Skye City: Sister of a Rebel Soldier (The Darkness of Emmi Book 1)

by R. D. Hale

  'You look ridiculous. Even more so,' Bex snorts.

  'Hold still, there's web on your ear. Just as well it's not in your eyes.' Jardine returns to the cupboard and removes a bottle of pink fluid which he pours onto a cloth. 'You'll be pleased to know you're not the first person this has happened to, Scoop… I take it Scoop's not your real name?'

  'My real name issth Kris with a K.'

  'So, Kris with a K, before we get started, tell me how long it's been since you caught the plague.' Jardine stares at the red boils on Scoop's body which are outnumbered by scars. The boils are fewer than at the peak of infection, but still more than enough to be disgusting. It is a miracle the rest of the gang were not infected.

  'It wassth weeks ago,' Scoop mutters. 'I was one of the first.'

  Jardine holds the cloth in his metal hand and scrubs the web from Scoop's ear, gripping his neck to prevent escape. Tears flood Scoop's eyes as he whimpers, his ear and face reddening, and Jardine continues: 'And you've not experienced any symptoms since you recovered?'

  'No, I'm lucky… Lel wasn't,' Scoop says, and Jardine lowers his head for a moment.

  'I'm sorry about the loss of your friend. Bereavement is tough to go through at any age, let alone when you're so young… You've obviously fought off the main infection, however, traces of the virus remain long term. We're not entirely sure how, but it must be by design. Ensure those strong enough to survive, at least remain carriers.'

  Jardine removes the cloth which has taken the web, along with a layer of skin. He washes the cloth in the sink, puts the items in the cupboard and returns to Scoop.

  'The gang seem to have natural immunity, but we'll test everyone to be sure. And we'll immediately treat any skin breakages, even shaving cuts. We have a plentiful supply of antiseptic cream.

  'Kris, you'll be far less contagious now, but avoid skin-to-skin contact and bathe regularly. The germicide in the water should kill any lingering microbes. There are many unknowns with this illness so report any changes in your condition, and immediately get any burst boils treated. If the puss enters someone else's open wound…'

  Jardine leaves the room as Scoop prods his red and swollen ear, wincing. We rise from our seats and pile our dishes into the sink for someone else to wash, having ruined this lovely kitchen. The chairs are now muddy, and footprints and hair cover the floor tiles, but I am not volunteering to clean up. That can be one of Scoop's chores.

  My thoughts turn to my brother as I enter the passage, staring at my filthy shoes, unsure where I am going. I bump into Jardine, scared to request an update, but I ask him anyways.

  'So I take it there's no word–'

  'As soon as I hear something, Emmi, you'll be the first to know.'

  'But they should've landed by now. Why haven't they contacted us?'

  'Well, neither Arturo nor Dynah had communications equipment. And we don't know whether Anguson and Turbo went up there. Like I said this morning, they could've landed anywhere in the world, and once they emerged from their pods, they would've avoided the retrieval squad. Contacting us will be among their top priorities. Let's be patient and remain optimistic. I believe they made it and you should to,' Jardine says with a clear sincerity.

  The way the Rebellion rebuilt my brother, he knows better than anyone what else Arturo is capable of. I have witnessed only a glimpse, only a brutal encounter in which he was barely tested. The guards in Orbital City are no different than the guards in Medio. Safe return is possible and I refuse to be crushed by the terror of bad news I may never receive.

  'Hey, Jardine, I'm c-cold.' Scoop squelches through the door in wet socks. His fluffy gown is still open and he rubs his exposed body with his arms. Shudder. 'Do you not have any proper clothes?'

  'There are spare clothes in the first bedroom on your right. Plenty of sizes. You can take your pick. Take a shower and then we can relax. Towels are in the drawers,' Jardine says. 'If you need me, I'll be scrubbing the kitchen.'

  The gang head upstairs into a large bedroom, rummaging through the drawers which contain fluffy gowns and towels. 'This issth not funny.' Scoop pouts, crossing his arms and sitting on a single bed. The others flop onto springy mattresses without bothering to change their clothes, dirtying the sheets.

