The Wastelands (Part II of the Runner Series)

Chapter 8

The loosed rope throws our trajectory dangerously off-kilter. Already I can feel my stomach churning at the movement, trying not to think of how far we have to fall before we crash into the sand dunes below.

"We need to re-attach that cable." Will rises to his feet as best he can, still gripping the ledge. "Grifin, cut me a length of rope off the rappel lines. The rest of you, grab a bow and cover us." He looks over to me. "Kay?"

"I'm on it." I work my way over to the ledge, situating myself in front of a twisting cable coil that reaches from the ship up to the balloon. Will accepts the newly-cut rope Grifin hands over and together they attach the end of it to the ledge. They pull the knot tightly and Will moves over to me, looping the rest of the rope over my shoulder and across my chest so that my hands can be free for climbing while leaving enough slack for me to reach the top of the balloon.

The soldiers next to us loose their arrows but at this trajectory I doubt anyone is able to score a hit. I briefly wonder about the Wasters' aim, considering the fact that they were able to cut one of our ropes from the ground. I blink hard and push the thought aside, concentrating on the task at hand.

I raise myself up onto the ledge and grip the cable, glancing upwards at Phoenix's helium cavity swelling above me. The cable cuts into my hand as I hold it, my grip tightening.

"Be careful." I glance down to see Will sling his bow out from under his shoulder, his eyes on mine.

I nod. "Be right back."

I place both of my hands on the cable and jump up, crossing my feet behind the cord and inching my way towards the sky, hand over hand.

The wind buffets my clothes and hair and I chance a look over my shoulder, noting our soldiers leaning out over Phoenix's edge, peering at the golden sand below them. The sight causes an abnormal bout of dizziness to turn my stomach and I move my gaze back upwards, concentrating as I continue climbing, eventually reaching the bottom edge of the canvas balloon.

The silver exterior of Phoenix is hot to the touch and I wince as my skin brushes against the sun-baked surface, unlacing my legs and pulling myself higher. I feel a line of sweat break out on my forehead and release one hand to run my wrist over it, grimacing at the effort. I set my sights on a spot a few feet above me, where my cable crosses with another length of heavy rope running parallel across the canvas.

I reach the cross-section and pull myself above it, placing my feet on top of the next rope and leaning back against the side of the balloon, catching my breath.

From this vantage point I can see straight below us, noting that the ground is still some distance away. Against the dunes there are some dark specks, lined up one after the other and seemingly gesturing towards us.

Something flies by my head and I gasp, throwing myself to the side and gripping the rope with everything I have. The balloon behind me contracts and re-inflates, pushing me forward with enough force to cause me to lose my footing. I tighten my grip and kick my feet against the canvas, forcefully pulling myself back into position and immediately crouching down, trying vainly to make myself as small as possible.

Will was wrong. Whatever it was that nearly hit me, there is no doubt that it is large enough to puncture the surface of the ship and release our helium. If that happens, no amount of rope will keep us from plowing into the dunes.

I push the thought aside and creep along the length of cable, aiming for the severed rope flapping in the breeze. More than once Phoenix swings dangerously and I whisper a prayer of thanks to the pilots grappling at the helm, continuously righting the gigantic bird with a broken wing.