The Immortal Storm (Sky Chaser Book 1) by Wilkes S.D

Author:Wilkes, S.D. [Wilkes, S.D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Petrichor Press
Published: 2015-05-07T07:00:00+00:00

36

The Crawler

A wall of wind slammed against Kite’s chest, rippling the leather of his patchcoat. Underneath, the airworker suit’s clever weave blocked the chill but in the inch between his goggles and scarf the cold burned his skin. He gripped the gantry handrail and turned to look down the length of the Phosphene’s starboard hull. All around him the Undercloud roared and flickered.

“Check your harness!” Welkin’s voice crackled through his headphones.

Kite tugged at the straps, making sure they were snug over his patchcoat. He gave the thumbs up to Welkin. Beside him Birdy keenly did the same.

“Now your rebreather,” Welkin instructed.

On Kite's back the rebreather pump sucked inside its cylinder. The cylinder was two thirds full - one litre and rising - according to the gauge hooked onto his harness. The pollutants became a dangerous concentrated at altitude. Enough to overcome a pilot without the unit to filter the poison from the air and extract enough breathable oxygen to survive the thin air.

“Roger that,” Kite said into the microphone tucked inside the rebreather mask.

“Now secure your lines!” Welkin said.

Kite snapped the carabiner on to the gantry handrail. Far beneath the Phosphene fires flickered in an ocean of coal-black scrub. Lightning punched at the ground, starting new ones - the Thundergrounds.

“That's a long way down,” Birdy said, voice trembling a little.

“Don't worry the line'll hold you,” Kite said.

Birdy shot him a look. “I ain't scared if that's what you're thinking,” he said.

“Didn't say you were,” Kite replied, but he knew Birdy was scared.

For three days now the fulgurtine had been heading north. The wind had a metallic edge; the first hint of the frozen Hiemal awaiting them. The Undercloud, so often familiar to Kite, had become an alien place. Showers of ball lightning and hail the size of nailbird eggs. All kinds of weird sights and sounds. But at least Kite hadn't seen anymore ghosts.

Engine-noise made him turn. Fleer's stormwing tore overhead. She flew toward the Phosphene’s bow, scanning the armour with a hand-held electroscope. Somehow she turned even the most mundane task into a display of aerial grace.

“Eyes forward, Nayward,” Welkin said, pacing the gantry in front of his new recruits. “You've learned the basics of handling a stormwing. That's good. But don't for a minute think you're ready for the sky.”

Welkin produced two short-handled brooms.

“You have got to be kidding,” Birdy said.

“Today's lesson is all about working at altitude. Stormwings are not high-altitude airmachines. We don't have pressurised suits,” Welkin said, nodding to the Undercloud. “But, that means the higher we go the greater the pressure on our bodies. Even the smallest amount of exertion can sap your energy and your ability to think straight. At two thousand five hundred feet it's all about knowing your limits.”

Welkin pointed to the turbine nacelle where, under the cowlings, a mass of black lumps encrusted the skymetal armour. “Let's see how you get on clearing those barnacles,” he said. “Nayward, lead on.”

With the broom tucked under his arm Kite lowered himself down the service ladder and on to the arm of the nacelle.

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