The Shield of Kuromori. Jason Rohan
The tail of the transport jet loomed into view and towered overhead, its triangular silhouette blotting out the evening stars as the aircraft continued to accelerate.
‘Come on!’ Kiyomi yelled at her motorbike, urging it ever closer to the undercarriage. The aeroplane continued to advance, steadily pulling away from the bike.
‘We’re not going to catch them! They’re too fast!’ Kenny screamed, straining to be heard over the thundering jet engines.
Kiyomi ignored him, reached into a side pouch on the bike and brought her feet up, setting the soles of her boots on to the seat. She crouched for a second, like a jockey on a racehorse, and then let go of the handlebars, straightening up.
Kenny dared not breathe as Kiyomi balanced on the seat, afraid that any movement from him would topple the bike. Her right hand shot out, a flash of metal glinted in the plane’s lights and the kaginawa grappling hook soared over the aeroplane wing in front.
The wheels of the C-1 jet left the runway and rose into the air. Kenny saw the cord snap taut in Kiyomi’s hands and she jumped. Instinctively, Kenny dived for the weighted end of the remaining line and grabbed it, looping it round his wrists. The motorcycle slipped away from beneath him and he half expected to be smeared into paste on the tarmac.
Instead, he was hauled upwards and pounded by the air rushing over the wing. The nylon cord cut into his wrists and hands and the roaring wind of the slipstream buffeted and pummelled him, making it hard to see or breathe. Below, the illuminated runway dropped away at a sickening speed and Kenny knew he couldn’t hold on for much longer. Unless . . .
He closed his eyes, forced the panic from his mind and centred his ki once more. Since he was being battered by the wind in front, what he needed was a counter-force, to even it out . . .
A powerful gust of air from behind propelled him forward towards the wing. Kiyomi hauled in the line, hand over hand, reeling them in to sprawl on the metal surface. The air was thinning and an icy chill blasted through Kenny’s thin football clothes. The C-1 continued to climb. Far below, the night lights of Tokyo sparkled like jewels scattered on velvet.
‘Great plan,’ he yelled in Kiyomi’s ear. ‘Are we meant to freeze, suffocate or fall off now?’
A crack of light split open in the body of the plane and a harsh neon glow spilled out. Kenny craned his neck round and saw that a door had opened just behind the wing. Standing in the gap was the unmistakable shape of an oni, levelling a large handgun at them.
‘Kenny!’ Kiyomi screamed. ‘We’re sitting ducks out here!’
The oni took aim and pulled the trigger. BLAMM!
SKING! The bullet ricocheted off the sword in Kenny’s hand. The oni fired again, sending two more rounds Kenny’s way. Kusanagi bucked in his hand, deflecting the heavy-calibre slugs.
‘Nar-gu-rah uk-kru n’gak-rak,’ the oni barked, reaching back inside the plane.
‘Ken-chan – he’s getting a rocket launcher!’ Kiyomi yelled.
Kenny didn’t need telling twice. He raised the sword high over his head and swept it down, slicing through the metal structure of the wing. It fell away, spinning through the sky, with Kenny and Kiyomi clinging to it like two surfers on a board.
The detached wing flipped, throwing Kenny and Kiyomi into free fall. Kenny rolled over and over before, intuitively, he thrust out his arms and legs in a star shape to increase resistance. The wind whipped at his flimsy clothes and the uncontrolled tumbling motion slowed before settling into a semi-glide.
It was a strange sensation: on the one hand, Kenny felt like he was floating; on the other, the rush of air surging past left him in no doubt that he was falling – and falling fast. Above, fraying clouds hung low in the purple sky. Below, amid Tokyo’s glittering expanse, lay a splotch of darkness.
Kiyomi drifted down, twisting her shoulders and knees to manoeuvre through the air. She drew opposite Kenny, locked her hands on to his wrists and pulled him closer, until her forehead touched his.
‘You’re an idiot!’ she screamed.
Her words were lost in the rush of wind, but Kenny could lip-read. He nodded downwards. ‘What’s the black area down there?’ he yelled, exaggerating the shape of each word.
Kiyomi craned her neck in each direction to fix her bearings before answering.
‘That’s Saitama, near Tokorozawa. It’s a reservoir, either Lake Sayama or Lake Tama.’
‘Trust me!’ Kenny shouted.
The city lights below were brighter now and he could make out details: a Ferris wheel, a covered stadium and another airfield. Closing his eyes, Kenny pictured a powerful updraught whooshing from the ground like a geyser. He focused on the image, feeling the air between his fingers, throwing it upwards like splashing water from a pool.
He opened his eyes again and his stomach heaved. The moonlit surface of the lake was rushing towards him at almost two hundred kilometres per hour. Kenny screwed his eyes shut, clenched his teeth so hard that he thought they would break, and summoned every trace of willpower he had. He knew he could do this, but more importantly he had to believe it.
‘I trust you.’
Kiyomi’s words sparked like a firefly in the blackness of his mind. Something flared deep down in the core of his consciousness and power surged through him. Kenny braced for the impact; hitting water at that speed and height would be like slamming into concrete.
Nothing happened.
He waited, not daring to open his eyes.
‘Uh, Ken-chan.’ Kiyomi’s voice was quiet, as if afraid to disturb him. ‘You can set us down now.’
Kenny blinked and gasped. He and Kiyomi were suspended two metres above the lake. The autumn air was motionless around them and they floated, as if gravity had ceased.
‘I – I don’t know how . . .’ Kenny began to say, before a whisper of doubt crept into his mind. This can’t be real.
SPLASSHH! The shock of the chilled lake water slapped him back to reality and he swallowed a mouthful before kicking up to the surface. Kiyomi bobbed alongside him, treading water in her soggy leathers. Fury blazed in her eyes.
‘I know, I know,’ Kenny spluttered, before she could speak. ‘I’m an idiot. But at least we’re not dead.’
‘Urgh! No thanks to you.’
‘What? It wasn’t my idea to jump on to a moving plane.’
‘And it wasn’t mine to cut the wing off.’
An orange light flashed in the mountains to the west and the muffled crump of an explosion rolled towards them.
‘You can thank me later,’ Kenny said, and began the long swim to shore.
A circular intake tower with a green conical roof, like a medieval turret, stood some fifteen metres clear of the water. Connecting it to the mainland was a suspension bridge and the industrial lights of a pumping station shone like a beacon, guiding Kenny and Kiyomi to shore. They pulled themselves up the shallow bank and flopped, panting, on to a forlorn patch of grass.
Kenny breathed in deep chestfuls of air and waited for his drumming heart to slow. His limbs were leaden and he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep on the dirt, except the chattering of his teeth would have kept him awake.
Kiyomi unzipped her phone from its waterproof pocket and made a call.
‘How long before our