Snowburn

by E J Frost

  I toss a finboard down to her, ignoring

  her most recent version of I’m telling you

  I’m available to piss off my sister. It’s just habit for her, since she’s seen where things

  stand between me and Kez. Realizing she

  can’t get beyond any man choosing someone

  over her makes me feel a moment’s pity. But

  I push the feeling away. Erin’s a killer, and

  you don’t feel pity for predators.

  I glance over my shoulder to check on

  Kez. She’s fastening flight webbing down

  over the gear she’s leaving behind. Given

  she looked like she was barely wearing

  anything, her gear makes quite a pile. Where

  the fuck was she hiding it all?

  “C’mon, kitten,” I encourage her. “Let’s

  get out of here.” #

  “Aye-firmative,” she says, but she sounds

  distracted. She stands uncertainly, hands on

  her hips, looking around the skimmer. Then

  she moves towards the front controls and

  snaps the transponder out of its socket. She

  twists the little piece of mech. Flicks those

  big blue eyes up at me, underlit by the

  yellow glow of the transponder’s directional

  image.

  “We’ve got twenty-two minutes before

  the second bowship passes Outniss.”

  “Let’s be fashionably early.”

  “Aww.” She gives me a mock pout.

  “We’ve got time for a stroll on the beach.”

  Under any other circumstances, I’d like

  that. But here an’ now, that seems like a good

  way to end up as barbeque. “Rain check.”

  Her big grin. “So you owe me a double-

  bag of the universe’s best flash aaaand a

  walk on the beach.”

  “Move your ass before someone decides

  to cook it.”

  She giggles and grabs one of the

  finboards as she jumps out of the skimmer. I

  admire the very fine view of her backside in

  the shadowsuit for a moment before I toss the

  skimmer’s control pad next to the throttle,

  hook an arm around the last finboard and

  follow Kez out onto the beach.

  Erin’s already in the water, up to her

  waist, her pale hair a gleaming banner

  against the dark suit and darker water. The

  lights on her finboard wink, and she gets a

  knee up on it just in time for the board to lift

  her neatly out of the water. Where did the

  killer-call-girl learn to surf? Maybe her life

  isn’t as different from Kez’s as she’d like us

  to believe.

  Chapter 22

  The finboard is unwieldy out of the

  water, so I twist the fin to turn it on and toss

  it into the waves. It rights itself quickly and

  bumps against the skimmer’s door. I shove it

  out further into the surf with my foot and

  glance back at Kez.

  She’s standing ankle-deep in the water,

  staring back at the shore. At three dark

  figures who are climbing over the rocks

  between our beach and the next. Fuck, I knew

  we’d been here too long.

  “Kezra,” I growl.

  She holds up one hand. Tilts her head to

  the side. I follow her line of sight and focus

  on the lead figure. Big man. Hundred and

  thirty kilos, maybe more. It’s not all muscle,

  but he carries it well. His chest is an

  imposing barrel and his arms are meaty

  slabs. He’s naked to the waist and the dying

  light glimmers on his sweat-streaked, deeply

  tanned skin. His ears, bristling with

  implanted cartilage, stand up from his shaved

  head like serrated fins. No mistaking him.

  Dag.

  I shove the finboard toward Erin and

  wade back to Kez. I don’t know what she has

  in mind, but whatever it is, she’ll need

  backup.

  “What’s the play?” I ask her in an

  undertone when I stand beside her. The

  Mirrormen aren’t headed towards us.

  They’ve fanned out, but they’re moving in

  Banks’s general direction.

  “They’ll kill Banks,” Kez says, still

  watching Dag.

  “Maybe we should kill them first.”

  She looks at me over her shoulder and

  grins, eyes and teeth gleaming in the twilight.

  “I love you.”

  I nearly stumble. Not what I expected her

  to say. Or when. I shrug, but file it away for

  later. ‘Cause maybe she does, and not just

  when I’ve offered to save her friend’s ass.

  And if she does, I want to hear it again.

  Preferably when we’re both naked.

  I stride out of the water. It’s only a few

  steps, but it gets the Mirrormen’s attention.

  They angle towards us. The wet sand

  crunches as Kez walks up beside me. When

  we’re within speaking distance of the

  Mirrormen, Kez stops and smiles. It’s not her

  usual mischievous grin, or even that sly, sexy

  smile I’ve seen a couple of times. This is all

  fangs and razors. “Hey, Dag,” she says.

  The lead Mirrorman looks glazed.

  Radiation exposure, Hyp, and violence.

  From the streaks and spatters on his chin and

  chest, I’d say he’s already had an extra

  helping of all three. He stares at Kez for a

  long moment while the other two Mirrormen

  draw up beside him. Finally, a spark of

  recognition lights his cloudy eyes.

  “Oh, yeah,” he drawls. “Lightfoot. I

  remember you.” His two cronies chuckle

  nastily. “How’s the leg?”

