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his
death. Cora takes two of the plates and we head into the mess room to find Skea
and Helst waiting. Skea is reloading the guns while Helst lounges back in his
chair, smoking as usual. Perhaps it’s just a trick of the eyes, but he does
look even thinner than before. The rigid stare remains the same though.
                 “Food,” I say, as we hand out the
plates.
                  “Sure you don’t want any?” Cora askes. Helst
just shakes his head. It is of no concern of mine if he wants to deliberately
starve himself to death. After all, he is planning to blow his own head off
sooner or later. But that nagging instinct still keeps telling me to be careful
around him. Not all enemies are outside the door.
                  “Can’t be many of them left by now,” Skea
says. She takes a bit of the blackened meat and shrugs, not that interested in
how bad it tastes or looks.
                 “I don’t know, I lost count,” Cora
replies.
                 “Clook, Meska for sure, and Gren and
Sura… not seen Yost around for a while though, or Hela,” Helst says quietly.
                  “Hela got it from the abominations. I saw one of
her arms.”
                  “And how could you tell it was hers?” Skea
asks, to which Cora replies that she had a tattoo on her wrist, the name of her
kid or something equally banal.
                 “So maybe five. Clook will stay in the
control room, no doubt about it, along with one of the others. Meska will be
patrolling round with the other two, waiting for us,” says Helst. He stretches and
all the bones in his fragile spine click loudly.
                 “So, what are we waiting for?” Skea askes.
                 “Nothing but a cigarette,” I mumble
through a mouthful of gristly, badly-cooked meat, and see no point in delaying.

 
                                                                            *
                I cough up
the black tarry stuff as we head carefully across the Platform with our eyes everywhere,
especially on the towers. The wind is constant and wrenches at us mercilessly as
we skulk low.   Cora remains close to the
entrance just in case anyone tries to backtrack on us. I follow Helst and can
hardly see among the acid spray. The storms seem worse than ever, and there is
no sign of life at all. I break right, heading to my position – the west tower.
                  Scaling the slippery ladder, it’s hard to hold
on. I wonder if they are smart enough to have someone up here already; at least
the constant howl of the wind obscures the sound of my boots on the wet rungs.
I feel sick and try to concentrate as the whole thing sways in a maddening
lurch. Up and up I go, trying to keep an eye upward but I can barely see until
I reach the gun chamber. I pause for a moment, trying to see if anyone is
lurking in the darkness, but I see no movement and drag myself inside. No, I am
alone. They didn’t think that far ahead – unlike Helst. So I clamber onto the
seat and strap on the nighteyes, swivelling the massive cannons toward the
deck. It takes a moment to adjust, but I make out Helst and Skea, waiting beneath
the central control Platform. I can only tell it’s them by their position; they
are only a glowing green presence on the screen.  
                  Slowly I swing the guns. There is not enough
turn to directly hit the control room from here; they are at the limit of their
turning arc, but as I sweep back again, I see two figures creeping along its
underside. I know it’s not us, so with baited breath I pull the triggers. The
huge recoil jolts my aching body and the sound is of a mechanical thunder
tearing through the sky. Instantly the two green blurs in my night eyes explode
into pieces. Another leaps into view, trying to run for the