“It’s going to be okay,” I said, sitting down next to her, “you’re going to be okay.”
Her body started to convulse as she cried, wet trails of tears gleaming on her cheeks. I stroked Akira’s hair, trying to comfort her as Yukiko cried along. I glanced over to Masaru. He hadn’t stirred, his breaths remaining long and slow.
“Everything’s going to be alright,” I said, “we’re going to get out of here soon. We’re going to take care of this.”
My words rang hollow to Akira, but they stirred in me a sense of duty to make them true. She grabbed my hand, hugging it desperately to her cheek, sobbing into my palm. Her only source of comfort. In the distance I could hear the mournful howl of a coyote.
Morning can’t come soon enough.
Akira slept restlessly off and on until almost noon. Laura kept Yukiko curled up in her arms, looking down at the child with a tired, yet somewhat inquisitive expression. I was just happy Yukiko had been able to sleep. Rest never came for me, stuck listening to refugee’s unintelligible murmurs, the wind’s soft whisper, and the occasional mournful dog barking.
And, of course, the occasional UAV flying overhead.
Warmth returned with the sun, but I left Akira’s jacket draped over her. I spent the dawn studying it. Sparse safety pins remained fixed into it. Remnants of her youth in Japan. Darkened spots where bits of cloth with various anime logos and band names had been were still barely visible. The thought of Akira one day looking at this old jacket, seeing all the flair on it and deciding to remove it came into my mind. There had been a time when she had looked at those accessories with pride, as a way of expressing her individuality. Then one day those symbols lost meaning and had to be removed.
Her tattoos, though, were accessories she was stuck with. I imagined her wishing they had simply been safety pinned to her rather than branded into her skin. And yet even those weren’t permanent.
Nothing is permanent in this world. The only thing permanent I had to hold onto was Nia. And she wasn’t even real.
Loneliness accompanies my dour musings, prompting me to peel a chunk of wood from the wall. Without conscious thought, my fingers began shaping it into something remotely humanoid as I sat next to Laura, back to the wall, listening to Akira’s troubled breathing. I used my long, dirt encrusted fingernails to peel away small chunks and splinters of wood, making something akin to a head on the small figure.
Alone, even amongst your international family? I imagined the doll saying.
“Always,” I whispered.
I continued whittling away as more voices started chatting out in the early morning light. Then one close by startled me.
“What’s this one’s name?” Laura asked.
I glanced over, Laura’s bloodshot eyes looking down at Yukiko cradled in her bruised arms. She had white crusts on the corners of her mouth, greasy strands of red-tipped hair falling over her eyes.
“Evita,” I said, looking back down at the wooden doll. It was still barely anything more than a stick with a few notches gouged from it, yet somehow it felt different now. It had been imbued with the immortal essence of my doll. Nia’s reincarnation
“Does it help?” she asked, looking up at me.
“I don’t know,” I said, “if you mean by improving things, no. If you mean by accepting things as being the way they are, then…yeah, I guess, a little.”
“I suppose it’s like having a baby then,” Laura said, lowering her gaze to Yukiko, “people have a baby because they think it’ll change or improve their own life. They don’t do it with who that baby will eventually become in mind.”
“An imaginary friend never has to be anything you don’t want it to be,” I said, “like a baby that can only become yourself.”
Laura was silent for a couple minutes before asking, “What were your previous lives?”
“What were they?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said in her languid tone, like someone about to fall asleep who wanted a story told to them. I said nothing, watching curiously as she reached into the pocket of her jacket. “You said you lived in China from nineteen eighteen to nineteen forty-five.” She pulled out the photographs from my past lives that Akira had shown me. “I saw these pictures that Masaru had found of you. He hadn’t had time to tell me about them yet. Who are you, in these pictures? And who were you before that?”
“Well, that could go back for quite a while,” I said, taking the wrinkled, torn pictures from Laura and flipping through them again. After thinking for several moments, I said, “Before China, I actually lived in Russia.” I handed the picture of my past life – the woman in the fancy dress – back to her.
