Ford's Escape (a futurist survival story)
Jan 23, 2021 10:28:36 GMT -6
texican, misterjimbo, and 9 more like this
Post by mic on Jan 23, 2021 10:28:36 GMT -6
Chapter 22
part 2
Bozeman climbed past the seatbacks and leaned out of the door. He waved wildly toward the dark hanger opening. A moment later, three figures emerged from the darkness: the two women each pulling on James’ hands, trying to help him run toward the lifter. Bozeman helped each of them over the high threshold and toward an open seat.
“7551. Close door.”
Door closing. Keep clear. The wide, curved panel slowly dropped into place and snicked shut.
“7551. Rise to thirty meters.”
Rising to thirty meters. The fans rotated to horizontal, and the fans spun up. The whine approached an uncomfortable volume.
The craft wobbled for a moment before gently rising. As they rose past a row of windows in the buildings surrounding the airfield, several men in black rushed from their tables to the glass, pointing and gesturing.
“Looks like they know we’re here,” said Ford.
“Tell it to get out of here!” said James.
“How do I do that?”
“Give it a heading and a speed,” said Bozeman. “Due north is zero degrees. Fly north. We can figure out the rest later.”
“7551. Rise to one hundred meters. Heading zero. Half speed.”
Rising. Heading three-six-zero degrees. Half speed.
The craft rotated a quarter turn as it rose. The fan rings turned until they were at about forty-five degrees. The buildings surrounding the air node dropped away, then slid behind them.
“Hey, hey, we did it!” exclaimed Bozeman. “Look at that!” He pointed to the scrubby grassland beyond the wall.
“Why half speed?” James asked. “Shouldn’t we get getting out of here faster?”
“Maybe,” said Ford. “I’ve never flown one of these. I didn’t want to overdo.”
Level at one hundred meters. Heading three-six-zero.
Each of the five peered through their window to watch the edge of The City pass beneath them. It was a momentous occasion. Bozeman let out a whoop. Ford also blew out a sigh of relief.
“Hoo, man,” said Bozeman. “We actually did it! We got in, got the transmitter, found Ada…” His eyes landed on Dena. “And someone we didn’t know needed to escape too.”
“And me too,” interjected James. “I can’t tell ya how exciting this all is. All those years. I never thought I’d ever get out.”
Ada smiled, but her eyes betrayed worry. Dena's expression was more tragic as she watched The City receding into the haze.
Ford shook his head and chuckled. “I never imagined being able to fly out. We’ll be out to River People country in just a few hours.”
Dena half-turned in her seat, peering back at The City. “Oh no…I think they sent a Makrin after us.”
“One of their heavy patrol machines?” asked James. He pressed his cheek to his window, trying to see behind their craft.
“I don’t see anything,” said Bozeman, the side of his face pressed against the plastic window.
Ford’s heart sank as he could make out the dark silhouette of a large lifter, a long-range patrol craft like the one that almost discovered the River People.
“How fast can these little scooters go?” asked James.
“No idea, but we need to find out,” said Ford. “7551. Full speed.”
One hundred percent speed reduces range. Maximum efficiency limit: ninety-percent power.
“Tell it to override,” said Bozeman, still trying to get a look at their pursuers.
“7551. Override efficiency settings. One hundred percent speed.”
Full speed. Range will be reduced by fifteen percent.
The fan rings tilted forward until they were completely vertical. The motor whine rose to a shrill pitch covered only slightly by the fan blades' buzzing chord. Ford felt his head pressed into his seat back by the acceleration.
“Yeah. This is more like it,” James muttered to himself.
“Why are they chasing us?” Ada asked. “We’re already out. Why not just let us go?”
“Maybe they want to silence me once and for all,” said Dena.
“They could be trying to bring me back on account of my BittyBodies,” said James.
“Maybe we’re a contaminate in their pristine Nature,” said Bozeman, “an infection to be purged.”
“Oh.” Ada’s expression deflated. “I was hoping they had no reasons.”
“We don’t seem to be getting away,” said Dena.
“No, I think they’re getting closer,” said Bozeman.
“What will they do?” asked Ada. “If they want to take James back, won’t they have to….”
Her thought was interrupted by a sudden flash of light along the left side of the craft. The flickering light continued past them, trailing a plume of white smoke.
“Missiles?” James asked no one in particular.
“They missed with that one,” said Ford.
