by C. Gockel
It’s then he realizes the drifts are members of the special ops team, and they’re aiming guns right at him.
CHAPTER 19
From the embankment where she stands, Amy sees Steve shoo Beatrice and Claire into the safety of the trees. Fenrir, a gray bouncy blur, follows at their heels. And then her heart sinks as she watches helplessly as Lieutenant Hobbs disappears into the water. She bites her lip, and for the first time, realizes how desperately she’d wanted to believe Loki’s memories of the whale were wrong. Wild orca’s on Earth don’t attack people, in fact they’ve been known to save them from sharks. But these aren’t really orcas, and this isn’t Earth. On the plain of ice, Bohdi hauls the fallen ops guy over his shoulder and stumbles forward. The extra weight bends Bohdi’s wiry frame, and his normally lightning-quick speed is reduced to a crawl. Amy puts a hand to her mouth in terror. Behind Bohdi more whales are climbing up onto the ice, pulling themselves along with their wicked looking, clawed flippers. If Bohdi knows that, he gives no sign.
Beside her, Larson says, “Patel picked him up.” There is disbelief in his voice.
“Of course, he did!” Amy snaps. “Bohdi wouldn’t leave anyone behind!”
She hears Steve’s voice crackling on the radio and just barely sees the men he’d led down the slope on snowmobiles hop off their vehicles and move across the snow-covered ice. Their camouflage make them nearly invisible in the snow; but she can just make them out—kneeling and aiming their rifles.
Bohdi doesn’t veer from his path. The pod of three orca creatures follows just behind. The movements of their bodies are halfway between the movements of a snake and a seal. Their weight causes the ice behind them to break into canals of brilliant blue water, and the ice in front of them and Bohdi to crack and buckle—that must be why Steve didn’t send the snowmobiles out there. She sees Bohdi stagger, trying to keep his feet and has the awful sensation of watching a nightmare in slow motion.
“Take me down there!” Amy says.
“My orders—”
Amy turns and starts jogging down the slope, her pack bouncing awkwardly on her back.
She hears Larson shout, “Come back!” She doesn’t slow. She looks sideways out onto the lake. Bohdi is still staggering forward, eyes straight ahead, and it hits her he doesn’t know he’s being chased. He may not even see the guns … Gunfire erupts, and the two whales that were at the side of the pod come to a sliding halt. The ice cracks beneath them, and then they sink beneath the icy water.
She sees Steve rip off his gloves, hat, and scarf. His nearly black skin is in stark relief against the almost blinding white of the snow. He starts gesturing for Bohdi to change course. For a heart-stopping moment, Bohdi keeps running forward, the last orca closing the distance—and then Bohdi veers left. He’s slow with the weight of the man he’s carrying, but as soon as he is out of the line of fire, gunfire erupts.
The whale comes to a skidding halt, and then starts to sink into the ice. She swallows. Bohdi’s in the clear—except for the ice that’s breaking apart around him. She starts to run down the slope again. Behind her she hears a soft skidding sound. Panting, she turns her head and sees Larson on the snowmobile. “Get on,” he says.
She keeps running—if you can call it that in snowshoes with a pack. It’s more like a slow walk through Jello.
“I’ll take you down there,” he says.
Amy changes course, waddles as quick as she can over to the snowmobile, and throws a leg over the seat behind him.
“Thanks!” she says.
“You weren’t going to pay attention to me anyway,” he says.
“Nope,” she agrees, as he puts the snowmobile into gear, and they coast swiftly and silently down the hill.
x x x x
Bohdi turns his head and sees the whales start to sink into the ice. He hears a groan, a split, and a crackling. He changes course and runs toward the line of special ops guys. He sees fissures forming in the smooth snow. He hops over one small chasm. Ruger’s weight causes him to misjudge the leap, and he slips backward, feeling the surface beneath his feet dip and bob. Body bowed with Ruger’s weight, legs starting to feel like overcooked spaghetti, he keeps going. He lurches over another crack as wide as his forearm and feels merciful solidity beneath his feet. He lifts his head. Steve is coming out to meet him, rope in hand. Somewhere in Bohdi’s mind it registers that Steve shouldn’t be doing that, that he should probably be standing back, since he’s the leader and most important, and highest ranking.
