Planes, towers, and the broken
Hiccup & Eleanor - Part 1 - Chapter 9
This is Hiccup & Eleanor, book two of The White Age, which I will be releasing as a serial - with one chapter per week - over the coming months. You can also preorder the book here or catch up on Substack here.
Book one, Absolution, is available for purchase on Amazon, or you can catch up here.
i)
Hampshire, England
29th September 2074
Hiccup
Hiccup and Eleanor arrived in a clearing when the sun rose above the stark trees, which stood, tall and proud, at its edge. Black twigs and branches silhouetted against the blue-gold sky looked like fingers scratching for freedom. It reminded Eleanor of her father in that nightmare, and she shivered. They had walked for four hours, under the darkness of night, and fatigue was creeping up Eleanor’s shoulders and neck. This is harder than I had expected: the constant movement; the lack of sleep; the fear of every hidden inch of darkness.
The painkillers had clouded her head since she began taking them and she felt like a zombie. Hiccup was more wary now, he stopped and crouched lower to the ground, glancing into bushes and behind crumbling walls with a greater urgency. Eleanor could sense they were close and grew nervous herself. The pause was only brief, and Hiccup shouldered the rucksack and continued out into the dense woodland. Deeper and deeper, they seemed to go.
After an hour of walking though the rugged and treacherous terrain, they began to hear the drums. Thundering, rolling drums that made the ground tremble.
Thum-thum-thum-thum-thum
Just like in my dream, Eleanor shivered.
Thum-thum-thum-thum-thum
Hiccup paused and looked at her. His face was a deepening red. He is in attack mode, she thought. They continued at a slower pace as the drums grew louder.
Thum-thum-thum-thum-thum
As they rounded a steady bend in the canal, Eleanor gasped: looking up over the far line of trees, about half a mile away, she saw an enormous tower. It was ramshackle, patched together crudely with sheets of metal and glass which jutted wildly out of the sides of the structure as it soared up, narrowing to almost a point at its very top. The morning sun caught the sheer, shiny metal panels, which sparkled brightly; the mottled, brushed sheets seemed to glitter.
Gently, Hiccup grabbed Eleanor by her shoulders and eased her over towards him, into the thick bramble wall beside them, to hide from view. The thorns caught at her clothes and pricked droplets of blood from her pale skin. She winced at the pain but tried to ignore it; staying out of sight is more important than anything else now.
“What is that?” Eleanor whispered, panicked. Hiccup had moved past her and was peering out of the bushes to get a better look at the structure, as she lay against the hard ground listening to the drumming.
Thum-thum-thum-thum-thum-thum-thum-thum-thum-thum
It was louder, firmer, more intense, and the ground beneath her thudded in reciprocation. She remembered her dream, and her father. The drums were the same. They were in her bones, and it were as though they had never left. Her left hand tingled with heat, and she held her eyes firmly shut, trying to calm herself with deep breaths. Don't. Not now. What if they see? She remembered the feeling of the Earth reaching up to her and filling her with the rhythm of its beating heart. Now she was closer to the source, and it felt like something she could absorb and control.
“Quickly, follow me.” Hiccup began to walk toward the tower, crouching low to the ground, along the path; tucked beneath a low canopy of overhanging weeds. Eleanor rose and did the same. The brambles continued to catch at her clothes and scratch her skin, leaving trails of blood-pocked scratches down her bare arms. After a short distance, a dirt path appeared to their left, rolling away from the canal path and into the woods, under cover. This has to be the route he will make us take. It is safer that way, surely. The tower made her feel exposed, and Hiccup seemed to share that view. If we’re in amongst the trees then they cannot see us.
They followed the path for five minutes. The drums grew heavier, and the air rattled with their energy. We are so close. The path eventually diverted away again to their left, in the opposite direction to the noise, so Hiccup cut right and began to push his way through trees and weeds. It was hard going; Eleanor was panting as she struggled to keep up with the robot through the thick vegetation; he seemed to slice through painlessly. Branches scratched at her face, legs and arms and she stumbled as she vaulted over fallen logs and thick scrunches of live and dead weeds. I have to keep up, I cannot let him leave me behind. Not after everything we have been through. I am so far from home. Looking up, she saw a branch of green leaves snap back and conceal him from view. He had gone. He was a stone in a pond now, she could only see the ripples he made. Her foot caught a thick log, and she tumbled forward, slamming chest-first into the ground, and the wind rushed from her lungs. Her left arm had collided with a small, fallen log and it hummed with a visceral pain. She clutched at it and bit her lip to keep herself from screaming. She could taste blood in her mouth as the horrendous feeling simmered to a more manageable decibel. I need painkillers, Hiccup. I need you, Hiccup. She felt faint and exhausted. I can’t go on.
