?” she challenged. “I thought you said you were going to do everything you could to keep me from the Zeneethians so you could figure out what was going on?”
“Good point,” he crossed his arms, one cheek fattening against his eye as he offered her a half smile. “Drink and eat before I force you to. There is no water and there are no delicacies for you to feast on. Tonight you will have to live a simple existence.”
Huffing, she finally turned and sat demurely on the edge of the bed, placing the wine carefully beside her with a nervous frown.
“Don’t get crumbs in the bed, I find them very irritating when I sleep,” he took a bite of the chunk of cheese he’d just sliced and watched with relish as she flushed at his words.
“I will not sleep with—” she got to her feet.
“You will be sleeping on the ground.” He nodded down to the small, soot-covered rug before the fireplace. “I will need my strength for the pass tomorrow. Should any more of those wolves be out there, I’ll need to be rested. Not to mention those soldiers.”
Shoulders deflating, she sat back on the bed with a deep but wary breath. She proceeded to carefully place the cheese on her lap, smoothing out the folds of her robe first. Then she broke off the smallest chunks she could, placing them into her mouth slowly.
He breathed through a laugh. “Don’t tell me, priestesses are forbidden to eat in front of men. I can turn around if you’d like?” he offered jokingly.
“No,” she didn’t look at him, “I’m a little dizzy.” She brushed her hand over her face, hooking her sleek, shiny hair behind an ear.
Her features were slight, her skin smooth, she reminded him of the oriental women of the north. Though distinct territories, both Tarkan and Ashka were home to many races. From the dark-skinned nomads to the fair-haired mountain dwellers. Ki’s ancestors no doubt originated from the temperate northern islands. Once they had belonged to the Ashkans, now the territory was split right down the middle. He’d fought battles there in the previous war; it helped him readily guess her heritage.
No matter where she came from, she was still Tarkan. The dispute between his people and those murderers had never been along racial lines, it had always been nationalistic. Though blood and ancestry were shared between them, recent history was not. Their morality diverged. Their way of life was so separate as to be unrecognizable. Everything a Tarkan stood for an Ashkan would dispute.
His thoughts hardened his jaw, and he tried to ignore her as her unfocussed gaze dropped to the ground.
He was doing this for his people, and needed to remind himself of that fact.
Finishing off another chunk of cheese, he stood roughly. “Drink the wine,” he ordered.
“I can’t,” she turned from him as he loomed above her.
“Fine,” he leaned down and snapped it up, yanking out the cork.
Before he could try to force her to drink it, his conscience caught up with him. Could he really hold her head back and tip it down her throat, just because she was Tarkan? The thought of manhandling someone, especially a woman, was abhorrent to him. Yet there existed this obvious clause in his mind, a loophole.
If she was Tarkan, it didn’t matter if she was a woman, it didn’t matter if she was fatigued and injured, it didn’t matter if she was running from a force hell bent on kidnapping her. All that mattered is what they’d done to his people.
Her gaze flicked up. At first frightened, her expression mollified as she concentrated on him. “I have no defenses against you. I can hardly stand anymore. Yet I beg of you not to force me to drink that. It’s forbidden.”
Her glare did not waver. As the fire crackled behind him, it lit up her face, its reflected light dancing over her pale cheeks and forehead.
He stepped back. It was not a conscious decision; his body did it for him.
A sudden pang of guilt spread up from his gut with the speed of a bullet.
He prided himself on his diligence and manners. He was the kind of man who opened a door for a woman, who would stand up for her if anyone berated her down the street. His mother and sister would be horrified if they’d known what he was about to do.
Watching him warily as he stepped further back, she brushed her hand over her face. The move was sluggish, her fingers pushing into her dropping cheeks.
She needed water. She needed rest. No doubt she also needed to know she could trust him. She would not let her guard down and rest if he threatened her every other second.
Guilt now so powerful he almost felt sick, he placed the wine carefully on the table. “I am...” he couldn’t force the word sorry from his lips. Instead he grabbed at the oil lamp still on the fireplace. “I will go out and see what I can draw from the well. Stay here.”