Laura studied the picture in silence for a few moments. “Does that mean there’s a bit of irony to how your lives are selected?”
“Occasionally it seems that way,” I said, “I lived there as a Russian noblewoman under the czarist regime.
“Karina Denisov,” Laura read the name off the photo before looking toward me, “it’s weird trying to picture you as a woman.”
“Karina…yes, that was my name then,” I said, “I was killed trying to escape the revolution.”
“The revolution?”
“The Bolsheviks.”
“Bolsheviks?”
“Communists,” I said.
“You must not be a big fan of communism,” Laura said.
“I’ve been killed over numerous ideologies,” I said, “or for none at all. It feels the same way no matter who does it.”
Laura looked back down at the photograph, sitting silently for a time. It was difficult to tell what she was thinking, every expression on her face drowned out by drowsiness. Finally, she reached over, taking the other pictures back from me, slowly setting them all out in front of her in order of oldest to most recent. She left two blank spots between Karina Denisov and Chiranjeevi Johnson.
“What about after your life in China?” Laura asked, “there isn’t a picture of you from that life or the next one.”
“I was born into an aboriginal tribe in Australia,” I said, “my name was Konol. I lived there for about eleven years before dying of radiation poisoning.”
“How did you die from radiation poisoning?”
“I was in a tribe of Spinifex people,” I said, “living near Maralinga. That’s where Operation Buffalo happened. A British nuclear bomb test.” I paused a moment before pointing to the photograph of myself as Chiranjeevi, “Then I was born in India to a British business man and an Indian woman.”
“There’s that sense of irony again,” Laura said, her eyes still fixed on the row of photographs.
I forced a smile, “and then after that, I actually had a very short life. I died as an infant. I couldn’t make sense of what happened to me at the time, but I’ve since discovered I was most likely in Iraq. I died of cancer in an Iraqi hospital.”
“Cancer as an infant?”
“This wasn’t long after the Iran-Iraq war and Desert Storm,” I said, “likely from depleted uranium or some kind of lingering chemical weapon.”
“It was around then that I was alive for the first time,” Laura said, looking up from the pictures, “when did you first meet Sachi?”
“That was my next life after that,” I said, talking as much to myself as to Laura, “the one before this one – when I found out about Sachi. She was actually a boy named Mike then. And it was in that life that I eventually met Akira and Masaru. I was a woman named Marcy Riviera.”
“How do you deal with everything you’ve been through?” Laura asked.
“Very poorly,” I said, “and it seems to depend on the biology of whatever body I’m born with.”
“How are you dealing with it this time?”
I forced a smile, “I’ve done a lot worse.” I looked to Akira, “I think after a while, dealing with so much starts to numb you to…to the insanity of human existence.”
I worry more about how all of you are going to deal with this.
Both
of us sat quiet for a while. Yukiko eventually awoke with longing coos that brought Akira to attention. Laura handed the child back to her and Akira fell back into a restless sleep again. Laura studied the pictures for a while longer before picking them up and placing them back in her coat pocket.
Interesting that those are what she decided to take with her from the mansion…
I exhaled and slowly climbed to my feet. Stiff pain in my back made it an unpleasant process. I glanced at the spot of blood on the ground near Akira. It didn’t look like as much as I’d remembered from the night before, but it still made me wonder how far along she had been.
Had she even known?
With Evita in hand, I walked out into the refugee camp, scanning the hazy horizon. Cooking aromas from our neighbor’s coyote floated over as they prepared breakfast. After taking a few more steps, I looked back to our shack.
Who lived in this one before us and where have they gone?
The nurse had told us that many of the people taking refuge in town had made it up to the border and turned back. It was likely setup by someone who came here just as we had, waiting for some opportunity to make it over the border. After some amount of time with nothing happening, they may have just accepted their fate and headed back south to live somewhere with at least some semblance of infrastructure.