But he really doesn’t care. He’s just really glad when Steve slides Ruger off his back. And then they each take one of the fallen man’s arms over a shoulder and carry him toward the shore. More ops guys move around them, forming a protective circle, rifles ready. But no more whales emerge, and the ice stays firm. He hears Steve speaking into his radio, saying, “Get me Lewis!”
As if by magic a snowmobile glides silently to a stop about ten meters beyond them. “Stay there,” Steve orders. “We’re bringing him to you. Everyone off the ice!”
They pull Ruger into a copse of naked black trees just beyond the shoreline and lay him out on a thermal blanket on his back. Claire and Beatrice hover beyond the injured man; Valli and Nari are nearby; and so are Sigyn and Gerðr. Bohdi’s only half aware of them. His attention is riveted to a dark black splotch at the center of Ruger’s abdomen, a red-brown bloom of blood around it. Amy and one of the ops guys drops to their knees. Their fingers go to Ruger’s neck, but Amy’s eyes go to the black splotch.
When Amy speaks, her voice has a calm inflectionless, professional quality. “It looks like he sustained a perforation to the abdominal aorta.”
“Agreed,” says the special ops guy. “It looks like a piece of sheared rebar.”
Bohdi doesn’t know much about medicine, but he knows that’s very bad. “He’s going to die?”
Amy looks up at Bohdi. “He’s already dead.”
Running his hands through his hair, Bohdi turns away. He thinks he hears Claire start to cry. His own eyes feel hot. Steve puts a hand on his shoulder. “You did good.” His voice is tight. Bohdi’s legs bend beneath him. Maybe it’s from hauling Ruger’s weight, or maybe it’s just the feeling of helplessness coursing through him. Sitting on his heels in the snow, he runs his hands through his hair and takes deep breaths, his vision a blur of snow and camouflage.
“You need to change. Your clothes are wet.” He’s dimly aware of Mills standing above him. It takes a moment for Bohdi to process her words. And then he realizes his back is soaked, even though he doesn’t remember getting splashed. He shivers, the cold suddenly coming down on him as sure if he’d been dunked in ice water. Still squatting, he strips out of his shirt and undershirt and sees why they are wet—they’re stained with blood. He throws them to the ground and slips on the clothes Mills has proffered as quickly as he can.
His eyes flick to Steve. He’s running a hand over his jaw and looking out over the plain of ice. Bohdi follows his gaze. In the plain of snow the metal support strut juts upward, surrounded by a small island of broken overpass. There’s even a green traffic sign, dangling on a piece of twisted metal.
Voice tight, Steve says, “I take it the Gate has been closed on the other side?”
Claire shouts, “We came to warn you!”
Steve turns around. So many expressions pass over his face, Bohdi can’t read them all, but he sees fear and fury. “Why aren’t you at school?” Steve’s voice cracks just enough for Bohdi to understand it isn’t the voice of anger speaking.
Claire’s face crumples. “You don’t care!” She shakes her head. “You never care. You’re always leaving!”
Steve takes a breath with such force it sounds like a hiss. “We’ll talk about this later,” he says. He turns to the rest of the team. “We need to get to the command tent. Now.”
Claire stamps her foot, turns and runs into the trees.
“Claire!” Steve says, his nostrils flared, every tendon in his jaw and neck vis
ible.
“I’ll get her,” Sigyn says quickly.
Steve doesn’t respond.
“I know what to say,” Sigyn says.
Steve’s body sags, and he nods.
Swinging her rifle back over her shoulder, Sigyn strides to one of the snowmobiles and slips astride it with so much self-assurance no one asks her if she knows how to drive. “We’ll meet you at the tent,” she says. Moments later she is gliding silently into the trees.
CHAPTER 20
There are not enough snowmobiles. Amy watches with admiration as Mills and Harding, apparently instructors in some hardcore cold weather survival training, turn a few saplings and duct tape into into a makeshift sled. The other guys tie it to one of the snowmobiles. They use the sled for Ruger’s body. Bohdi volunteers to sit with Ruger to keep him from rolling off. Amy gets to ride behind Larson again. Valli, Nari, and Beatrice also get to ride on a snowmobile since they don’t have snow shoes. The guys without a seat jog behind them.
As they’re going up the hill, they hear a gunshot echo through the trees. Steve’s voice immediately comes over the radio in Amy’s ear. “Sigyn, what happened?”