“Hiccup…” her voice came out in a pathetic exhalation. Her eyes were growing heavy, and she wondered how comfortable the weeds would be if she rested her head on their gathered, damp mass.
Hiccup
He was stood upright where the trees seemed to end and the sunlight poured in; it glared off a thirty-foot sheet of iron which leant gently away from them, running into the distance in both directions. Hiccup was parting the shrubbery to reveal the wall. He stood ten feet away, watching her with his head cocked slightly to the side. They had found the outer perimeter of the airfield.
ii)
After giving her another injection, Hiccup stood staring at the wall for a few minutes and Eleanor left him to it; the pain skulking away to a quivering mirage. She wandered up to the perimeter and placed a hand on the warm, ridged sheet of metal. It seemed to hum with every drumbeat it encased. It was unclimbable: too smooth and the angle, leaning away from them, would have made it impossible. It ran endlessly in both directions and Eleanor felt a knot of pain in her stomach at the realisation that this could be the end. What do we do now? If we can’t climb the wall, then how do we get inside.
A breeze ran swiftly along the wall and brushed against the trees, making them shuffle and creak in unison. She looked up and felt the warm sun dance on her face with the movement of the shading, windswept leaves. The trees. I can climb a tree and look over the wall, she thought. A wave of ecstasy filled her as she realised, she could assist Hiccup.
“Hiccup, I can help.” She said in a whisper. He turned slowly to face her, the colour of his face had faded further, and the fatigue seemed worse. He was waning fast, she could tell. He had refrained from speaking for much of the last two days and had seemed more wary of every noise and movement around them; as though he was confused. He needs us to get him to The Doctor.
“How can you help, Eleanor?” His voice was purposeful and succinct, though softer than it had been.
“I can climb a tree and look over the wall.” He stood, motionless. “What do you think?”
“No, Eleanor. Your arm is broken, you will only hurt yourself further. I will climb the tree. It is a good idea.” As he spoke his face flickered to complete black. All of the lights had guttered out, as though he had been switched off. Eleanor could see he was now hunched, cradling his broken hand in the other. She recalled when they were in the shelter underground, and he had lost all function. Is it happening again? She wondered with a nervousness that made her take a step back, before his face danced with colour: yellows and blues and reds colliding and merging into weird and wonderful shapes. He looked up and down and then back at Eleanor, his hands raised as if poised for battle. He is not well. He needs to get to the doctor soon.
She reached up and placed her hands on his face, causing it to light up a bright, beautiful green, which matched the dancing leaves all around him. “You are hurt and tired. My arm is fine. I will climb the tree.”
He stared at her silently as the wind swept through them and the drumming thundered beneath.
Thum-thum-thum-thum-thum
“Okay.” A single nod. “Thank you, Eleanor.”
Hiccup
iii)
Eleanor’s broken arm wailed with pain as she clambered up onto the first, low-hanging branch. I have to help; I have to do something. For so long I have been useless; a burden. Now I can do something to help Hiccup. I can be of some use. Hiccup was below her and gently helped ease her up and away into the mass of leaves and branches. Tentatively, she pulled herself higher and higher, branch by branch, up into the dark innards of the tree. By the time the light began to filter gently through the gaps in the leaves, and the cool breeze licked her face, she was exhausted again. The dizziness she had felt the day before swept over her and she clung with both arms and both legs to the rough trunk so as not to fall. The drumming was inaudible up here, but she could feel the wood juddering with each repeated thud. Each beat rocked her broken arm and ribs, prodding her weaknesses and reminding her of her fragility.
She took a few moments to compose herself before heaving herself up further into the opaque gloom. The branches were thinner the higher she went and therefore less reliable; they groaned beneath her meagre weight and occasionally cracked and fell away, leaving her scrambling for alternative support.