  Kez scratches her head, like she’s

  considering his question. When her fingers

  drop away from her dreads, light flickers

  around her fingers.

  That’s a move I recognize. Show time. I

  drop, twist and pull my kukris out of their

  sheaths. As I rise, Kez flicks her fingers at

  Dag and one of those writhing lines of light

  wiggles through the air to carve a bloody

  cavity in the big Mirrorman’s face and chest.

  He screams, high and thin.

  “Surprise, fucker,” Kez snarls. She takes

  two running steps, spins and slams a low

  side-blade kick into Dag’s knee. With the

  momentum from her spin and the power of

  those strong, runner’s legs, she chops his

  knee out from under him. He won’t be

  walking any time soon.

  Dag crashes to the sand with the

  reverberation of a tree falling.

  Before the other two Mirrormen can

  react, I leap, slashing with the kukris. I take

  one of the Mirrormen in the neck. The kukri’s

  wicked edge severs the Mirrorman’s head. It

  bounces wetly across the sand. The other

  Mirrorman turns just as I leap, bringing up a

  spiked baton and raising it over his head.

  Bad move. His swing exposes the underside

  of his arm. I reverse the sweep of my kukri

  and bring it up in a long arc, slicing through

  his underarm. The edge grates against bone

  but doesn’t stick. Good blade. His
arm flops

  uselessly; the baton clatters to the sand. Got

  the nerve. A high-pressure spray of red tells

  me I got the brachial artery, too. Fucker’s

  already dead, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

  He crumples, whimpering and clutching at

  the wounded. I step back, flick blood off my

  blades, and glance at Kez.

  She shakes her head. Holds out her hand.

  I move around the fallen Mirrormen,

  transfer my kukris to my right hand and take

  her hand with my left. She pulls me away,

  down the beach. She’s right, time to retreat.

  We’ve been here way too long. “Leg’s fine,”

  she tells Dag. “Thanks for asking.”

  Dag twists and kicks at us, but he’s in too

  much pain to mount much of an attack. I side-

  step his flailing foot. Let Kez pull me down

  the beach. The crunch of the sand under our

  boots changes to splashes. We’re in the

  water, and although that doesn’t really make

  us any safer – the Mirrormen got to Outniss

  somehow, so they must have skimmers of

  their own – I feel better getting off the beach.

  Enough that I sheath the kukris, making a

  mental note to clean them later. I don’t want

  blood gumming up those very fine blades.

  Kez lets out that three-note whistle she

  first used to identify herself to Banks. He

  waves. He’s already moving towards our

  skimmer, dragging a net full of small parcels.

  The smugglers he met are retreating to their

  own skimmers. Good thing, too, because

  more sweat-streaked, bare-chested figures

  are climbing over the rocks.

  I glance over my shoulder. There’s a

  finboard bobbing just beyond the breakers. I

  push Kez towards it. My finboard’s further

  out, listing aimlessly. Erin’s abandoned it.

  Bitch. The lights of her finboard have

  disappeared into the darkness. Doubt she

  even stuck around to see if we survived the

  fight. Überbitch.

  Once I’m waist-deep, I dive into the

  water. Swimming’s faster than wading any

  day of the week. I remember Kez’s warning

  as the cold slaps my bare skin. But with the

  rad dose we just picked up, whatever the

  water contains probably doesn’t matter

  much. We’re going to need some serious

  time in a melanin tank, my kitten and me, if

  we survive this run.

  I kick hard through the cold, toxic surf,

  feeling the drag of my wet boots. Swimming

  is not my favorite thing. Negative buoyancy

  is a bitch. S.A.W.L. training made me into a

  decent swimmer and I’ve had to do it on a

  half-dozen worlds, usually under similar

  fucking circumstances. I focus on the bobbing

  finboard. Avoid thinking about what might be

  following me, or what might be coming up

  underneath me. Keep kicking. Keep

  breathing. With each kick, each stroke, I get

  closer to the finboard and further away from

  the beach. Then suddenly the finboard’s right

  in front of me. Kez, leaning out from her own

  finboard, pushes it towards me and holds it

  steady.

  I grab the fin just below her hand. Get a

  knee up on the board and let it pull me up out

  of the water. “Thanks, kitten,” I shout over

  the roll of the surf.

  “You’re welcome,” she shouts back.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  I give her a thumbs-up as I get my

  balance. She checks the transponder, the

  yellow glow lighting her chin and cheeks.

  “Fifty degrees west.”

  “Right behind you.”

  A skimmer whirrs past us. Then another,

  and another. In the darkness, I can’t tell the

  skimmers apart, but I hope that Banks is in

  one of them, and that he gets away clean.