  Grabbing a towel, I take a quick shower, return to the bedroom, and slide open a mirrored door to reveal a wardrobe. Those idiots give up too easily. I find the correct size in each of my preferred items, clinging to my outfit with a grin. I re-enter the bathroom to get dressed in privacy, then a whole new me returns to the bedroom. I salute the gang in my combat trousers, holster, vest, bandana, and brown boots.

  'Whoa, Emmi, you look like a soldier. This is so cool.' Bex gawps, looking eager to copy as she bounces in her sitting position on a bed.

  One by one, the others get showered and changed into rebel clothes, forming a squadron of nice-smelling bad-asses. No-one is gonna mess with us now. Well, apart from evil possessed mannequins.

  Rupert is last to emerge from the bathroom and he has opted to remain in his dirty white robes for now. I guess the scientists who created his kind did not consider giving them a sense of style, or hygiene. Bex and I laze on a huge, soft mattress as the others head downstairs, taking our dirty clothes to the laundry room.

  'Rupert, surely you can wear a gown while you get those robes washed,' I yell to no response, and I just laugh. I thought he was more sensible than the other boys.

  'So, what's with you and Nelson?' Bex says as I stare at white bumps on the ceiling, feeling a million emotions at once, unsure whether to just go for it. We could all be dead soon, and if fear is an excuse to avoid romance, then no-one will experience romance again.

  I am hardly likely to find someone nicer, friendlier, smarter, better looking, in a city where everyone wants to use you, rob you, rape you, and so on. Nice guys are pretty rare. And a nice guy who is a reckless idiot, wanna-be soldier, heroic rebel trying to save the world is the only kind of nice guy available. Sigh.

  What am I, anyways? A girl too poor to be the carefree airhead she wants to be, given all these pressures like hunger and danger and more danger that she does not know how to handle. Yet I have a strange habit of landing on my feet most of the time. I am hardly a catch and this almost great guy is showing interest. Go figure.

  The standard path for girls like me is as follows: find a boy who treats us like crap, gets us pregnant, disappears, and leaves us desperate, hooked on drugs, and trapped with a baby. Sure, there are jobs available which provide childcare. Jobs like prostitution. The women you share a brothel with will help you with childcare.

  I always swore I would not fall into that trap. I would never have a child, unless by some miracle life worked out for me. But no bottom-leveller plans pregnancy. Not ever. We need to keep our legs closed or use contraception, but damn, boys can be pushy.

  All boys are after one thing. That is what everyone says. Even the boys. Yet I sense Nelson is genuinely different. Like with me, he just wants someone he can hang out with, actually develop a relationship with. Is that too good to be true? Hell, Arturo had that attitude with Myla, and my brother is a total dick. Is it so hard to believe Nelson is worth a chance? That I might just be able to find love in a… a warzone? What could be more romantic than finding your soulmate as the world ends? What better way to go out?

  'Hello, are you still there?' Bex says and I turn my head to see her lying on the bed. Where did she come from? 'We were talking about Nelson. What's happening with you two?'

  'Erm, no idea what you're on about,' I murmur.

  'Oh, come on, I've seen you two smirking at one another. Something is going on.'

  'I can't help it if he likes me. I mean who can blame him, really?'

  'Has he said anything?' Bex laughs.

  'Well, not really. Just kind'a followed me around… tried to kiss me.'

  'And you didn't let him?' Bex raises her voice.

  'Course not. This obviously isn't the time for romance, and anyways, I'
m a lady. He has to earn that privilege.'

  Claudius the Unicorn

  Days pass without news on Arturo and the others, but Jardine mentions something about a possible signal. This obviously raises our hopes, but frustratingly, he refuses to elaborate because he cannot discuss intel and insists we must be patient. Patient.

  The farmhouse is our base for now. We have not returned to the mansion in Murtyn village which is disappointing, but this place is nice enough, apart from the chores which pay for our upkeep.

  The death count from the invasion has risen to twelve, but I suspect the true figure is higher. The rebels held a memorial which the gang sat out, too stressed to mourn strangers. Rupert tried to contact Dynah through meditation, and I have repeatedly called her name to summon her elemental, but nothing.

  Blood testing shows Oscar and Rupert are fully immune to the plague which is good to hear. Bex and myself have partial immunity, meaning our symptoms would be less severe if we were infected. Smig has low immunity and is lucky to be alive, but we are assured the Rebellion are working to obtain San Teria's vaccine.