Her head eased through the leaves and the wind whipped wildly at her hair and face. She squeezed her eyes closed against the sunlight and could immediately feel its gratifying heat on her skin. Once accustomed, she slowly opened her eyes and surveyed the surroundings. The tower was straight ahead of her, opulent, razor-sharp and cacophonous in its construction: metal panels shone brightly in odd patches; poles jutted severely at right angles and odd lengths; glass and Perspex offered crude windows, beyond which cluttered and plentiful rooms could be seen. She craned her neck to consume the full height: its length was double that of the tree to which she clung. Beyond the tower she could see two runways, both of which appeared to begin near the foot of the tower and run at an angle away to the right, ending in the far distance, just before a rude mass of thick woodland.
The very top of the silver wall, marking the perimeter of the airfield, could be seen down below her and the sight of it made her dizzy. The foot of the tower sat roughly fifteen metres beyond the perimeter wall and between the two structures were a smattering of encampments and canvas structures. The plethora of weaponry, strewn lazily across the camp, showed that the inhabitants were at least primarily military, if not all. Close to the foot of the tower, a rack held over a hundred machine guns. Nearby, crates spilled over with ammunition and explosives. Three mortar-cannons sat quietly off to the left side, at the edge of the camp. Amongst all of this, men and women milled about, chatting, sleeping and eating. All clad in the same dark-grey, camouflage trousers and black vests. How are we going to get in there without these people seeing us, without them attacking us? The most strikingly beautiful part of the encampment, for Eleanor, was the thirty-foot flag, hanging from the fourth floor of the tower, billowing over the ground far below in the tempestuous wind. It was the American flag; a cluster of stars, red and white stripes, lined with a golden trim that glittered with every flail it made in the wind. She recognised it from an atlas on their bookshelf, though her father had always said to her “this is all just history now, darling. None of this is real anymore.” she still enjoyed tracing her fingers over the mountain-ranges and dreaming about lands that she would never see. Maybe one day.
Away to the right of the camp, slightly obscured by the silver wall as it ran away into the distance, was the source of the tireless drumming. At least one hundred men and women were in formation, spaced barely a foot apart, forming an enormous, sprawling, organic mass. They rocked and swayed and stomped and spun in unison. A woman stood in their centre; she wore the same, dark-green uniform as the others, but it was ripped crudely at the shoulders and thighs. Strips of the same material had also been tied to her arms, wrists and legs. Sweat glistened on her face and near-bare arms as she thundered each hand alternately onto the enormous drum before her; a long, braided ponytail swung, pendulous, behind her. Her eyes were closed and her head leant back slightly, as she seemed to feed on the perfect, rhythmic movements of those that surrounded her. They all stared at her as they danced; exhausted, infatuated and enthralled.
It is the drumming of the Earth that she is feeling. I can feel it too, Eleanor thought as she felt the wooden trunk of the tree quiver with every exaltation. Some of the apparent worshippers would wander away only to be replaced by others; ready and waiting to rejoin the dancing mass. It was surreal and captivating to watch and Eleanor lost herself as she stared at them. It was an outpouring of self that she had never witnessed before: her enforced introversion had never allowed for such freedom and expression; it was so animal and raw in its passion. Their command of madness delighted her.
Eleanor finally allowed her eyes to leave the dancing people behind and drift beyond them, further along the outer perimeter. A gate. It was heavily manned and straddled by two raised platforms, which housed further soldiers and enormous floodlights.
Suddenly, Eleanor felt a need to get down. It wasn't the height, or the stiff breeze, but the sudden awareness of being watched, of being sensed. She slipped back inside the tree, out of sight, and scuttled down as quickly and carefully as she could. When she reached the ground, she saw Hiccup sat with his head slumped onto his chest, as though asleep.
Her arm was hot from her exertion and the undulating discomfort, in spite of the pain relief. Hiccup’s head lifted as she landed on the floor after a short jump from the lowest branch. He was right: that was a bad idea. Cold sweat on the forehead called to the cool breeze and the ground seemed to melt beneath her feet. Breathlessly, she told him everything she had seen, and he listened without betraying any emotion: his face was now just a panel of black, defunct lights. He’s going to leave me, and soon. He was silent for a minute after she had finished, staring down at the floor, and Eleanor wondered if this was it, if he had actually died in front of her.