For a moment her eyes lolled back into her head and it looked as if she would faint. At the mention of going outside, her head snapped forward. The move was lethargic, but still her gaze sparked. “You can’t – the wolves—”
He tried to assure her with a nod, heading for the door. “I still have my gun. It may not work against your soldiers, but it is more than enough to scare the pack away.”
Still on the edge of the bed, she watched him carefully as he brought out his gun and made for the door.
“Be careful,” she begged through a hard breath.
It made him pause, one hand on the door as the other hooked the lamp under his arm and held the gun.
He pushed himself forward, the door creaking ominously as he opened it with all the care and precision he could muster.
“It’s fine, you don’t have to go out,” she whispered nervously.
Ignoring her, he moved forward, gun at the ready, swinging the lamp in an obvious arc.
He knew the packs of these ranges, and they were scared by little. They were, at least, fastidiously nocturnal. For whatever reason, whether it be biology or habitat, they only ventured out of their dens to hunt at night.
And hunt they would.
Tomorrow they would be safe, tonight would be another matter.
He heard a growl from his left, up in the dense scrub by the side of the cabin. The small hut was built into a slope, the terrain rough and rocky, but pine trees and scraggly undergrowth still clung to the cabin on the upper side.
He tensed his legs, ensuring his body was balanced and centered.
If he could have afforded the ammo, he would have shot at the wolves. He could not though; who knew when those soldiers would return. Instead he swung the oil lamp forward again, thankful the glass protected the flame from the buffeting gale.
This high up wind rushed off the peaks above, bringing down the frosty bite of snow and ice.
Moving forward, he heard yet another growl from his other side. If he had to use the gun, he would, he assured himself.
Locking his jaw in anticipation, he headed around the slope. It was high and steep, and thankfully a river ran by it to the west, continually feeding the ground water. The well never ran dry. Though usually you didn’t have to pull from it with a pack of wolves watching your every move.
Feeling his forehead slick with sweat, he kept as close to the side of the hut as he could, using the wall to protect his flank. It was when he darted out from the shadow of the building that the growling got louder.
By the sounds of it, there was a whole pack around him. He could catch the silvery glints of their sleek backs in the dim light of his lamp. Here and there the flash of a tail, even the glimmer of moonlight against wide open eyes.
The well was barely three meters from the back of the hut, but it felt like it was kilometers away. Continually swinging the torch he made it though.
The pack circled in from behind. With a distinct, sharp scrabble of claw on rock, he heard one jump. Springing off a high boulder at the back of the cabin, it landed right in front of him. Body all but convulsing back in shock, Jackson managed to hold onto his gun somehow.
It was a huge wolf, probably the alpha of the pack, and as it bared its teeth and growled, the others moved in from the sides.
Jackson was pinned, but he had not lost. Baring his own teeth at the thought of wasting a bullet, he aimed at the creature before him.
He did not get a chance to shoot.
The wolf doubled back with a sudden lurch, its ears pricking up as it sniffed the air in panic. The move was picked up and repeated by the rest of the pack until they all began to whine with worry. Seconds later they scurried as a group down the slope and into the shadows of the large and ancient pines.
They hardly made a sound. Not even a whimper or a yelp, just the scrabbling of quick and frantic claws over rock.
The sight of them fleeing so suddenly and with such speed saw Jackson almost drop his gun.
Then he heard it. From up above a faint humming that was getting louder. At first it sounded like nothing more than an insect, but as it neared, he recognized it.
The same sound of swarming locusts that he’d heard before those soldiers had attacked the farmhouse.
Dread drawing over him, he bolted for the cabin. Before he could reach it, he saw a shape fall down from the sky above. It landed with the softest of thumps on the gently sloped roof of the hut. With the sound of its fall, it could have been no heavier than a house cat, but as he saw it pull up, he recognized the form of a man. He even saw the white glint of that distinctive armor.
Jackson had no time to react. Half a second later, something landed in front of the cabin door. There was the sound of wood splitting as something was kicked in and then a punctuated short scream.
Ki.
He rushed forward but the soldier on the roof somersaulted off and landed less than a centimeter in front of him, lashing forward with the butt of his rifle.
Slamming backwards into the wooden beams of the hut, Jackson brought up his hands and managed to deflect the rifle off. That was all he could do. He couldn’t catch it or yank it from the soldier’s grasp; the force of the blow was unstoppable.
