Part 19 (2/2)

I can't lie. *Not with Slick we're not.'

*My father says we have to do whatever we can to win the war.'

*And we both know your father is always right!'

I laugh, but Zoya doesn't laugh back.

*It's tricky to spot any landmarks,' she calls once we're over the city centre. *Everything's so grey, just a few dim lights. Isn't that the big screen in the station square? That could be our school roof there. I think we're in position. Shall I start spraying?'

No! Leave the weeds alone! Let the gra.s.s grow, let the saplings shoot up, let the flowers blossom! I hate the thought of all that black poison raining down, spattering on rogue leaves and sliding down green stems.

To Zoya I say, *Sure. Do it.'

I think I can hear people down on the streets putting up umbrellas as we sweep past. Why are we wasting time with this? Who is the greater enemy, the Crux and their killing machines, or the Mora.s.s with its mazy ways? Loyalty is such a funny thing. You think you know whose side you're on, who's on your side, and then . . .

*Pip!' Zoya screams as the plane jolts. *Enemy aircraft!'

I snap back into focus and take control. *Screamers? Catapults?'

*Unknown. I think we're hit!'

Dreaming in the mist I never heard anything approach. I take us up to break the mist and hope the other Storms have spotted the enemy too. The moment we emerge into morning suns.h.i.+ne sounds are sharper.

*Behind us, Pip!' Zoya swings her Glissom rapid-fire round to shoot at the Crux Catapult planes that have been waiting for us to appear out of the mist, like wolves watching a rablet hole.

Whatever I do to shake them off, however I turn, there's a shower of Slick following behind, some blown back in our faces so we're smeared in the disgusting stuff. The sun's eye is harsh and I wish I'd remembered my flying visor.

Zoya shouts, *Drop alt.i.tude a” hide in the mist again!'

Down we go, swooping low over long lamp-poles and rooftop was.h.i.+ng lines, still trickling Slick from the under-wing canisters. A woman pegging things out to dry shakes her fist at us. She should be glad she won't have flowers budding in her blankets, though I think that would be rather lovely, sleeping with blossoms . . .

It takes all my concentration to dodge tall buildings while still keeping out of range of the Catapult. Finally I find River Seaward. I follow its sludge-green ribbon for a while. That brings up bad memories of tumbling into the water with Tilly . . . and being hauled out by Steen. I wonder where he is.

*Zoya a” can you hear me?' My own ears feel full of mist and Slick.

*I'm right behind you a” what's the plan?'

*We have to get the Catapults away from the city.'

*You mean out over the harbour?'

My stomach flips at the thought of the churning ocean. *Definitely.'

*That might work . . . especially as they're right on our tail again now a” Pip!'

I pull the nose up and whip around sharply before turning towards the coast again. There are the harbour lights . . . the Catapults are too close!

*I can't lose them!'

*I can't hit them!'

A stutter of bullets shreds into the Storm. Wires ping and the plane begins to dance. I don't have control. More bullets. Zoya yelps. I twist round. She's disappeared from sight.

No, no, no!

Sea-mist and shock cling to my body, slowing me down, just when I should be doing something dynamic. Why am I so sluggish anywhere over rivers and sea? The Storm twists and plunges like a twig on floodwater. Is this it? Is this how it ends a” I die alone?

Not alone. Dee's Storm comes powering up, right on the tail of the Crux planes. Predators become prey. Ang shoots one Catapult right in the fuel tanks so it explodes in mid-air, creating a second sun. The other is almost out of range when she scores a direct hit on the pilot, sending that plane tumbling down into the mist.

I fall after it, dazed by my own uselessness. The plane just isn't responding. Wires must've been jammed or shot to pieces, because I don't have control. Without wires, what can I do? I keep jabbing the rudder pedal with my boot, as if that'll help . . . and, amazingly, something unsnarls. The wires run smoothly and the Storm responds to my touch again.

The sea doesn't catch me with its white-flecked wave-tips. I'm not swallowed in nasty salt billows.

I hear a groan. Behind me a blood-grazed hand appears on the edge of the c.o.c.kpit, followed by a thatch of pale hair and a scowl.

*No floor left!' Zoya shouts. *I'm sitting on sky!'

I want to whoop with delight!

*You owe Fenlon a huge thanks for that extra-strong seat and harness belt.'

*I owe you thanks for the boot-wetting. I thought we were going under then.'

*So did I! Can you hang on till we reach the base?'

*Do I have a choice?'

I laugh, feeling suddenly light enough to fly without a plane. *We won't need landing gear a” you can start running when we touch down . . .'

*Don't joke, that might actually happen. Listen, Pip, thank you for not letting us die.'

*Thank Ang. Her shooting was inspired.'

*No, I mean it. It's true what everybody says. You really are loyal, aren't you?'

I tense. *Why wouldn't I be?'

*It's just . . . There's something I shouldn't tell you . . .' Zoya's voice is strained, probably from the effort of hanging on to her harness.

*Can't it wait?' I'm squinting through curtains of gauzy mist.

*Yes, kind of, but not for long. It's abouta”'

*No, really, it'll have to wait a” more Crux incoming!'

Soon the sky is specked with planes. I zip between them as best I can. Zoya hoists herself up to the c.o.c.kpit edge but she can't hold on and shoot at the same time. Once again, Ang saves the day, eventually escorting us back to base before returning to patrol the skies.

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