“It doesn’t look like they plan to take you back, James,” said Bozeman.
“Keep looking back,” said Ford. “Shout it out if you see another missile.”
“I see one!” shouted James.
“7551. Quick turn right, twenty degrees.”
Two-second turn right, twenty degrees.
Everyone grabbed an armrest or seatback to brace against the steep bank to the right. The missile, trailing its white plume, continued straight on their old heading.
“Hey, it didn’t follow us,” said James.
“What do you mean ‘follow us?’ Why would it follow us?”
“In the old days, when I was a kid, I used to read about jet fighters and missiles. They had smart ones back then that knew where you were and followed you. Why don’t blackshirts have smart missiles?” mused James.
“Who cares? The next one could hit us!”
“Makrins have missiles to eliminate infestations on the ground,” said Dena.
“Infestations,” Ford muttered. “That’s all we are.”
“Oooh,” said James. “That makes sense. The seven cities don’t have any aerial targets anymore. There haven't been any countries to have air forces in a heck of a long time. It could be all they've got now are these air-to-ground things. Uh oh. Another one coming!”
“7551. Two-second left turn, twenty degrees.”
Two-second turn left, twenty degrees.
The small lifter rolled and bounced in the turbulent white smoke.
“That was too close.”
“Every time we turn, they gain on us. Pretty soon, they’ll be so close that there’ll be no time to make a turn.”
“If only there were some clouds or something we could hide in,” said Ada.
“Just our luck to escape on a completely clear day,” said James.
A snippet of a memory flashed through Ford's mind. When they were paddling down the river, they hid from their attackers in a narrow river channel. Tall trees on both riverbanks shielded them from view. Maybe they could hide near the ground.
Ford peered down at patches of prairie and stands of mature trees. To the left, a modest river meandered between densely wooded riverbanks.
“Here comes another missile!” someone shouted.
“7551. Descend to fifty meters. Two-second turn left, ninety degrees.”
The machine repeated the commands as it carried them out. The maneuver caught Bozeman and James off balance. They toppled into the aisle. Dena clutched the seatback ahead of her. The trail of white smoke flew over them.
“What are you doing?” Bozeman scolded.
“I’m going to try to disappear,” said Ford. “Maybe only for a little while, but maybe enough to lose them.”
“How?”
“7551. Do you see that river ahead?”
Navigational request invalid. Restate.
Ford threw up his hands in frustration. “How am I supposed to know what the right words are? I want to know if it can see that river or not!”
“Use the word identify,” said Bozeman as he retook his seat.
“7551. Identify river, left forty-five degrees.”
River 1805. Square 64 of Sector C-G.
“7551. Hover over River 1805. Altitude one hundred meters. Rotate 180 degrees.”
As their lifter rotated, they could see the large black craft completing its turn. The nose dipped as it accelerated toward them.
“We can’t just sit here,” exclaimed Bozeman. “We’re too easy to hit!”
“Another missile!” James pointed between Ford and Bozeman. A dark speck rushed toward them, a thick cord of white growing behind it.
“7551. Rapid descent to one meter above River 1805.”
Descending.
The craft seemed to fall suddenly. The trail of white smoke raced over them. The insect-like Makrin roared over them too, it’s prop-wash buffeting the smaller craft. The four fans of their lifter whined to slow and then stop their descent. The water formed concentric rings of mist just below the wheels. Two walls of foliage enclosed them.
Ford exhaled. It worked. Now they had to be someplace else. “7551. Follow river 1805 north at maximum safe speed.” Ford was beginning to get a feel for how to talk to the machine.
Following River 1805. Relative altitude, one meter.
The craft rotated ninety degrees. Its nose dipped slightly as the fans pushed it forward. The onboard sensors read the trees on both sides and steered a sinuous course between them.
“Ford turned the other passengers. He had to hold onto his seat back as the craft banked left, then right. “They can’t see us down here.”
“This river is getting smaller,” said James. “We’ll have to come back up soon.”
“I know. I saw another river farther to the west. We’ll go and follow that one. Hopefully, we’ll…”
The sky grew dark. The Makrin flew over them, traveling left to right.
“So much for hiding,” said Bozeman.
“Time to run some more,” said Ford. “7551. Rise to twenty meters. Override efficiency settings. Full speed. Heading two-seven-zero.”
Rising to twenty meters. Heading two-seven-zero.
