CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT
7:25 p.m. Greenwich Mean Time (2:25 p.m. Eastern Standard Time)
Valverde Coast
El Hierro, Canary Islands
Atlantic Ocean
“Holy rocky coastline,” Ed Newsam said.
They were dragging the pilot, Penza, out of the water. He was almost dead weight, gasping for air, struggling, coughing, crying. Luke had an image of throwing him down on the beach, but there was no beach. There were just large, round, black volcanic rocks, an endless field of them, covered with moss, slippery as hell.
They stumbled, fell, got up, kept going. The water was three or four feet deep here, the waves surging in behind them.
Above their heads, a flare went up, lighting up the sky, casting strange shadows among the bizarre moonscape around them.
“Another flare,” Luke said. “Down! Everybody down
