Slingshot: An Apocalyptic Thriller by Darren Wearmouth

Author:Darren Wearmouth [Wearmouth, Darren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-11-19T00:00:00+00:00

Eighteen

I entered the main part of the ship and gazed around, awestruck and speechless. The huge oval space had a clear window running around the entire circumference, giving me a view of Wolff farm and the surrounding area. Above it, roughly fifty holographic screens showed a dizzying array of data and diagrams; all unintelligible. Short hallways led off in five different directions to different parts of the ship.

On the walls, other objects lay behind clear casings. Guns that could fire God knows what. Handheld instruments. Things I couldn't even begin to describe.

This was the equivalent of me giving someone from medieval times a ride in my Chevrolet Beretta. They'd marvel at my dashboard controls, the speed, and the sound system in the same way how I stared in wonder at the ship's infrastructure.

Kwok and Cohen's visors and suits vanished around them, revealing light blue coveralls. Both had dark circles around their eyes and looked jaded. They smoothly moved to three racing seats in front of a large console and sat on the outer two.

Genetic enhancement or whatever, they looked downright weird. Even their voices had a sterile, computerized quality.

“We’re heading for Greenland right now,” Kwok said. “Take a seat and relax for a minute.”

“Relax? Are you shitting me?”

“Am I what?”

“Forget about it.”

I flopped down on the middle seat. People from the twenty-sixth century had probably dispensed with modern-day obscenities or came up with better ones. Following on from my previous medieval observation, they likely viewed twenty-first-century efforts like how we see Shakespearean vulgarities.

The crew swept their hands over clear glass pads. Green digital shapes and readings burst to life at the touch of their fingers. Overhead, the holographic diagrams started to slowly rotate.

Somewhere in the bowels of the ship, the engine whirred to life, sounding like smooth thunder. A second later, we shot into the sky.

I gripped the sides of the stool as my heart went into my mouth. We climbed high and zipped toward Lake Ontario before banking.

It gave me a depressing view of Hamilton. Reminded me of a grainy World War Two photograph I'd seen, taken in the aftermath of the Dresden bombing.

Hardly any of the downtown or mountain buildings remained untouched. Most were charred skeletons without windows. Walls had collapsed. Rubble filled the streets. Smoke continually rose into the sky. I couldn’t even make out my apartment building on Mohawk.

My stomach knotted at the sight. Whatever happened in the immediate future, the image of my destroyed city would be permanently seared into my mind.

And if this alone wasn’t bad enough. A final indignity was coming when the downed craft’s reactor exploded.

The ship turned north, back over the countryside. To our left, wreckage burned all around Wolff farm. Volker’s body lay among the carnage.

I let out a deep sigh. He went out bravely, assisting my escape which gave me the time I needed to survive. Not that either of us realized it would happen, though it took nothing away from his action.

Something else I wouldn’t forget.

We had both been small-minded with each other.

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