Hiccup
A pulse of red ran up his face and his body jerked to life. Hiccup shook his head and rose to his feet. He administered another syringe of painkiller into her arm, and she shivered as it took hold. Her dry lips quivered as she gulped some water, and a cold sweat glistened on her skin. She was feeling worse with every passing day and every injection, though she needed it for her arm. A moment’s hesitation flicked through her mind; wondering if Hiccup could be trusted in his state of deterioration. Could he be sure that I’m not taking too much pain relief? The memory of her mother’s reluctance to use too much of the morphine they had, in spite of her pain, made her shiver. She shook the thought away and let the medicine clear her mind. We will be with the doctor soon; she will be able to help us both.
iv)
Hiccup sat thinking for almost half an hour, as Eleanor sat and stared at the silver metal wall beside them, lost in cloudy thought. She daydreamed about her father, and if what had happened in her sleep was real. What happened to mother? Where are they now? Each question unravelled into twenty more and she was a million miles from knowing anything. Each thought pre-supposed that the man she had seen was really her father, which she knew was crazy. But this place, and the pain, and the injections, added a credibility to all that was once unreal. Anything is possible now, looking at her palms as she turned them over in her lap. But Hiccup can help, she thought, once he is repaired by the doctor, he can help me find my parents. And help them, if they needed it. The realism of her dream had unsettled her and planted a seed of doubt about their safety. What if father really was injured, and now half robot. How was that possible? It can’t be.
Hiccup stirred and approached her slowly. He limped, stumbled, used a tree to hold himself up. “I need you to go to the entrance you saw,” he began, his voice now a strained vibrato, “around to the north.” He pointed through the trees, in the direction into which she had seen the perimeter wall disappear, beyond the drumming lady and her entranced followers.
“Me? Alone?” Eleanor was stunned and could feel hot tears behind her eyes, and a lump in her throat.
“I am afraid so, E-Eleanor.” He stuttered as though unsure of her name. “They will take you in and help you. But if they see me, they will fight. They will see me as the enemy. They have lost their minds; they cannot be trusted.” Eleanor recalled the majesty of the enormous, swirling flag in the side of the tower; the dancing troupe churning below it.
Hiccup
“They might hurt us.” It wasn't a question: she already knew. Why else would they be here? Why else would we be deliberating a plan of action to get past them? “Once I get inside, what do I do?” She felt anger well up inside her: this isn't what is supposed to happen. Trust him, she told herself. Her father’s voice rang in her head. If he was real, then she had to believe him. She needed to have faith that Hiccup was her only hope of finding her mother and father and, in order to take advantage of that, she needed to help him in any way she could.
Hiccup dropped his gaze once again, the muted lights on his face swam from blue, to green, to red, and then to black. He needs help soon, she thought, we can't wait. “I need you to get inside, to distract the guards by the gate. Once you have their attention, I should be able to get in and get to one of those planes you saw.”
“What then?”
“I will get you. But only once I have the plane ready to go.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
“I need you to promise one more thing.” Eleanor’s voice was flat and calm, and Hiccup stared back silently, waiting. “I need you to promise that you won't hurt any of them, unless you absolutely have to.”
“They are dangerous.” His face flashed red as he spoke.
“Please, just promise. Otherwise, I don't know if I can help you.” Eleanor's voice wavered with the last words, she had a welling of emotion inside her as she tried to be strong, to convince him this was right. Her passion surprised and thrilled her. This is the right thing to do, there is no need for more death. They are just crazy. They don’t need to die if we can help it. The memory of the bodies in the canal, piled high and rotting, along with the symmetrical graves in their garden, only cemented her stance.
“Okay. I promise. We need to go, now.” Hiccup walked past her and along the fence in the direction of the gate, Eleanor smiled to herself and followed closely behind.
Hiccup
v)
Tyler whistled a nameless tune as he picked dirt from under his fingernails. His wild mass of blonde hair clung greasily to his forehead as he leant against the wooden-panelled wall of the watchtower. Sweat pooled on his freshly shaven top lip and ran down from his temples. The tireless drumming had given him another headache and he could have killed for some Aspirin. Shut the fuck up, he wanted to scream at that drumming bitch. All day, from sunrise to sunset, she smashed that drum and made the people dance. She doesn't eat, doesn't break, even to go for a shit. She just drummed all day, and it drove Tyler mad.
“Can you stop that?” The voice was cold; yelled up from the ground, three floors below. Tyler leant over the side and glared down at Zoë.
“Are you kidding?” He called back “you're bitchin’ about my whistlin’ when she is making that damned racket?” He nodded over to the crowd and the relentless percussion.
