Primal Gambit

Chapter 72: The Two Find Darwin

Ghastly howls of captured men carried on the vast stretches of scratched concrete tiling. Even when The Dark City's lights were taken from her, emergency lanterns and lights on wall-fixtures sighed out a dim orange against the floor. A station of generators chugged somewhere out of sight; only a faint whirring could be heard from the exhibition halls of Marcotte. Sparse personnel, less vicious than the mercenaries that had dispatched the chop shoppers under Scarab's command dotted the hallways in predictable places – their arms crossed, watery eyes struggling to remain open as the duration of the graveyard shift stretched out. Some of them smoked cigarettes, made small talk with one another as they passed by and scratched their beards. Others gave in to the end of duty, and as the brown whisper of morning light began to seep through the cracks in the ventilation ducts, their long shift ended.

The helipad of the Human Observatory served as a beacon to the first-time flier. Tweetie fiddled with various controls, the dials and meters and bells all foreign to him. When the airship would rumble with turbulence, Ridley would take hold of a nearby bar. But when the choppy air would cease and the clouds would part, the old soldier had a grand view of the dead city. Darkened not by choice, devoid of life only by the negligence of mankind, it filled him with a great sorrow.

What had happened to this place?

The engines and forward-facing rotors were the only things he could hear. Silence engulfed the city. In the early morning hours, she would not allow the smallest whisper. Nothing moved below. Even the pollutant fog lay still.

And they made their descent, deep down into the void.

Wonder if I'll ever get out.

They fell past dead neon signs made up of hundreds of scorched bulbs burnt in a clear to yellow ombré. The blades nearly became tangled in the web of wires that connected the buildings together as the ship roared between sky-scraping hotel buildings and apartment complexes. Ridley turned his head in wonder.

It cascaded over – and he could hardly breathe.

He saw the building he and Valerie once called home. Residual smoke billowed in a constant stream to the skies from the spout, but Ridley could not believe it had fallen. Leaning against a nearby tower, the entire facility buckled at the base from the explosion. There was no telling how many lives remained buried under the rubble.

Just as he began to relive the times he had spent there with her, the perspiring chop shopper cut him off:

"Ready yourself. We'll touch down in no time. I can see the birdie on the other pad now and my does she look good." He growled to Ridley, who nearly lifted from the passenger seat due to their rapid change in altitude.

"Hope I tied Drex up good enough – last thing he needs is a bump on the head!" Tweetie cackled like a madman as Ridley Doerrman took his six shooter back into his hands.

The grip felt comfortable, an old fit. He had retrieved it when he first boarded the airship; it was the same one the mercenaries had used to transport them from the warehouse to The Yard. All their belongings remained within. His pistol was the only thing he grabbed, save for a small journal that had been taken from Valerie. It was something he had seen her use in the past, jotting notes down like an archaic recorder from ancient times. The moment he saw it resting on the floor of the cargo hold he reached down and picked it up, feeling between his fingers the soft leather wraps that kept it shut. He tucked it away into his pocket, only to forget where he had placed it for some time after.

"How are you going to take both the helicopters out of the city? You can't fly them both." Ridley shouted over the roaring engines and whipping winds.