Sigyn’s voice crackles back. “A bear charged us. But we’re fine. Nice rifles, by the way.”
From where she sits behind Larson, Amy sees Steve’s body sag.
“We’ll be at camp in just a few minutes.” Sigyn says, and then the radio goes silent.
When they arrive at camp, Steve starts giving orders for getting gear for the people who have arrived from Earth. While he’s busy, Amy walks over to where Bohdi is sitting on the sled. He’s sitting cross legged, Ruger’s head on his lap. Someone, maybe Bohdi himself, has crossed Ruger’s hands over his chest and closed his eyes.
Not looking up at her, Bohdi says, “I couldn’t save him.”
Amy looks at Ruger. The blood from his abdominal wound hasn’t yet started to freeze.
“No,” she says. “But you brought him back.”
Head bowed, eyes obscured by long black lashes, Bohdi snorts. “I’m sure he’s comforted by that.”
Amy remembers Bohdi going into shock when he killed the Einherjar in Asgard, their shared dismay over the spiderlings’ screams in Nornheim, and how brave it was of him to lug Ruger over the ice. She would have been terrified if she was in his shoes… and probably wouldn’t have been strong enough.
She kneels down beside Ruger and Bohdi. “You know,” she says, “science knows a lot of things, but they really don’t know what consciousness is. There is plenty of evidence from people who have been clinically dead, but revived, that consciousness hangs around, even after the heart stops.”
Beatrice comes over and stands on the other side of them, Fenrir at her side. For once, Fenrir isn’t whining for food, and Beatrice doesn’t snip at Bohdi.
“That sounds very new agey,” Bohdi says, softly. “Where is the evidence from, psychics out to steal people’s money?”
“No,” says Amy. “From the research of doctors in the field of resuscitation medicine.”
Bohdi looks at her sharply.
She shrugs. “You can read about it in online—” She stops herself. He can’t read it online; they’re in Jotunheim. Her stomach sinks. And they’re unlikely to be going home soon.
“So he might be hanging around and watching?” Bohdi says.
Amy nods. “Yes. And I’m sure if he is, he’s grateful to be with his friends.”
Bohdi looks to her again; this time his expression strangely vulnerable.
A movement in the trees makes both of them start, and Beatrice spins around, flamethrower upraised. Amy lets out a breath, and her body relaxes. It’s just Sigyn, gliding into camp on her snowmobile, Claire wrapped in a thermal blanket behind her. Steve goes over to them. He hugs his daughter and pulls away. Not meeting his eyes, Claire nods and say something too quiet to hear. Steve pats her shoulder and then stands up and says, “Patel, Lewis, Larson, Berry, Gerðr, Cindy, and Nicholas to the command tent. Victor, you can stand guard outside. Everyone else, get ready to move out.”
Bohdi looks down at Ruger and doesn’t move. Claire, still wrapped in a thermal blanket, crunches over to them through the snow. Putting her hand on Claire’s shoulder, Beatrice leans down so she’s nearly at Bohdi’s ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll look out for him. He helped save my life back there.”
“He was nice to me, too,” says Claire, she sniffs, and then starts to cry.
Amy looks up to her grandmother and hopes she sees the gratitude in her eyes—that she is alive, and that she is being kind to Bohdi.
Gently lifting Ruger’s head, Bohdi slips off the sled and steps backwards. Just before Amy rises, she touches Ruger’s hand and silently thanks him for saving her grandmother. Despite what she told Bohdi, she doesn’t know if he hears, but she hopes he does. And then she follows Bohdi to the command tent. It’s a long white structure with an arched roof. As they walk there, other members of the special ops team nod respectfully at Bohdi. One of the guy even slaps a hand on his shoulder and says, “You military?”
Bohdi’s spine straightens and he says, “Yes, Sir. Marines.”
The guy gives his shoulder another pat, and says, “Good man.”
And then they continue walking to the tent. Sigyn is standing just outside the door, blocking their path. She’s holding her hand outstretched in front of her, palm up.
“Is something wrong?” Lieutenant Larson says.
Sigyn tilts her head, holds out her hand and says, “I would like to shake your hand, Lieutenant.”
“What?”
“Please,” she says.