Their lifter popped up from between the trees, rotated, and powered away. The Makrin began a high, banking turn to maintain speed as it came around.
“They’ve seen us,” said Dena.
Ford was about to ask the craft to identify the next river when he spotted something in the patch of prairie grass beside them. It was a man, waving at them, as he stood beside a hole.
“Diggers?!”
A stand of tall trees at the far edge of that patch of grass gave Ford an idea.
“7551. Left turn, thirty degrees. Half speed.”
Left turn thirty degrees. Decreasing to half speed
“Half speed? They’ll catch us.”
“Not in time,” Ford muttered to himself.
“7551. Rotate one-eighty. Hover.”
“You’re going to drop behind these trees?” complained Bozeman. “Then what?”
The Makrin quickly closed the distance between them.
“Why aren’t they shooting a missile at us?” James asked.
“Probably waiting until they’re so close that we couldn’t dodge it,” said Bozeman.
“7551. Descend to one meter and hold.”
Descending.
The craft dropped behind the trees just as the Makrin roared overhead..
“7551. Open door.”
Craft is in flight. Door cannot be opened.
“Bah! Stupid safety features,” exclaimed Ford. “Boze, quick, grab that T-handle. Just like we did in our crash, remember? I'll get the other one.”
Both men stepped between the seats and grabbed the recessed handles in the ceiling. On a nod, both pulled down sharply. With a loud crack, the top of the door swung out and fell away. A blast of turbulent wind buffeted the passengers.
“Quick. Everybody jump!” shouted Ford.
One by one, each jumped into the swirling grass. Before he jumped, Ford saw the gas canisters on the back wall. He pulled out a red tank and a blue one. He tucked them under his arm and paused on the threshold.
“7551. Rise to one hundred meters. Full speed. Heading nine zero.”
Ford jumped as the machine was repeating his commands. He rolled onto his shoulder as he landed on the soft sod, cradling the cylinders close to his chest. Several hands reached out to help him up.
“Hurry. Hide in the trees,” Ford said.
The group of five ran through the tall grass and dove into the brush at the edge of the woods just as the black Makrin roared overhead at full speed.
Their small craft rose quickly, turned, and sped off to the east. The Makrin went into a steep bank and raced east in pursuit. All eyes watched as the larger machine closed to within fifty meters, then fired another missile. The short trail of white engulfed the small craft, followed by a momentary yellow ball of flame. The broken lifter tumbled out of the white cloud, trailing black smoke until it disappeared behind the tree line.
Ford felt a pang of sorrow. It was only a machine, but it seemed like more since it talked to him. Could a machine like someone? Had he betrayed its trust? He looked across the tall grass. He could not see the man who was waving to them. He did see the gray and black door panel, looking very obvious amid the grasses.
“They may come back to look around,” said Ford. “We need to get that door hidden. Come on!”
Ford, Ada, Dena, and Bozeman ran out, each lifting a corner. They ran as best they could with their awkward load, finally rolling the door edgewise into the brush.
“Good. Now, everyone, get down and be very still.”
Ford moved to where he could see the Markin between two tree trunks. It hovered over the rising column of black smoke. Would they land and look for bodies? If the blackshirts found out that there was no one inside the wreck, they would start searching. There was no way Ford and his friends could not outrun a lifter.
A shrill whistle caught Ford's attention. In the tall grass, the man waved at them, beckoning.
“Let's go,” Ford said. “Run to that man.” Ford emerged from the woods first but stopped to ensure that everyone else was on their way. He ran along, helping James, who limped as he tried to run.
The man helped them down into the dark hole in the ground. Ford was the last of his group. The man followed Ford down the ladder and pulled the lever to close the sod-covered hatch.
Everyone stopped in the sudden darkness. Bozeman found the blue glow of the surface viewer and pulled the eyepiece toward him.
“They’re still over the crash site,” said Bozeman. “They’re just hovering there.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” Ford said to the man. “How did you know we weren’t blackshirts?”
“I was watching you. Flying all crazy like that? The big ship shooting missiles at you? You were clearly not blackshirts. I figured you had to be those River People I heard about who went into The City.”
“They’re circling now,” said Bozeman. “Wider, wider. Coming around. They’ll come over us soon.”
Everyone held their breath. Even underground, the air throbbed from the big fans overhead. As the sound grew muffled and faint, they exhaled.
“They’re headed back to The City,” said Bozeman. “Looks like they think they got us.”