“Ki,” he used up precious breath to shout her name. It was a pointless move; no doubt she was already out cold. These soldiers were the most efficient and well-equipped he had ever seen.
Still, her name bubbled up from somewhere within and was impossible to stifle.
The soldier brought his gun around again, this time slamming it right into Jackson’s stomach.
It crippled him. Stumbling to his knees, he watched in still horror as the soldier lurched forward, grabbing Jackson by the neck and slamming him against the wall. The cabin shook so hard something dislodged from the roof.
Beginning to black out, Jackson saw one of the large wooden logs of the roof slide off and slam against the soldier. Too sudden to move back, it struck the guy right on the head. Crumpling, his fancy armor obviously unable to withstand such a direct and heavy hit, the soldier’s hand was ripped off Jackson’s throat.
Gasping for air, ready to black out, somehow he held on. Stumbling to one knee, he leaned forward. Mind a haze from his near asphyxiation, his hand acted of its own accord, snaking out and grabbing at the soldier’s gun.
It was light, impossibly light. It felt like holding air. For such a big-barreled weapon,
it should have been heavy and solid. Yet as he toted it, pushing the butt into his shoulder and locking his body around it, it felt like it was floating.
Not wasting any time, he pushed to the side of the soldier by his feet, stumbling over the massive log that still pinned the man down. Shoving all his fatigue and pain to the side, he ignored his throbbing throat and pounding stomach.
He could hear someone coming from the side of the house.
The footsteps were light, barely audible, but he knew it couldn’t be Ki.
He shot first, but not towards the skulking soldier as he came into view. At the rock scree behind the cabin. Running to the side and finally coming out of the safety of the shadow of the house, he aimed at the stone-covered slope above. As he fired, there was no recoil from the gun. Yet each blast did far more damage than any other rifle he’d ever used. Searing blue blasts slammed into the rocks, their energy leaching out into the surrounding ground and causing whole boulders to crumble and pop.
The effect was immediate. The once-stable cliff face slipped. Like an avalanche, stone rained down from above.
He jumped forward, diving against the side of the house, bringing his arms up and over his head.
It was a risky move. If he’d done enough damage to the scree, it could crumple the hut beneath it as it slid down the hill. He just hoped the cabin was as sturdy as it looked. Made out of huge rounds of pine trunk, it had been built to last.
He felt the hut rock against him as the slope surged against it like a wave.
He also heard the shouts. Heavily distorted, he knew they came from the soldiers. He also recognized the fear and desperation.
Riding out the rockslide, he pressed his eyes closed in a quick prayer.
He hoped she would be fine. It had been a last-ditch move to shoot the scree, but against such sophisticated enemies, it was that or die.
With one final bone-shaking crash, the house stopped shuddering.
It was now or never. He needed the element of surprise. Leaping up he rushed to the front of the cabin, gun at the ready. The moon gave him sporadic illumination as it peaked out from behind the rushing clouds. It was all he needed.
As soon as he rounded the house he rolled. Though his back crunched into the sharp, dislodged stones that scattered the small path before the door, he snapped to his feet easily.
Expecting a volley of fire, no one fired a single shot. Twisting on the spot, he realized the door was closed.
He didn’t hesitate, he shot at the base, darting to the side to avoid the hail of wood and sparks. He didn’t dart in over the still smoking wood. He wasn’t crazy. Instead he climbed up the side of the house, over the piles of rock that had lodged there, aiming for one of the windows. When he reached it, he flattened himself as quickly and silently as he could.
The rocks had built up so high on this side of the cabin that he could see in through the window while lying on his stomach. As he peered in, the still crackling fire within lit up the room.
One of those soldiers had his arm around Ki, her body limp and bent over, arms and hair brushing against her legs. The man’s gun was at the ready, aimed at the door, stance stiff and poised.
That was two of them. If it was the same group from the farmhouse, there would be two more.
He couldn’t take for granted that they’d fallen down the hill along with the rockslide.
With the lightest crunch behind him, his body tensed, head pounding with alarm.
Rolling on his stomach, he moved just in time. Something jumped down from the scree behind him, landing where he’d been a second ago.
Jackson flung himself into a desperate roll, scrabbling as fast as he could until he got to his feet.
