Hard Fall by Ridley Pearson Read Free Book Online

its long, eerie dive toward destruction. And although Kort knew he must release his hold, he could not. He took out his fear on the man’s neck.
    The 959 crashed. The sudden quiet was almost as deafening. Kort, regaining his senses, released his grip. Roger Ward fell away from him and rolled over, his eyes open and enlarged, his face a sickening blue. He was dead.
    In the silence of the now motionless simulator, the stark reality of Kort’s predicament slammed home. He had murdered Ward. An investigation would follow. There would be links to the simulator, to the 959—to everything he had hoped to prevent.
    He was not a man to panic, but despite his training he did just that. He slapped the face of the warm corpse, repeatedly murmuring impossible demands that it return to life. He talked to himself trying to explain, to rationalize: he had wanted to gain control; to silence him; to scare him into behaving. Now this! He shook the man by the shirt. Come alive! The head flopped, ungainly, from side to side as if to say, “No.”
    Come to life, you bastard! Kort willed. But where he had the power to take the life away, he had none to restore it.
    Slowly, he collected himself. Killing men was not something entirely new to him—he reminded himself. He released Ward for the second time. Ward fell heavily to the carpet, a soft thud. The man had made his contribution; Kort had what he was after. Kort threw the switch to lower the drawbridge, listening intently as it fell securely into place. He opened the door and peered around the edge at the three other simulators, all of which were still moving, their drawbridges up. He checked his watch: just under two hours before this four-hour shift ended.
    It offered him a chance.
    To leave the corpse inside the simulator module was unthinkable for it would undoubtedly be quickly discovered, bringing the police and reducing his lead time, which in turn would limit any chance of effective escape.
    He collected Ward, throwing one of the man’s arms over his own shoulders and supporting his weight by taking him below the ribs. He peered around the door once again. Seeing all was clear, he struggled across the drawbridge. Ward’s feet dragged lifelessly. The catwalk seemed to grow longer with each step, but eventually he reached it and, just beyond, the door to the computer room. He shoved against the door, managed to open it, and lost his hold on Ward just as he stepped inside. Ward fell to the false floor. Kort had planned to hide the body amid the large computers, but the hollow sound of the false floor gave him a better idea.
    He dragged him to the very back of the room, passing six rows of machinery in the process. He removed one of the false plates, revealing a network of tangled wire. He removed four more plates and was able to use the slack in the various wires to push them aside.
    As he grabbed for Ward, the drawbridge to the third simulator began to lower. One of the crews was taking a break! Panic jolted through him like a live current. He grabbed Ward and stuffed him under the false floor as outside, the drawbridge continued its descent. Frantically, he replaced the floor sections, remembering at the last moment to search the man’s pockets for the car keys. He grappled with the last sections of flooring—pieces to a puzzle. Finally, they went together.
    He paused at the door, his mind racing ahead of him: He would have to call her from here; she would have to change her plans; he would have to trust her completely. So much to do.
    The drawbridge lowered to within inches of clicking into place. Should he run for it, or bide his time and wait for the trainees to pass by before he attempted to leave unnoticed? No time existed for such thought; he had to act, to go with his instincts.
    He tugged open the stiff door, and ran like hell.
    Kort saw no way around returning to the hotel. He had to collect his things; he had to wipe down the room thoroughly