Their way into the tent blocked, Amy and Bohdi draw to stop beside the two.
“Ma’am, with all due respect, this isn’t—”
Sigyn spins to the tent. “Gerðr, will you come out here and shake this man’s hand, without your magic-blocking hat or bracelets!”
“What is it?” says Steve, emerging from the tent. Gerðr pokes her head out beside him.
“Maybe nothing,” says Sigyn. “Gerðr ?”
“What’s going on?” Larson says. “Sir, I don’t really have to—”
Gerðr takes her hat off and slips off her bracelets, and Larson falls silent. To Amy, she doesn’t look any different than she did a moment before: blonde-white hair, too pale skin, her figure obscured by military fatigues. But Larson’s jaw drops. Steve looks pointedly at the sky, and Bohdi covers his eyes with his hand. Someone whistles. A guy who is walking by drops the gear he’s carrying and just stares slack jawed.
Gerðr holds out her hands. Larson peels off both his mittens, lets them drop into the snow, and puts his hands in hers. Gerðr’s eyes go to where their hands are joined. She turns to Sigyn, eyes wide. “Yes.” Releasing Larson’s hand, she goes back into the tent. Larson’s jaw drops and he staggers back, looking vaguely confused. Then he scoops up his mittens and plows into the tent. Steve follows him.
“Is she gone now?” says Bohdi.
“She went back into the tent,” says Amy. “It’s lined with Promethean wire.”
Sighing, Bohdi drops his hand.
Sigyn steps out of the way to let them pass. They step into the tent. The ceiling is over six feet high, but even standing dead center beneath its arched roof, Steve has to stoop slightly. He is with Warrant Officer Berry and Nari, leaning over a table where a paper map is laid out. One of the guys, Redman, drew the map in pencil based on information they’ve pieced together from balloons, drones, and telescopes. The lines are alternating thin and thick, with shaded areas for forest, and notes in a strikingly neat hand. It looks like something you’d see at the beginning of a fantasy novel. Amy reaches toward it, mesmerized by its simple beauty, but stops herself for fear of smudging the crisp graphite lines.
“The Prometheans sold you out,” Bohdi says, shocking Amy into the present. “Someone knew there was a Gate, that you were going, and they had the clout to send in the National Guard and drop the bridge on it.”
At the table’s head, Nari says, “I sensed Freyja’s magic … I think she may be impersonating Gennie Santos.”
There are collective intakes of breath around the room. Steve straightens as much as he can beneath the low ceiling. “Dale, does he know?”
Bohdi’s shoulders slump. “He knows you were in danger … he was with us, and argued with Gennie—Freyja, but he was shot … he fell …” He bows his head. “I don’t think the bridge fell on him though, he was too far back.
For a long moment Steve says nothing. He stands absolutely still. When he speaks his voice is almost a whisper. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
Bohdi nods. “Everything was normal, mostly, except for Claire, and Fenrir. And then your emails started bouncing …” When Bohdi is done with the whole harrowing tale, Amy thinks everyone in the tent, even the stalwart, expressionless Larson is slouching, as though bowed by an invisible weight.
Berry speaks first. “Keyif?” Amy looks at the Warrant Officer. Mills had explained to her that Warrant Officers are special. They don’t have the rank that a regular officer does, but they have more respect among the regular guys—they earn their rank through experience, and “the school of hard knocks.” There are two Warrant Officers on this trip: Harding is a communications specialist, Berry’s specialty is tactics. He’s not much taller than Amy, but he’s broader. His hands are huge, and his face is weathered.
Bohdi shakes his head. “I don’t know what happened to Keyif.”
Berry nods. “He would have been watching the southern perimeter by the bus station. If he survives, and reports to our superiors … ” He doesn’t finish the thought. On the table his hands ball into fists.
Amy swallows. Would whoever ordered the destruction of the overpass kill Keyif outright?
Sigyn says softly. “I don’t think all the Prometheans sold you out.”
“Explain,” says Steve.
Sigyn’s eyes go to Larson. “Because someone has made Larson, and all of his companions, magical.”
For a moment there is absolute silence in the tent. And then Larson shakes his head and actually smiles. “No, Ma’am. I am not magical. I’m not like you or … ” His eyes flick for a moment to Gerðr. He shakes his head again, and says, “No, Ma’am.”