“Just stop.” Zoë frowned and Tyler knew it wasn't worth him pursuing the argument. Tyler had learnt from experience that Zoë Tenga was not a person you wanted to annoy: he had the scars to prove it. He had mocked her for losing an arm-wrestle in the mess hall and she had responded by nailing his hand to the table with a fork. Bitch, he thought quietly to himself. They had been separated and made to work different shifts for the last four months, since the incident, but someone had either forgotten all about it, or decided that was long enough, because now they were on the same guard duty for a week. He had survived the first two days without any conversation at all, but apparently his whistling was enough to break their fragile, amicable silence. Oh, and she fucking killed another soldier four years ago. She’s a crazy bitch, whether he deserved it or not. He spat his chewing tobacco over the side with a spasm of anger.
This job is hard enough without the constant, looming threat of violence from your colleague, Tyler thought as he rubbed the quadruple-puncture-wound scar on the back of his right hand. In truth, he had always found Zoë quite attractive. She was not his usual type: her hair was shoulder-length, and she was far skinnier than what would normally interest him, but there was something about those eyes that cut into his heart. Her wildness exhilarated him. She felt untameable and that enticed him more than anything else. It’s probably not going to develop into anything, not since she attacked me, he thought.
Their camp, known as Shardbase, was not at all conducive to romance: it was bleak and laborious. Minor variations in shifts through patrols, lookout, comms, plane maintenance, cleaning, cooking, kept you busy, but nowhere near enough. It was the lack of action that seemed to affect people the most. Nothing happened in England anymore, at least not on the scale that had been seen in the last twenty years. That drove a lot of people to distraction, violence, madness. Tyler didn’t mind. If it stayed quiet then he was more likely to live, more likely to return to America and live in his cabin in Aspen. Back to the serene peace of home, and away from this shithole.
The numbing of the radiation bore into his mind and made the camp atmosphere all-the-more severe. It harboured hatred and paranoia; people were scared that they had been disowned by their leaders across the Atlantic. In spite of the care packages, which were dropping with less and less frequency as the months rolled by, they felt all alone. We will get out of here, we have to. They won’t have just abandoned us. The superiors were silent on the subject, which only seemed to exacerbate their feelings of seclusion. We will get home, eventually.
“Tyler, are you seeing this?” Zoë’s voice came through as a murmur on the radio beside him, snapping him back to reality. He instinctively shot his right hand to his rifle and brought it close to his body. With his other hand he grabbed his radio and squeezed the button on the side while his squinting eyes searched the land ahead of him.
“What you got?” The radio cracked as he released the button. Down below him was the only gate in and out of the airfield. Thirty feet across to his left was the other, currently empty, guard-tower, which marked the span of the entrance. A long, dirt track led from the gate and wound through the thick woodland, before meeting the concrete road two hundred feet away. A tired, green tank sat to one side, leaning awkwardly, where the track met the road: abandoned years ago.
“Movement, up on the right.” Tyler couldn’t see the right-hand side of the track: it was obscured by the overgrown treeline. Zoë’s line of sight was clear. He leant over the left-hand wall of the tower and strained his neck to get a view of the track. Nothing.
“I’m blind up here. What you seein’?”
“You might wanna get down here.” Zoë’s voice was unfaltering but there was a note of concern that made Tyler take the stairs two at a time. Something is wrong. This job was usually uneventful. You would watch the patrols leave every four hours and then return every three. Very occasionally, a supply truck would appear, but they were becoming more and more sporadic now. The wooden steps thundered beneath his feet as he tore down them. He reached the ground at a run and joined Zoë over at the foot of the second tower, crouched behind a short, concrete wall, her rifle locked into her right shoulder. He slid in beside her, joining her use of cover, and peered over. He gasped. Halfway up the dirt track on the right-hand side was a little girl. She wore rough, stained civilian clothes and limped badly as she made her way toward them. Her head was bowed, staring at the floor; she looked in a very bad way.
“What the fuck do we do?” Tyler asked Zoë. The rules were simple. Nobody other than sanctioned US soldiers were allowed to enter the airfield. Any attempt to flout this rule should be met with extreme force. Zoë hungrily chewed her lip and stared straight at the girl. “Zoë?”
“Jesus, just let me think!” Tyler’s heart beat faster and his throat dried up. The drumming continued away behind him, and he wished again for it to stop. The girl continued toward them, and they stayed, crouching, staring behind the wall. After a few moments Zoë rose to her feet. “Cover me.” She said through gritted teeth as she jogged with her knees cocked and her body hunched toward the girl, keeping as low as possible.