  Kez waves at the last skimmer, so maybe

  she can tell them apart, or maybe she’s just

  hopeful, too. Then she cranks up her

  finboard, the neg cells’ whine rising over the

  roll and whush of the water. I twist the

  board’s fin, hear the reassuring whine, and

  follow the trail of Kez’s lights over the dark

  water.

  Disappointingly, we don’t manage to lose

  the Überbitch. The low lights of another

  finboard appear, circling back from the

  north, only a klick or two from Outniss.

  Erin’s quickly recognizable from the pale

  banner of her hair. Too bad.

  She falls in behind me like it’s her

  default position. Maybe she likes having all

  that open water at her back. I wouldn’t, but

  I’ve lived in confined spaces most of my life.

  ‘Course, now that we’re out in the open

  ocean and there’s no sign of pursuit from the

  Mirrormen, the real danger’s probably from

  below, not from behind. Aquatic predators

  are more active at night, or so I’ve heard.

  But I’m not a fan of having open air at my

  back and although I’d prefer it was Kez

  behind me, I’ll take her bitch-sister if I have

  to.

  ‘Course she could just prefer being

  behind me so she has a clear shot at my back.

  That thought raises goose-bumps as I bounce

  across the waves.

  Kez leads us steadily away from Outniss,

  the lights of her finboard appearing and

  disappearing as she skims over the choppy

  water. In the glow from our boards and the

  hazy moonlight, the water has an iridescent,

  oily sheen to it. I wonder what toxic crap it’s

  full of. Kuseros as a world has plenty of

  natural phenomena unfriendly to humans, but

  this doesn’t look or feel natural to me. More

  shit humans have dumped into the

  environment. Pretty soon, Kuseros will be as

  much of a cesspit as Earth.

  Guess as a species, we just don’t learn.

  In front of me, Kez swerves, correcting

  our course westward. Where having Erin at

  my back makes me tense, I’ve got no qualms

  about following Kez. My kitten won’t lead us

  astray.

  In the distance, a dull red glare lights the

  oily water. As I scan the horizon, the prongs

  of a bowship rise over the edge like skeletal

  fingers. Blinking safety lights outline each

  finger. Our ride is here.

  Kez slows and I twist the control fin to

  avoid outpacing her. “What’s the score,

  kitten?” I shout to her.

  “We need to come up behind it.” She

  shakes her head, looking down into the

  transponder. “We’re only going to have one

  shot at this. That’s ship’s so much faster than

  these boards.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  Erin pulls in alongside me. “This is going

  to be tricky.”

  “Yeah, keep up.”

  I can’t see her expression in the dark, but

  I’m guessing she’s rolled her eyes. “I always

  do.”

  We wait in
tense silence while the ship

  grows larger and larger, from a witch’s stick

  fingers to a huge looming flower that takes

  up a third of the horizon.

  Kez suddenly shouts, “Go!” The thunder

  from the bowship’s jets drowns out the noise

  from the finboards, but I can see she’s

  cranked her fin all the way to the right. I

  follow her example and feel the little board

  leap under me. I lean into it and race after

  Kez as she angles towards the back of the

  huge ship. Her finboard carves a tight arc

  through the water. I see her fuzzy head bob as

  she checks the trajectory again and again. I

  don’t need the transponder. I’ll make my own

  calculations once I scope the rear of the ship.

  The wind and darkness and choppy water

  and spray off the bowship don’t make it easy.

  I shake my head, blink hard to clear my eyes.

  Squint at the dark gridded sides of the huge

  ship, scanning for the opening I know must

  be there. As we round the bowship, a vicious

  slipstream hits us. The water turns to boiling

  froth. I clamp both hands onto the control fin

  and lean into the fin to keep the board steady.

  Strain to make out any details in the

  bowship’s uniform sides.

  I can’t see anything, but suddenly the

  tympani of the bowship’s airjets rises to a

  deafening howl. The glory hole Shaker

  promised us is tucked between the two rear

  vents. I crane my head to the left to try to spy

  it against the ship’s curving flank. Finally

  spot a shadow where a shadow shouldn’t be.

  A narrow, curved darkness that reminds me

  of the sweet dip between Kez’s buttocks.

  “Kezra!” I bellow.

  Her head snaps up. She meets my eyes. I

  jerk my head to the side, towards the ship.

  She nods. My kitten knows when to let me

  lead. I lean hard to the right, cutting across

  the rear of the bowship at the tightest angle I

  can manage. The board shudders and crashes

  over the bowship’s wake. I bend at the knees

  to absorb the bounce, feel each impact slam

  up through my thighs and spine. Worse than

  the pummeling I took under the incinerator’s

  conveyor when I crawled out of Tol Seng. I

  push that old memory aside and focus on the

  task at hand.

  Glancing back, I check on the girls. Kez

  is just to my left, her dreads streaming

  behind her as she bounces over the waves.

  She’s getting huge amounts of air, her board

  lifting clear of the water at the crest of each

  wave. If we survive this I’ll have her show