He heard the soldier hot on his heels. The crunch of rock under the man’s boots, the swish of air past that sleek armored form.
Letting out a desperate cry, Jackson rolled onto his back, bringing the gun up to fire as he did. He held his finger on the trigger, hand locking down in terror.
The blasts that came out of the gun ceased, instead a powerful and continuous beam replaced them. It cut through the landscape and, out of pure luck, slammed into the soldier as he leapt towards Jackson.
The blast sent the man reeling back several meters. Unlike a shot from Jackson’s regular gun, this one did leave a mark on that pristine armor. A massive blast mark that smoked at the edges.
The soldier twitched, but did not get up.
Jackson pressed himself to his knees, getting ready to stand and check the man was down.
He didn’t get the chance. Something slammed into his back, knocking him forward.
As stars swum through his vision and blood splattered over his lips, he saw a dark shadow loom from behind.
Rolling, Jackson kicked blindly at the ground behind him. His feet struck out wildly, but they glanced off the soldier’s legs. It was like kicking a wall.
He saw the man draw up his knee, getting ready to stomp. In the slices of moonlight penetrating the clouds, it was like flashes of a dream.
Jackson lashed out one final time, his foot connecting with a rock beneath the soldier’s feet.
It dislodged, and the soldier stumbled to the side. Overbalanced, he fell to his knees, sliding down the slope.
Jackson immediately clutched at his gun, shooting the soldier before he could right himself.
The blast from his gun sent the man flying back, smashing into the slope, causing yet another rockslide to drag him even further along the incline.
Three down, one to go. This one had Ki though.
Bringing a hand down, he checked his pocket as he stumbled to his feet. Gasping against the pain that seemed to fill his entire form, he felt the device.
It was the only reason they weren’t shooting at him. How they still knew it was on him, he didn’t know. It probably had something to do with those scanners Ki had talked of.
Scanners. Machines that could read and measure the natural world, picking up impossible details from great distances. Technology like that did not exist.
Letting his hand fall from the device, he pushed forward. Forcing his bucking and pain-riddled knees to walk, he stumbled over the loose scree, heading back for the house.
The soldier inside would have the advantage. If he had one of those scanners, no doubt he would be able to see Jackson’s approach.
With an enemy that could watch your every move, how were you meant to fight? The element of surprise was the only weapon he had against them.
No, not the only weapon. He still had the crystal. He’d seen what had happened before when he’d broken one. He could do it again, though he hoped he wouldn’t have to; it was the only evidence he had. Its properties needed to be analyzed, its abilities ascertained. The whole future of his people could depend on it.
With national survival weighing on his shoulders, he searched for an advantage.
The moon handed him one.
As the clouds parted above, he saw something glint by his foot. Leaning down, he plucked something out of the rocks.
It was one of those devices the soldiers kept in their armor. He’d seen the lead soldier pluck one out and use it to scan Ki back in the farmhouse.
Bringing it closer, he watched in amazement as the screen lit up. Images, like movies, were flickering over it. They were not real footage, but approximations of scenes made up of moving outlines.
He’d never seen anything like it.
He did not have time to stand in wonderment though. If this was one of their scanners, he had to find a way to use it.
Trying not to touch any buttons, lest he accidentally turn it off, he waved the device up. As he shifted it, the image on the small screen changed. At once he saw the outline of the incline below and every tree, despite the fact they were all hooded by shadow. As he moved it towards the cabin, it blipped, a white form appearing. The form was human shaped.
It had to be Ki.
Shocked that this device could show him the inside of a b
uilding, he didn’t have long to feel his surprise.
He saw something else within the cabin. Another figure, taller and broader than the first. Low to the ground, it headed for the door.
Jackson immediately crouched, knees creaking at the torture he’d put them through, but still managing to anchor him so he didn’t slip down the treacherous slope.
Getting quietly to his stomach, he waited. Adrenaline pumping through his form, he somehow managed to control his breath, bringing the gun up before him as he still watched the image on the scanner.
The soldier would be watching his own scanner, Jackson was sure of it. As the soldier rounded the side of the cabin slowly, like a lion pressing through the long grass, he would know exactly where Jackson was.