Ford found Ada’s hand in the dim light. “I certainly hope so.”
(end chapter 22)
part 2
Bozeman climbed past the seatbacks and leaned out of the door. He waved wildly toward the dark hanger opening. A moment later, three figures emerged from the darkness: the two women each pulling on James’ hands, trying to help him run toward the lifter. Bozeman helped each of them over the high threshold and toward an open seat.
“7551. Close door.”
Door closing. Keep clear. The wide, curved panel slowly dropped into place and snicked shut.
“7551. Rise to thirty meters.”
Rising to thirty meters. The fans rotated to horizontal, and the fans spun up. The whine approached an uncomfortable volume.
The craft wobbled for a moment before gently rising. As they rose past a row of windows in the buildings surrounding the airfield, several men in black rushed from their tables to the glass, pointing and gesturing.
“Looks like they know we’re here,” said Ford.
“Tell it to get out of here!” said James.
“How do I do that?”
“Give it a heading and a speed,” said Bozeman. “Due north is zero degrees. Fly north. We can figure out the rest later.”
“7551. Rise to one hundred meters. Heading zero. Half speed.”
Rising. Heading three-six-zero degrees. Half speed.
The craft rotated a quarter turn as it rose. The fan rings turned until they were at about forty-five degrees. The buildings surrounding the air node dropped away, then slid behind them.
“Hey, hey, we did it!” exclaimed Bozeman. “Look at that!” He pointed to the scrubby grassland beyond the wall.
“Why half speed?” James asked. “Shouldn’t we get getting out of here faster?”
“Maybe,” said Ford. “I’ve never flown one of these. I didn’t want to overdo.”
Level at one hundred meters. Heading three-six-zero.
Each of the five peered through their window to watch the edge of The City pass beneath them. It was a momentous occasion. Bozeman let out a whoop. Ford also blew out a sigh of relief.
“Hoo, man,” said Bozeman. “We actually did it! We got in, got the transmitter, found Ada…” His eyes landed on Dena. “And someone we didn’t know needed to escape too.”
“And me too,” interjected James. “I can’t tell ya how exciting this all is. All those years. I never thought I’d ever get out.”
Ada smiled, but her eyes betrayed worry. Dena's expression was more tragic as she watched The City receding into the haze.
Ford shook his head and chuckled. “I never imagined being able to fly out. We’ll be out to River People country in just a few hours.”
Dena half-turned in her seat, peering back at The City. “Oh no…I think they sent a Makrin after us.”
“One of their heavy patrol machines?” asked James. He pressed his cheek to his window, trying to see behind their craft.
“I don’t see anything,” said Bozeman, the side of his face pressed against the plastic window.
Ford’s heart sank as he could make out the dark silhouette of a large lifter, a long-range patrol craft like the one that almost discovered the River People.
“How fast can these little scooters go?” asked James.
“No idea, but we need to find out,” said Ford. “7551. Full speed.”
One hundred percent speed reduces range. Maximum efficiency limit: ninety-percent power.
“Tell it to override,” said Bozeman, still trying to get a look at their pursuers.
“7551. Override efficiency settings. One hundred percent speed.”
Full speed. Range will be reduced by fifteen percent.
The fan rings tilted forward until they were completely vertical. The motor whine rose to a shrill pitch covered only slightly by the fan blades' buzzing chord. Ford felt his head pressed into his seat back by the acceleration.
“Yeah. This is more like it,” James muttered to himself.
“Why are they chasing us?” Ada asked. “We’re already out. Why not just let us go?”
“Maybe they want to silence me once and for all,” said Dena.
“They could be trying to bring me back on account of my BittyBodies,” said James.
“Maybe we’re a contaminate in their pristine Nature,” said Bozeman, “an infection to be purged.”
“Oh.” Ada’s expression deflated. “I was hoping they had no reasons.”
“We don’t seem to be getting away,” said Dena.
“No, I think they’re getting closer,” said Bozeman.
“What will they do?” asked Ada. “If they want to take James back, won’t they have to….”
Her thought was interrupted by a sudden flash of light along the left side of the craft. The flickering light continued past them, trailing a plume of white smoke.
“Missiles?” James asked no one in particular.
“They missed with that one,” said Ford.
“It doesn’t look like they plan to take you back, James,” said Bozeman.
“Keep looking back,” said Ford. “Shout it out if you see another missile.”
