Torchwood: Exodus Code

verandas and toppling two of the buildings as well as the tower.
    Anderson pulled Isela to her feet. They followed Jack.
    Seconds later, Anderson yelled for Jack and Isela to stop, bringing her rifle in front of her. Isela crouched, playing in the rubble.
    ‘What is it?’ Jack came over to Anderson, who was staring across at part of the hacienda’s wall where the fissure had torn it asunder.
    ‘I saw something,’ she replied. ‘Over near the wall. Might be someone injured.’
    She freed the rope from her shoulder, lassoed it around Isela’s waist and handed the end to Jack. ‘Get her to the airstrip. Those copters will be on the ground soon. I’m going to check it out.’
    ‘Yes, Captain,’ Jack said, smiling.
    Jack towed an angry Isela towards the airstrip where Anderson’s unit was busy with the triaged wounded, many of whom were propped against the concrete hanger, sharing canteens of water. The dead were covered and lined up on the other side of the airstrip.
    The two helicopters were coming in low, like the advanced guard of an alien invasion.
    Jack tapped his comms. ‘I’m bringing in the girl. May have company on my tail when I do.’
    When Jack dragged Isla out to the airstrip, he reached down, threw her over his shoulder again, and ran towards the rear of the hotel.
    Anderson rounded the corner. ‘Hey! What the—’ She lifted her rifle. ‘Stop!’ She fired a warning shot above Jack’s head.
    Directly behind Anderson the helicopters began their descent, whipping up a tornado of dust, rocks and brush.
    Anderson sprinted towards the hotel.
    Jack could hardly see five metres in front any more. His vision was clouded with black and yellow dots, his head clanging with strident chords of tinny music.
    Dana pushed open the hotel gates. Jack charged through. Dana fired a series of shots at Anderson, who hurled herself behind a copse of brush.
    Jack dropped Isela onto a lounge chair and helped Dana close and bar the gates.
    ‘Now what?’ asked Dana, freeing Isela.
    ‘I need you to give me the notebook, Isela. I know you have it,’ said Jack, his knees buckling. ‘Give me a minute.’
    ‘You can have five,’ said Cash, leading the others through the tropical gardens to the cabana where Jack was down, his eyes closed, his heart racing one minute then slowing, almost stopping, the next.
    Gwen looked as bad as Jack felt. She was being carried between Eva and Vlad, taking two steps on her own then being dragged and carried for two.
    ‘What happened?’ When Jack sat up a wave of nausea pulled his head back against the pillows.
    ‘She punched Hollis,’ said Vlad. ‘Thought he was her husband, I think.’
    Hollis was bringing up the rear of the line with Sam, each had assault rifles criss-crossed over their shoulders. ‘On my honour, I did not touch the lady.’
    ‘I upped her dosage,’ said Eva.
    ‘Hey everyone! It’s Jack,’ grinned Gwen. ‘I missed you, Jack!’
    ‘Why do you need to see my grandfather’s notebook?’ asked Isela, sitting on the edge of the lounger next to Jack.
    ‘It’s my notebook, Isela. A long time ago, on this mountain, your grandfather saved my life. He held on to the notebook for me.’
    ‘So you are
el cóndor
? From the stories my mother tells?’ Isela sucked her upper lip, a movement so childish that Jack received a vivid flash of her sitting cross-legged on a dusty tiled floor, listening wide-eyed to her mother. Isela searched Jack’s face suspiciously – trying to reconcile this wild, infuriating stranger with the heroes of her childhood chronicles. Sensing his moment, Jack licked a finger, and traced in the air the pattern of overlapping circles. Recognising the symbol, Isela grinned, and dug around in her garments, pulling the notebook out of a pocket along with a handful of spare ammunition. She handed Jack the notebook.
    ‘Thank you,’ said Jack. As he closed his fingers over the book, he heard a deep sonorous boom.
    ‘The
cóndor
,’ said Hollis, ‘That’s a nickname with some cachet.’
    ‘Do you actually know what a condor is?’ asked Cash, moving to the gates where Dana stood guard, the drone of the helicopters shaking the hacienda’s walls while they loaded the wounded.
    ‘Four under par?’
    ‘It’s a bloody vulture, a bird that feeds on the dead,’ said Cash.
    ‘It’s a sacred bird to the Cuari, to my mother,’ said Isela. ‘We believe that the
cóndor
comes from the heavens and it can take messages back and forth