  The gang are each given a chance to prove themselves on the training grounds, but none can match my performance. Scoop, who now has a shaven head, proves a hazard to himself and others, and I can only hope the Rebellion revoke his phaser privileges.

  One evening, the gang are chatting in the farmhouse after an exhausting day helping around the farm. Nelson beckons me into the passage and takes my hand, pulling me into the lobby. No-one notices us leaving as Nelson gently closes the front door. He leads me into the farmyard, around the barns, and past coops and pens and more barns. We emerge at a paddock where pure white unicorns are eating grass, drinking from troughs, and trotting in the twilight. So. Damn. Beautiful.

  'How did I not know these were here? This is–'

  'Fancy a ride?' Nelson says and my eyes roll sideways.

  'A unicorn ride, are you serious?' I lean on the fence to admire the silky manes and twirling horns and swaying tails as a foal rubs against its mother's side.

  'Well, technically they're not unicorns, they're–'

  'Getenically-mofidied horses. I'm not an idiot,' I say, remembering Arturo using that exact phrase.

  'Well, you may be in the minority there, smarty pants. Alternative medicine practitioners pay a fortune for unicorn horns.'

  Nelson opens the paddock gate and approaches a nearby stallion fitted with a large saddle. He leads it through the gate by its reins, strokes its snorting nose, and uses the dangling foothold to climb aboard. 'Give me your hand.' I grab Nelson's hand and he pulls me onto the saddle, holding the reins with his arms around me.

  'Claudius, go.' Nelson kicks his heels and the unicorn gallops over a field; its hooves thundering as our bodies jerk and bounce. I swear we will fall if we are not careful. The wind ruffles my hair as I struggle to breathe, or see the countryside clearly – my eyes are streaming.

  We gallop over field after field, leaving the farm behind and crossing the stream with a breathtaking leap. I grab the unicorn's neck as we thud onto the bank; its rear hooves causing a loud splash. Claudius races on before I can compose myself and my laughter comes from nerves as much as excitement. It comes as quite a relief when he finally slows to a trot.

  As we cross grassland between pylons and woodland, I notice swift movements, creatures watching, and taking position. Shit. A few members of a wolf pack emerge from the trees, then a few more, and my heart goes into my mouth. Dark green coats and fluid manoeuvrings make the beasts seem ghost-like in the shadowy terrain. Dozens of glowing eyes stare menacingly, mostly from invisible faces, the closest complemented by fangs.

  'Oh my Goddess, what if they eat us?' I yell and Nelson laughs, yelling back: 'Don't be ridiculous!'

  I squeeze my eyes shut as Nelson steers the unicorn towards members of the pack at full gallop. The wolves yelp like pups and I open my eyes to see the pack scatter into the trees.

  'That's right, nothing messes with us.' I laugh breathlessly, still feeling jitters.

  We ride for miles through the countryside and gallop along the main road of a village with old-looking buildings, less pretty than Murtyn's. The unicorn's thundering hooves scare the crap out of a bunch of wrinkly people leaving a pub. They jump and huddle on the pavement as we follow the cobbled road past crumbling cottages with flowery gardens. The unicorn deposits a huge stinky 'present' as we leave the village and reach an unpaved country lane. Ah, the romance.

  'This is amazing, Nelson, I don't think I've ever had so much fun,' I yell.

  'There's no better way to travel, eh? I'll have to give you riding lessons some time,' Nelson says.

  'That would be brilliant. I'd be like–'

  A growl of engines prompts me to look back at an approaching convoy of military vehicles – dozens of tanks, jeeps, and armoured transports making the road rumble and hedgerows tremble.

  The convoy slows down, stopping beside Claudius, and a window lowers on the front jeep. My body turns rigid as a soldier points his rifle and says: 'Anatolian scum,' in a foreign accent.

  Nelson quickly withdraws a phaser to stun the gunman, turning the unicorn off-road and leaping a hedge. I grip Claudius tight as we land heavily, leaning forwards to keep our heads low. Gunfire roars as we race past the village, through grassland and into thick trees which force the unicorn to slow down. Somehow we did not get shot.

  'Who were those men? They sounded foreign,' I say.

