27
A QUICKENING TIDE
cheeks.
“Oh s**t, I’m sorry! I slipped,” he offered.
“Not your fault,” she replied, “but I’m flash-dazzled. Can’t see a damn thing. Climb onto my back. You’ll have to tell me which way to go.”
Durante clambered aboard her, sensed her grimace as his legs wrapped round her waist as he maneuvered to see through the machine’s dipped windscreen.
“Where’s the exit?” demanded Yerzuk.
“Twenty degrees to the right, then it’s straight on for 500 meters.”
Under Yerzuk’s control and Durante’s navigation, the man-machine now stumbled forwards, loping like a drunk marine towards the distant freight bay and then the parking lot beyond. Out here, the tarmac was pasted with red smudges. Someone hammered on the outside of the hatch, yelping for admis-sion. Durante battled with h