For the first time they were evenly matched. Though the soldier had the added advantage of that incredible armor, Jackson knew it could not withstand a blast from his gun.
What would happen next would be down to reflexes, skill, and cunning, not technology.
Shifting back as carefully as he could, trying to minimize the sound of his movements despite the fact the soldier would already know where he was, Jackson ignored the bead of sweat that dripped from his forehead down the bridge of his nose. He did not bring up a hand to wipe it off; he concentrated only on a patch of the cabin’s roof.
He would aim for one of the logs, hoping to repeat his earlier performance by getting one to roll off the roof and squish the soldier.
He did not get the chance.
Just as the man moved to where Jackson needed him to be – the flickering outlines on his scanner showing him directly under the shadow of the house – the man threw something.
Round and sleek, it sailed through the air.
Grenade.
Jackson had time to think the word, but he did not have time to act.
The grenade sailed into view then impossibly changed direction. It did not move in a straight arc – it hovered and shifted with the grace and speed of an insect, not a machine.
Heartbeat pounding against his clamped teeth, his fear surged as he waited for the explosion.
It didn’t come. Instead it zeroed in on him, zooming forward and latching onto his shoulder.
Desperate, he tried to pull it off, but he could not move it. It burrowed down, forming some connection with his flesh that was stronger than magnetism or the most powerful adhesive.
Eyes wider than they’d ever been, moves more frantic than his tired body should have been capable of producing, he thrashed at it.
With a pneumatic hiss, it released something, a pin shooting out and stabbing through his shoulder.
His legs fell out from underneath him. Darkness trickled in at the edges of his vision.
He was blacking out.
Seconds. That’s all he had.
A roaring in his ears, skin numb, he reached for the device in his pocket.
It was his last hope. If those soldiers could not use their guns near a broken crystal, then hopefully this grenade was the same.
Eyes rolling into the back of his head, he pulled the device out, throwing it down with his limp arm.
It came to a rest a meter from him. With his last breath he shot it.
The crystal exploded with an intense, blue blast. It picked him up, but it did not let him fall. That water-like light caught him and kept him aloft.
Instantly the grenade dislodged from his shoulder and fell, only to float up past his face. The lights that had flickered along its surface blinked off and there was a soft whir-down of some power source.
His gamble had paid off.
Barely.
Despite the fact he was floating, his body had never been heavier. His limbs felt encased by a deep, bone-shaking lethargy. To keep his eyes half open felt like traversing the greatest mountain range.
Whatever that grenade had pumped into his system, it was obviously meant to knock him out. Luckily it appeared he’d dislodged it just in time; though he teetered on the edge of sleep, he had not succumb yet.
He could barely move though.
He’d let go of his rifle, and it floated by his side. Its butt no longer glowed with that distinctive blue light. He knew it would not work.
The temptation to fall into the open arms of unconsciousness was impossibly strong as he floated so easily. It was such a relaxing sensation to be weightless, freed from the burden of gravity, hovering effortlessly.
Something kept him awake though. That something was not the pressing imperative to bring these soldiers and their technology to the awareness of his government. It wasn’t even the need to pay them back for what they’d done to his house.
It was Ki. Meters away in the hut, he needed to get to her before the remaining soldier did.
She filled his mind in that half-awake state. There was no reason for it; she was Tarkan. But still, she did. Perhaps he guessed how important she was, perhaps it was more. It didn’t matter.
Forcing his eyes to open fully, he blinked past the bleak moonlight, trying to spy the soldier.
Rocks floated around him, rubble, even branches that must have been ripped loose by the explosion.
With all that debris it would have been hard to spot a floating body on a normal night, let alone when his mind was reeling from a failed anesthesia.
What he’d do when he found the guy, Jackson didn’t know.
As the clouds above separated to reveal a full slice of silvery moonlight, he finally saw something. The white glint of armor.
Over to his left, the soldier was floating directly above the hut. His limbs were moving up and down, hands clutching as he tried to move forward.
Unlike in the house, there was nothing to grab onto out here. There were no walls or door frames to use as purchase to maneuver through this floating world.
Though the soldier tried, it took him a long time to finally push himself low enough to latch a hand onto one of the wooden beams of the roof. Using it as purchase, he twisted himself around, no doubt aiming to push himself through the hole in the ceiling and down to Ki below.