“I see one!” shouted James.
“7551. Quick turn right, twenty degrees.”
Two-second turn right, twenty degrees.
Everyone grabbed an armrest or seatback to brace against the steep bank to the right. The missile, trailing its white plume, continued straight on their old heading.
“Hey, it didn’t follow us,” said James.
“What do you mean ‘follow us?’ Why would it follow us?”
“In the old days, when I was a kid, I used to read about jet fighters and missiles. They had smart ones back then that knew where you were and followed you. Why don’t blackshirts have smart missiles?” mused James.
“Who cares? The next one could hit us!”
“Makrins have missiles to eliminate infestations on the ground,” said Dena.
“Infestations,” Ford muttered. “That’s all we are.”
“Oooh,” said James. “That makes sense. The seven cities don’t have any aerial targets anymore. There haven't been any countries to have air forces in a heck of a long time. It could be all they've got now are these air-to-ground things. Uh oh. Another one coming!”
“7551. Two-second left turn, twenty degrees.”
Two-second turn left, twenty degrees.
The small lifter rolled and bounced in the turbulent white smoke.
“That was too close.”
“Every time we turn, they gain on us. Pretty soon, they’ll be so close that there’ll be no time to make a turn.”
“If only there were some clouds or something we could hide in,” said Ada.
“Just our luck to escape on a completely clear day,” said James.
A snippet of a memory flashed through Ford's mind. When they were paddling down the river, they hid from their attackers in a narrow river channel. Tall trees on both riverbanks shielded them from view. Maybe they could hide near the ground.
Ford peered down at patches of prairie and stands of mature trees. To the left, a modest river meandered between densely wooded riverbanks.
“Here comes another missile!” someone shouted.
“7551. Descend to fifty meters. Two-second turn left, ninety degrees.”
The machine repeated the commands as it carried them out. The maneuver caught Bozeman and James off balance. They toppled into the aisle. Dena clutched the seatback ahead of her. The trail of white smoke flew over them.
“What are you doing?” Bozeman scolded.
“I’m going to try to disappear,” said Ford. “Maybe only for a little while, but maybe enough to lose them.”
“How?”
“7551. Do you see that river ahead?”
Navigational request invalid. Restate.
Ford threw up his hands in frustration. “How am I supposed to know what the right words are? I want to know if it can see that river or not!”
“Use the word identify,” said Bozeman as he retook his seat.
“7551. Identify river, left forty-five degrees.”
River 1805. Square 64 of Sector C-G.
“7551. Hover over River 1805. Altitude one hundred meters. Rotate 180 degrees.”
As their lifter rotated, they could see the large black craft completing its turn. The nose dipped as it accelerated toward them.
“We can’t just sit here,” exclaimed Bozeman. “We’re too easy to hit!”
“Another missile!” James pointed between Ford and Bozeman. A dark speck rushed toward them, a thick cord of white growing behind it.
“7551. Rapid descent to one meter above River 1805.”
Descending.
The craft seemed to fall suddenly. The trail of white smoke raced over them. The insect-like Makrin roared over them too, it’s prop-wash buffeting the smaller craft. The four fans of their lifter whined to slow and then stop their descent. The water formed concentric rings of mist just below the wheels. Two walls of foliage enclosed them.
Ford exhaled. It worked. Now they had to be someplace else. “7551. Follow river 1805 north at maximum safe speed.” Ford was beginning to get a feel for how to talk to the machine.
Following River 1805. Relative altitude, one meter.
The craft rotated ninety degrees. Its nose dipped slightly as the fans pushed it forward. The onboard sensors read the trees on both sides and steered a sinuous course between them.
“Ford turned the other passengers. He had to hold onto his seat back as the craft banked left, then right. “They can’t see us down here.”
“This river is getting smaller,” said James. “We’ll have to come back up soon.”
“I know. I saw another river farther to the west. We’ll go and follow that one. Hopefully, we’ll…”
The sky grew dark. The Makrin flew over them, traveling left to right.
“So much for hiding,” said Bozeman.
“Time to run some more,” said Ford. “7551. Rise to twenty meters. Override efficiency settings. Full speed. Heading two-seven-zero.”
Rising to twenty meters. Heading two-seven-zero.
Their lifter popped up from between the trees, rotated, and powered away. The Makrin began a high, banking turn to maintain speed as it came around.
“They’ve seen us,” said Dena.