Of course, something worse could have-
“Señor,” a man’s voice startled me.
I looked over, seeing the couple from next door who had killed the coyote. A steaming hunk of meat lay in a cracked bowl held by his wife. I could tell it was dog meat.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry, Señor, but we heard the cries last night,” the man said.
“We thought you might want some food,” the woman said, looking down at the paltry cut of meat in the bowl.
“Um…”
“Please, Señor,” she said, looking up to me and then into the entrance of our shack, “after her…accident, she will need something to eat.”
“Thank you,” I said with a smile, stepping forward.
The woman handed the bowl to me. The cooked meat smell twisted a knot of hunger in my stomach. After exchanging proper gratitude with the couple, I went back into our shanty. Akira, awake now, hugged her daughter close, watching me.
“Good news,” I said with a weak smile, “I’ve got breakfast in bed for you.”
Akira looked at Masaru.
“Yes, I know,” I said, “but you need to eat, too. You need to get your strength back.”
Akira’s obstinate, yet pained look told me she was about to refuse, preferring Masaru be fed. So, I sat down and tore the hunk of meat in half, handing one to Laura and telling her in German to see if she could get him to swallow some.
“We’ll see what else we can scrounge up later, too,” I said, putting the meat back in the bowl and setting it down next to Akira.
She picked it up and tore off a small piece.
“I’m…I’m sorry,” she said, nibbling on the food.
“There’s no need to apologize,” I said, trying to sound reassuring.
After a few moments she said, “I should have said something.”
I didn’t respond, not wanting to make her say anything she wasn’t ready to say. After a few more small bites of meat, she set the rest back in the bowl.
“I hadn’t told anyone,” she continued, “because I knew what might happen. But I had to test and see for myself. It was only a couple days before…before the attack. I went to the hospital. I…I told him I was going to check on Eddie,” her eyes went to Masaru. “That was a…I really went there for an amniocentesis. That’s how- that’s how I knew I was going to miscarry.”
“How?”
She sniffed, wiping her cheek with a tattooed forearm, “It was…it was something I knew was a possibility the whole time,” she said, unable to make eye contact with me, “Because Masaru and I both have a Y chromosome, there was always a possibility of a pregnancy where the embryo would end up with two Y chromosomes instead of two X’s or an X and a Y. I had…hoped the pregnancy would terminate before it got as far along as it did…”
“You had no idea we’d be on the run like this,” I assured her, “it’s not your fault.”
“It is my fault,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes again, “a freak like me shouldn’t be trying to bring babies into the world.”
“You’re not a-”
“It’s selfish,” Akira snapped, “Masaru deserves a real woman. Yukiko deserves a real mom. But instead they get…me…”
“Lots of genetic women also have-”
“Can you at least make sure they live?” Akira said, lying down on her side, facing away from me, “please?”
I was about to respond, but closed my mouth and said nothing. When I looked back to Laura, she had Masaru’s head up on her lap, placing a tiny piece of meat in his mouth. He weakly chewed for some time before swallowing laboriously, but said nothing.
“We have to get past that wall,” I said to Laura, “as soon as possible.”
Afternoon brought with it an inspection. Many of the refugees piled out of their tents and shanties to watch and wait as a formation of figures made their way swiftly through no-man’s land. Cries of fear sounded out from several directions, dogs barking, a few people running the other direction, out into the desert.
I had been going for a walk through the bazaar, hoping to find someone with merchandise they couldn’t sell to see if they would give it up for free. Surprisingly, it had been quite fruitful. Rumors of Akira’s miscarriage garnered us some sympathy. Before the inspection, I managed to obtain a half rotten head of lettuce and an unopened can of beans.
But the people coming from the border fortification approached fast. I squinted, wondering how they were running so quickly. Once they were close enough, I could see that they were all wearing military exoskeleton suits.