“Zoë, you can’t!” Tyler’s defiance met deaf ears as she tore off down the dirt path. He had no choice but to switch off his rifle’s safety (for the first time in fucking years, he thought) and raise the barrel up to his eye-line. The gun metal was cold in his hands. The scope wandered from left to right to left to right, tracking Zoë’s every step. He could feel the drumming in his knee on the floor, running up his torso, making the barrel of the gun quiver lightly. Now, more than ever, he hated those drums. He thought briefly of training his rifle on that crazy woman, Matilda, the one making the endless racket, before he shook it out of his head.
Zoë was nearly at the girl, who had slowed her pace and veered over toward the treeline beside her. What if it's a trap, Zoë? It seemed too obvious now, such a simple ruse. Has it even crossed her mind? She stopped in her tracks and trained her rifle on the little girl. She took a sidestep to her left, so she now stood in the centre of the track. Her gun pointed down, between the girl’s feet; she doesn't want to hurt her, Tyler thought. His own gun swung from side to side, from treeline to treeline, anticipating anything, wishing for nothing. He could hear Zoë calling to the girl, demanding a response, a reply, and receiving silence. The girl had stopped walking and continued to stare at the ground. She appeared to be shaking.
There was an uncomfortable stillness, a waiting, and Tyler could see Zoë’s grip tighten on the gun as she took a slow step forward. Tyler held his breath. The girl raised her head awkwardly, her mouth hanging open, her eyes wild. She looked at Zoë with a blank intensity, sizing her up, analysing her. And then she collapsed. A soft cloud of dust puffed lightly into the air around her as she hit the floor. A second later she was slung over Zoë’s shoulder as the soldier ran back towards the guard-tower, towards Tyler. He stood up straight and began to slowly walk up the path. His rifle scanned both edges of the path for an ambush, a murmur, a rustling of leaves, anything. He could barely breathe; he was so scared. This is it; this is where I die, he thought as Zoë and her cargo shot past him to their area of cover.
Nothing happened. Tyler backed slowly away, behind the line of the wall and back to safety. He fell to his knees and took a deep breath, his first in what felt like minutes. Zoë had moved inside the closest guard-tower and Tyler followed breathlessly. When he entered, he could see she had placed the young girl on the table and was peering at her face. Panting, he moved in and stood beside her.
“Can you hear me?” Zoë asked softly. Tyler had never heard her voice so placid and gentle. The girl stared blankly up at her, not saying a word. She panted shallow breaths, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Go get the medic.” Zoë demanded without looking at Tyler. Her natural demeanour of assertiveness had taken control, and Tyler was not going to stand in her way. He obliged and backed away, silently. Outside, he jogged across the dusty dirt floor towards the tower they had lovingly named The Shard. He didn't want to cause a scene or draw too much attention to the situation. Primarily for the fact that Zoë could be in a fair amount of trouble for having left the base, and for bringing in an outsider. That's two clear violations of The Code. She only needs one more and she’s a damned drifter. He also didn't want to instigate the inevitable surge of excitement and interest for the young girl they had found. There would no doubt be hundreds of questions; the longer he could avoid all of that, the better.
vi)
The medic was sat reading a tattered novel with yellowed, flaking, dog-eared pages.
“Doc. I need you.” Tyler said between gasps for air as he, as calmly as his adrenaline would allow, sat down beside him.
“Hmm.” He didn't look up from his book.
“Now. We have an emergency. By the gate.” The medic methodically marked his page, closed the book and place it neatly on the table. He leant back and looked up at Tyler, shielding his eyes from the sun.
“Mr. Franklin.” He spoke slowly through his grey goatee. “Now what could possibly be so urgent?” His accent was a stewing, Texan drawl. Tyler didn't know his real name; everyone just called him Dick. It was short for medic and was not unsuited to his personality. His large-rimmed glasses made his eyeballs treble in size. Tyler sat down opposite him, sweat beading on his brow.
“Please. It's an outsider. A little girl.” He spoke through gritted teeth as he tried desperately to not be overheard. The medic’s eyebrows rose, and his eyes went wide; his glasses making them appear bug-like, Tyler noted. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. After a moment he simply nodded and rose to his feet. Tyler rose with him and led him across the yard to the gate.
vii)
Zoë sent a cautious glance at the doorway as the two men entered, scowling at Tyler for taking so long. The little girl was now sat on the edge of the table, her legs dangling loosely over the side. Tyler noticed for the first time that her feet were bare and filthy up to the ankle: thick with dust and mud. How has this girl survived? She’s too old to be the daughter of a drifter. Too young to be a survivor, surely. The medic walked straight to her and Zoë took a step back, not before meeting his eye sternly. She has taken to her role of protector, Tyler thought, don’t lose sight of the fact that she might be the enemy, Zo. He found himself smirking at her incongruent behaviour.