Ford was about to ask the craft to identify the next river when he spotted something in the patch of prairie grass beside them. It was a man, waving at them, as he stood beside a hole.
“Diggers?!”
A stand of tall trees at the far edge of that patch of grass gave Ford an idea.
“7551. Left turn, thirty degrees. Half speed.”
Left turn thirty degrees. Decreasing to half speed
“Half speed? They’ll catch us.”
“Not in time,” Ford muttered to himself.
“7551. Rotate one-eighty. Hover.”
“You’re going to drop behind these trees?” complained Bozeman. “Then what?”
The Makrin quickly closed the distance between them.
“Why aren’t they shooting a missile at us?” James asked.
“Probably waiting until they’re so close that we couldn’t dodge it,” said Bozeman.
“7551. Descend to one meter and hold.”
Descending.
The craft dropped behind the trees just as the Makrin roared overhead..
“7551. Open door.”
Craft is in flight. Door cannot be opened.
“Bah! Stupid safety features,” exclaimed Ford. “Boze, quick, grab that T-handle. Just like we did in our crash, remember? I'll get the other one.”
Both men stepped between the seats and grabbed the recessed handles in the ceiling. On a nod, both pulled down sharply. With a loud crack, the top of the door swung out and fell away. A blast of turbulent wind buffeted the passengers.
“Quick. Everybody jump!” shouted Ford.
One by one, each jumped into the swirling grass. Before he jumped, Ford saw the gas canisters on the back wall. He pulled out a red tank and a blue one. He tucked them under his arm and paused on the threshold.
“7551. Rise to one hundred meters. Full speed. Heading nine zero.”
Ford jumped as the machine was repeating his commands. He rolled onto his shoulder as he landed on the soft sod, cradling the cylinders close to his chest. Several hands reached out to help him up.
“Hurry. Hide in the trees,” Ford said.
The group of five ran through the tall grass and dove into the brush at the edge of the woods just as the black Makrin roared overhead at full speed.
Their small craft rose quickly, turned, and sped off to the east. The Makrin went into a steep bank and raced east in pursuit. All eyes watched as the larger machine closed to within fifty meters, then fired another missile. The short trail of white engulfed the small craft, followed by a momentary yellow ball of flame. The broken lifter tumbled out of the white cloud, trailing black smoke until it disappeared behind the tree line.
Ford felt a pang of sorrow. It was only a machine, but it seemed like more since it talked to him. Could a machine like someone? Had he betrayed its trust? He looked across the tall grass. He could not see the man who was waving to them. He did see the gray and black door panel, looking very obvious amid the grasses.
“They may come back to look around,” said Ford. “We need to get that door hidden. Come on!”
Ford, Ada, Dena, and Bozeman ran out, each lifting a corner. They ran as best they could with their awkward load, finally rolling the door edgewise into the brush.
“Good. Now, everyone, get down and be very still.”
Ford moved to where he could see the Markin between two tree trunks. It hovered over the rising column of black smoke. Would they land and look for bodies? If the blackshirts found out that there was no one inside the wreck, they would start searching. There was no way Ford and his friends could not outrun a lifter.
A shrill whistle caught Ford's attention. In the tall grass, the man waved at them, beckoning.
“Let's go,” Ford said. “Run to that man.” Ford emerged from the woods first but stopped to ensure that everyone else was on their way. He ran along, helping James, who limped as he tried to run.
The man helped them down into the dark hole in the ground. Ford was the last of his group. The man followed Ford down the ladder and pulled the lever to close the sod-covered hatch.
Everyone stopped in the sudden darkness. Bozeman found the blue glow of the surface viewer and pulled the eyepiece toward him.
“They’re still over the crash site,” said Bozeman. “They’re just hovering there.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” Ford said to the man. “How did you know we weren’t blackshirts?”
“I was watching you. Flying all crazy like that? The big ship shooting missiles at you? You were clearly not blackshirts. I figured you had to be those River People I heard about who went into The City.”
“They’re circling now,” said Bozeman. “Wider, wider. Coming around. They’ll come over us soon.”
Everyone held their breath. Even underground, the air throbbed from the big fans overhead. As the sound grew muffled and faint, they exhaled.
“They’re headed back to The City,” said Bozeman. “Looks like they think they got us.”
Ford found Ada’s hand in the dim light. “I certainly hope so.”
(end chapter 22)