He didn’t get the opportunity; the log he held onto suddenly dislodged and began to float up, taking the soldier with it.
As it did, it dislodged yet another plank, soon the whole roof broke free and floated up.
Seconds later the contents of the hut followed it. The bed, the wheel of cheese, even some of the flaming planks from the fireplace.
Breath pressing against his chest, he waited to see Ki. She drifted up, surrounded by a halo of hay as it spilled free from the mattress.
Instantly the soldier tried to get down to her, grabbing onto one plank and thrusting off it to catch another. It was as if he were climbing down a ladder.
Jackson moved. Body still fighting the numbing effects of the drug, he focused on Ki.
It was almost impossible to direct his movement, but he did manage to latch onto a passing branch. He did not use it to pull himself closer to her. He pushed himself away, towards one of the pine trees to his left. Though the effects of the levitation field were pulling up its needles like an upward draft, its branches were sturdy enough that they hadn’t been snapped free.
Desperate, he reached out his hand to latch onto the tree. He could feel the pine needles brush through his lethargic fingers, but he could hardly make them move enough to clutch hold of them. Letting out a frustrated shout, he stretched out as far as he could.
He caught hold of a branch.
As he moved, he grabbed at the gun that still floated near him. Hooking his arm around the branch, he used it to pull his body closer to the tree.
He had to get away from the effects of the field. Then his gun would work.
Groaning, ignoring every feeling of crippling pain, he moved himself from branch to branch.
He dared not look over his shoulder; he knew what he would see.
The soldier would have her by now.
The further he moved through the trees, branch by branch, the heavier he felt. It
was not the delayed effects of the drug – it was gravity returning.
Moving faster now, he scrabbled as hard as he could, clutching at the branches, not caring the rough bark cut easily through his desperately groping hands.
After several more meters he felt the effects of the field all but disappear. Hanging off a branch, several meters from the ground, he turned around, bringing his legs up and around the trunk to steady himself.
Craning his neck, he stared through the trees towards the clearing. Though it was hard to see, it wouldn’t be in a moment; he lofted the gun, depressed his finger on the trigger and watched that continuous pulse of light sear through the trees, blasting off the branches and chunks of trunk in his view.
He could see the hut. Rocks and logs still floated around it.
Straining, frantic to find her, he scanned the area. All he could see was the debris.
Cursing, he leaned further out from the trunk. Not wanting to waste time or his vantage, he had to spy that soldier from up here.
Heart pulsing through his chest, body filled with a strange mix of heavy fatigue and pounding adrenaline, he finally found what he was looking for.
A glimmer of white armor.
Hooking his arm over the thick branch above him, Jackson groaned loudly as he climbed. Shifting up another level, he reached a height that afforded him direct line-of-sight.
The soldier was moving with Ki down the slope, no doubt towards his ship.
Jackson secured the rifle against his shoulder, steadying it against a branch directly in front of his face. Concentration drawing his lips thin and stilling his breath, he lined up the shot.
He had to get the soldier and only the soldier.
He would not take the shot unless it was a clear one. He couldn’t risk hitting Ki.
As the soldier moved with her, drifting down, moving only with considerable effort as his limbs pumped against the powerful levitation field, he kept hold of Ki.
Swearing, starting to panic, Jackson shifted the gun around as the soldier moved out of view.
Dammit, he needed a clear shot.
Realigning his gun, he waited. It was one of the tensest things he’d ever done.
Just before the soldier drifted out of sight again, something happened. He lost hold of her and she drifted up above him.
Jackson shot. He didn’t hesitate. The blast seared out and landed true against the soldier’s back, knocking him forward, sending him spinning further up into the sky, his body cart-wheeling and dashing against the rubble floating around him.
Letting out the biggest sigh he could manage, Jackson allowed himself to close his eyes.
He indulged in the briefest moment of victory.
Then he climbed down from the tree, stashed the gun, and went to go and get Ki. Fighting against the levitation field, he managed to latch onto her and pull her back from it. It took time, but with the other soldiers out of the equation, he had it. On the way back to his gun he managed to scoop up his scanner too.
When he had her safely out of the field, he did not rest. He fumbled her onto his back and fled as fast as he could.