“Hello.” Dick smiled at her and she locked eyes with him. “My name is Richard. Can you tell me yours?” She didn't say a word as the Texan timbre washed over her, she just continued to sit and stare. “We are good people; we can help you. Where did you come from, honey?” Again, nothing. Richard rummaged in his back pocket and drew out a tiny sliver of laminated paper. He held it up in front of her. “This card is proof of my being a certified doctor. I’m the medic here and I can help you.” The girl’s eyes scanned the card and then returned to his face. She probably can’t even read, you idiot. Richard pulled out a torch and held it up delicately between finger and thumb. “Can I check your eyes with this little light?” The girl just sat for a moment before nodding once. Richard checked both of her eyes. “Thank you, sweetie. Do you hurt anywhere?” Again, no reply, but there was a flicker of recognition; the girl’s eyes darted to her left arm and then back to the medic. “Your arm hurts?” The girl’s eyes widened and again a single nod followed. “Can I take a look?” He slowly reached over and pulled up her sleeve to reveal a tightly wound bandage. With one hand at her elbow and the other holding her fingers, he lifted her arm up to get a better look.
And then he froze.
“What?” Zoë’s voice was urgent, concerned. Richard let go for the arm and took a step away from the girl, as though she were a bomb. “What, Dick?” Zoë repeated, more loudly this time. Tyler felt his eyes wander to his rifle which he had left propped against the wall.
“W-Where did you get this bandage?” Richard asked the girl, his voice was a warble of fear and panic. He stared at her wounded arm. Zoë glanced from the medic to the girl and back again.
“No.” Zoë muttered almost inaudibly. She removed the pistol from the holster on her side, cocked it and then trained the barrel on the girl’s chest. “Answer him. Now.” All empathy had vanished from her face and only rage replaced it. The room was silent, and time appeared to freeze. Tyler hesitated, he wanted to step forward and calm Zoë; he was nervous she would shoot the girl. What has Dick seen on the bandage, he thought, she can't be one of them. This can't be a trap.
The girl raised her bandaged arm and surveyed the wrapped splint, casually. Her movements were sweeping and steady, as though she was drugged, and her apparent fearlessness only gave credence to that. She lowered her hand and looked at each of them in turn. Calmly she spoke, “Hiccup.” Zoë frowned and moved a step closer, gun outstretched.
“Wh-”
Zoë’s voice was cut off of by a tremendous explosion, followed by shouts and screams from outside. The drumming abruptly stopped and was replaced, after a momentary pause, by a wailing siren.
Zoë’s eyes opened wide with shock and fury as they found Richard and Tyler. She stepped forward and placed the pistol against the girl’s forehead, causing her to flinch and cower under the pressure. “What the fuck have you done?” Zoë cocked her head to the medic and Tyler, an imperative that they should leave and check what was going on, but only the former obliged: Tyler remained; he wanted to know what the girl had to say for herself and a part of him wanted to ensure that Zoë did not kill her. He walked over to the bed and placed a firm hand on the gun. Zoë glared at him with tears welling in her eyes.
“She’s going nowhere. Don’t kill her.” The strength in his voice surprised him; an acute juxtaposition to the internal turmoil he felt. Slowly, she lowered the gun, before turning away angrily. Tyler stood before the girl, and they looked at one another. He could see she was terrified and shaking uncontrollably. “What have you done, little girl?”
Richard burst in.
“It’s The Shard. It’s collapsing!” His voice was a childish shriek, a burst of panic and fear. Tyler and Zoë ran out with him and looked up at the enormous, metal tower. It seemed to be shimmering, as though it were an apparition, which Tyler realised was coming from the heat at its base. A black hole had been torn into the side of the tower, leaving mangled silver and grey. Flames stroked up out of the hole and along the sheer face. There was a tremendous groan from within as the metal fought to keep itself in place. It’s coming down!
