Free Impact by Adam Baker Page A

injury.’
    ‘You’ll be okay.’
    ‘Does your head hurt?’
    ‘It’s like my migraine has a migraine. Can’t hardly see straight. A thousand drills boring into my skull.’
    ‘There’s a trauma kit aboard the plane. Plenty of dope. I’ll fix you up. Get you high as a Georgia pine.’
    He shook his head.
    ‘Pinback is dead, is that right? Then I guess that makes me AC. Better keep a clear head. Responsibilities. There’s a whole new day tomorrow and it ain’t been touched yet. Plenty to do.’
    ‘Maybe you ought to take a shot. Help you concentrate on the tasks at hand.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘With respect, being AC doesn’t mean a whole lot right now. The mission is over, sir. Not much to be done. Just got to sit tight and wait for rescue.’
    Hancock started to get to his feet. He looked resolute, like he was ready to take charge and issue orders. Then his strength gave out and he fell on his back.
    ‘Seriously, sir. You’re played out. Better rest a while.’
    They lay and looked up at the brilliant starfield.
    ‘No planes,’ said Hancock. ‘A dozen flight paths used to intersect over this desert. Few months ago we would have see contrails, running lights.’
    ‘We ought to concentrate on our immediate situation.’
    ‘A silent planet. Nothing moving on the highways. No ships at sea. Imagine the cities. New York. LA. The stillness. The silence.’
    Long pause.
    ‘What if we’re the last people on Earth? If Vegas got wiped out, if the airwaves are dead, maybe there is no one else but us. End of the species. Could be us. Right here, right now.’
    ‘You want to procreate, is that what you’re saying?’
    Hancock smiled.
    ‘Appreciate the offer, but right now I barely have enough energy to blink.’
    They lay in silence a while.
    ‘Thought I was going to die out there, Frost. Die among the dunes. Thought my end had come.’
    ‘Yeah. Me too.’
    ‘Least we survived, right?’
    She nodded.
    ‘Yeah,’ said Hancock. ‘Least we survived.’



12
    Frost got to her feet.
    ‘We’ll freeze if we stay out here. We better get inside.’
    She held out a hand and helped Hancock to his feet.
    They leant against each other as they walked to the plane.
    The body.
    Pinback shrouded in the stars and stripes.
    Hancock stood a while, leaning against the hull of the B-52, and contemplated the dead man.
    ‘Don’t mean to speak ill of the departed. Understand he was your friend and all. But the dumb bastard should have punched out.’
    She helped Hancock squirm through the fissure in the fuselage and enter the darkness of the lower cabin.
    He lowered himself to the floor, sat with his back against the nav console.
    Frost crouched and found her survival vest by touch. She unzipped pouches and found her little Fenix flashlight. Cabin lit by a weak pencil-beam.
    ‘There’s a big Maglite in that locker,’ said Hancock.
    Frost threw him a parka.
    She zipped her flight suit and stepped into unlaced boots.
    ‘Try to sleep,’ advised Frost.
    ‘If there is stuff to be done, we ought to set to work before the sun comes up and heat starts to build.’
    ‘You’re in no fit state. Get some rest.’
    She pulled a tool pack from a floor locker. Duct tape. She twisted the reel onto her wrist like a bangle.
    ‘I’m going up top. See if I can patch a few holes, trap a little heat.’
    She climbed the ladder to the flight deck.
    Two of the roof hatches were open to the starlit sky.
    Sections of the cabin roof and walls were insulated by padded blankets clipped to the superstructure by poppers. She pulled a couple of blankets free.
    She stood on a trunk stamped LIFE RAFT. She bite-ripped strips of tape and patched the vacant hatch frames with insulation.
    She pulled down blast screens to curtain the missing windows.
    She climbed down the ladder and set the flashlight on the nav console.
    She pulled another blanket from the wall, held it against the split in the fuselage, measured it for size, prepared to seal the plane against a