  'My guess is Nyberuns. We knew the coalition were coming, but obviously not to attack civilians. Something's not right. Let's get back to base and update the others,' Nelson says.

  The forest is so murky we would struggle to notice obstacles like fallen logs and giant cobwebs. The convoy must surely be gone, but I am not ready to leave the trees, even though the full darkness of night will soon fall. I hear growling as wolves emerge from the shadows so I grip my trembling phaser. The pack form a circle around Claudius, bearing sharp fangs. It seems as though fate does not want us to safely return.

  A wolf with demonic eyes charges, but Nelson stuns it with his phaser, and it tumbles over with its tongue hanging out. The wolves step back as our attacker twitches, and I look behind to see another wolf charging so fast. I shoot at the blur with my phaser and scream as the unicorn rears onto its hind legs. Nelson and I fall to the forest floor, and my arm and back ache, but there is no time for tears. The unicorn canters off as Nelson and I stand, wincing, and the wolves vanish into the shadows.

  'I seriously hope this isn't another training exercise,' I mutter.

  'I wish it was,' Nelson says.

  A wolf leaps from nowhere and latches onto Nelson's forearm, dragging him to the forest floor. Nelson drops his phaser, and as the pair wrestle, it would be too dangerous to shoot my phaser. I kick again and again, hitting the wolf's belly and Nelson's backside. The pair yelp but do not separate so I drag the wolf by the tail, digging both heels into the ground. Nelson claws the eyes of the wolf, and as it yelps again, I fire my phaser where the moons do not shine. The wolf slumps on top of Nelson whose arm is bleeding from the bite.

  'Get up, more could be coming,' I say.

  'Wh-what?' Nelson sits up, staring at the wolf on his lap in confusion. Again I drag the wolf by the tail, leaving it sleeping on the forest floor, and Nelson gets to his feet; his knees wobbling.

  'Whoa, steady there.' I clutch Nelson's upper-arm and scan for threats as he regains his composure. 'Grab your phaser, you're gonna need it.'

  Nelson picks up his phaser and as we proceed through the dark forest, I hear gentle voices. 'Shh.' Nelson and I crouch behind a bush and peer at two approaching figures. I can only assume they drove around the woods to intercept us and seek vengeance. Together, we point our phasers and fire at the soldiers who slump to the ground.

  'You seriously telling me, we've got wolves and soldiers after u–'

  My eyes bulge as I am interrupted by gunfire, and Nelson and I scramble from the bush, looking around
frantically. As the gunfire stops, it is replaced by coarse laughter which suggests we were not the targets. Nelson and I creep through the trees, with phasers readied, to see two soldiers standing over the unicorn. The poor beast is lying on its side, gasping as blood pours from its gun wounds. The bastards.

  Nelson and I exchange glances, and he looks every bit as furious as I feel. We shoot together and the men flop to the ground, but this time Nelson is not in the mood to show mercy. He marches over to a dropped rifle and picks it up, aiming at one of the unconscious soldiers and inhaling a deep breath.

  'Stop or your girlfriend dies,' a voice says in a strange accent, coming from behind my shuddering body. As Nelson lowers the rifle, I hear a snarl and a squeal so I turn to see a wolf tearing out the throat of a soldier, just feet away. I point my phaser at the wolf, grimacing as human blood soaks its face.

  'Leave it to feed. Any wolves in the area will join the feast, deflecting attention from us.'

  Nelson stuns the unicorn to ease its suffering, and we jog through the woods until we are too tired to maintain the pace, slowing to a walk. Our return to the farmhouse is taking so much longer on foot, leaving me to wonder whether we have lost direction. I so desperately want to rest, but I am afraid to stop so I continue on achy feet. Every noise makes me jump as I envision wolves and soldiers, but they fail to materialise.

  At last, Nelson and I reach the fields, but as we follow the long path towards the farmhouse, I spot many figures in the yard. From this distance, they are small and vague in the window light, but animated, and I glimpse what could be rifles – I sense trouble.

  'Keep your head low and come this way. The barns will block their view,' Nelson whispers, and we leave the path, sneaking through hay towards the barns. We hide behind a hedge, following it until we are in a position to watch the men through a hedge. Foreign troops are holding Jardine and the gang at gunpoint.