“No!” Zoë barked to no-one and spun on her heel to re-enter the guardhouse. Tyler moved to block her path, but she pushed him aside. He slipped and fell and a plume of dust from the ground filled his mouth. Coughing and spluttering, he scrambled to his feet. He knew he was too late. There was a wail from inside; a guttural, raging scream and Tyler thought the worst. He ran into the room, only to find it empty. He proceeded through to the far side and out of the back door, on the side of the airfield runways.
Zoë was pacing maniacally. “Where the fuck did you go?!” She yelled into the line of parked planes in front of her. They shone in the bright sun. Tyler ran up beside her and spun around, looking in every direction for the girl. She can't have just vanished, he thought. Zoë let out a roar of defeat and fell to her knees, sobbing.
Tyler could see, from the corner of his eye, something silver was moving away from them. He turned and saw one of the planes easing its way out of alignment, towards the closest of the runways, which ran across them from left to right. Who the fuck is taking a plane out now? There are no scheduled flights… His mind was a blur of urgency and a mess of half-constructed thought. It took him too long to put all of the pieces together in his head.
Her.
Them.
The picture gathered in his mind and the moments lined up into a coherent chain of events. They had been sucked into a trap. I have to stop that plane. He set off after it at a sprint.
The plane reached the runway and turned sharply right. It was moving slowly, though accelerating with every passing second, as it followed the smooth track out towards the woodland in the distance. Tyler gained on it as it steadily tried to pick up speed. It was one of the older models, one of the planes that were less reliable. Maybe they’re easier for children to steal. He was almost alongside the plane as its speed began to exceed his own and the distance between them increased. Sprinting flat out, he looked inside the cockpit. Two gentle pearlescent eyes peered out at him; they were wide, innocent and apologetic.
He lost his footing and fell to the ground, rolling on the asphalt and grazing his knees and elbows. As he lay there, panting with exhaustion, he wracked his brain at what he had seen. It’s impossible, he thought, though he was sure it was true, a little girl and a robot just stole one of our fucking planes!
viii)
The plane was close to top speed as it screamed towards the wall of trees at the end of the runway. Eleanor grasped the armrests of her seat and watched as her knuckles whitened. She felt bad for the man who had fruitlessly chased them. Hiccup said they were crazy, but he didn't look it. He had a kind face, she thought. And that lady was nice, until she realised I was not on their side. I never took any side though. I'm just helping my friend. I hope nobody was hurt in the explosion.
Hiccup was sat in the seat in front of her with wires running from his chest into the consoles on either side of him. Just as I had found him, she thought, allowing a smile to find her lips, in spite of everything that had happened. The lights all over his body were flowing with bright colours, which cascaded down his face, and he rocked gently back and forth as the plane’s engine screamed at a higher and higher pitch.
Hiccup
Eleanor stared straight ahead, past Hiccup, praying that the nose of the plane would lift, and they would sail over the trees effortlessly. But with every passing second their margin for error decreased slightly, and her anxiety gained momentum. All of her trust was in this robot. I hope you're happy, father. I could not have put more trust in Hiccup.
There was a flash of light in the line of trees to their right. In the corner of her eye, it looked like a light bulb flicking on and then off again, in a heartbeat. A heartbeat later, something hit the plane. Under her. Hard. The nose of the plane dropped a couple of inches and Eleanor could see more of the runway in front of them. Their speed dropped. There was a new sound now: the sound of mechanical inefficiency. Of struggle. Something was not working as it should. She twisted in her seat and looked again for the light in the treeline. Scanning the silver fence and free mass of leaves above and beyond it, she caught sight of a man. He had a mess of grey hair and matching beard. And a big gun. It flashed again.
“HICCU-” she yelled as she ducked, but before she could get the word out there was another jolt, harder this time, which sent the plane veering slightly off-course to the left. The sound of grinding metal and rubber intensified and the smell of burning filled the cockpit. Hiccup remained silent, with both hands trained on the semicircle steering wheel. He gently eased the plane right, back onto their correct course. Eleanor rose and looked ahead again. The trees were impossibly close. She could see their height, their girth, their boundless depth. We are going to hit them!
There was another sound, more like a scratch then a bang, and Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut. She felt a lightness in her belly and a wave of nausea. The plane was rising. In three seconds, there was a groan of tortured metal, a roar of abused engine, and the loud scrape of a glanced blow. The plane lurched forward as the front wheel was torn away from the top of the tree they had only just managed to clear. But then it righted itself, leant back and soared up towards the clouds. Eleanor counted to ten, just to check that they had survived, and then vomited into her lap.
Hiccup didn't say a word.
Hiccup