“Everyone on their feet!” a magnified voice said in Spanish with a thick American accent, “out of your shelters and on your fucking feet!”
The exoskeleton suits made each soldier several inches taller. It was made of Kevlar segments colored desert camouflage, held together by a frame of polymer bars with hydraulic joints allowing them to move quickly. Their heads were covered with what looked like a motorcycle helmet with a reflective visor hiding the guard’s face, shining in the hot desert sun. A large box protruded off the back, covered in thick camouflaged Kevlar with EXO:B-009 stenciled on it with black lettering. Each of the guards held M16 Assault Rifles tethered to their exo suits.
Before I had time to move or react, guards were already amongst the refugees. The one nearest me scanned over his charges standing outside their shelters, and then randomly entered one of the shanties. I heard him shuffling through belongings. Another one walked up to me, visor staring down at me.
His facial recognition software is going to recognize me…
He seemed to stare for some time before one of the gloved hands reached down and tore the can of beans from my hand. The exo gloves were able to effortlessly crush the can, beans spraying out over me. After finding no weapon inside, he handed the crushed can back to me and started on his way.
I made a bowl out of my shirt and tried to gather as many of the beans as I could into it. Leaving much of it behind, I got up and began jogging back toward our shelter. Other refugees were standing in the pathways as the exoskeleton soldiers made their way through the lopsided grid of dilapidated shanties. I dodged between structures, getting several blocks from our shanty when I saw a guard ducked down, looking inside.
I continued forward, trying to look casual when I heard a scream to my right. A guard dragged a teenaged boy, no older than fifteen, out into the path by his arm. The boy’s legs kicked, scraping over packed ground. I watched as the soldier lifted a silver object up between him and the boy held in his grip.
“Where did you get this?” the guard’s voice asked in Spanish translated by his suit and broadcast in a
flat voice.
“Fuck you!” the boy shouted.
“I’ll only ask one more time,” the guard insisted, “where did you get this gun? This is a 3D printed gun, which is a violation of international law.”
“Viva cuarenta y ocho!” the boy yelled.
The boy’s mom screamed as the soldier lifted the 3D printed gun to his head. Three shots rang out in quick succession, the mother shrieking, witnesses shouting as blood sprayed over the hard ground. The soldier’s gloved hand released the boy, letting his body crumple into a heap.
Without a second look, I continued back toward our shelter. Somewhere in the distance a thundering crack echoed through the desert. All the screams, cries and barks quieted for a moment before a chorus of shouts rose up in the direction of the sound.
By the time I’d arrived, the soldier had already moved on. Laura was standing in the opening. Akira on the floor, Yukiko in her arms, stared wide eyed at the entrance.
“What the fuck is going on?” Laura asked.
“Border guards,” I panted, coming in and setting my bounty on the ground, “they must inspect the refugees from time to time.”
“Inspection?” Laura said, “What was that explosion?”
“Sounded like a high caliber rifle.”
“They didn’t recognize us,” Akira said.
“I don’t know if we’re lucky for that or not,” I said.
The inspection lasted another fifteen minutes. Our group huddled in the shack, listening to more screams and shouts from outside, the exoskeletons broadcasting their amplified voices, demanding cooperation. Another explosion rang out from somewhere in the distance, followed by screams. An exoskeleton walked past the entrance of our shack, making only a quick glance inside, the soft whir of the suit’s hydraulics whispering rhythmically of its departure. None of us said anything, wanting only not to be caught.
Finally, an all-clear call was given. I peered out the entrance, watching as exoskeleton-clad border guards got into formation in no-man’s land and started back for the wall. The fifty odd soldiers made their way into a single entrance, large enough to fit five vehicles through side-by-side, and then it closed behind them. There were smaller loading dock doors on either side of the large one, too, large enough to fit a single vehicle. Wails of distress and cries of anger erupted through the relative quiet once the guards were out of sight.
Incarnate- Essence Page 6
