1/2986

by Annelie Wendeberg

  Did I just think that?

  Men and women fill the wagon to the brim. Their laughs and chatter trickle down my throat and demand a response. I clamp my mouth shut. The floor rocks from the moving of the train and the wild dancing. Smoke wafts through the air and mingles with scents of sweat, fruits, and…I don’t even know what else. There’s so much. So many word-flavours mix with scents and music, I have to focus to tell them apart. I strain my eyes but I can’t find anyone without clothes, not a single naked person. I’m so relieved, I begin cackling like mad. Runner has a sense of humour I totally don’t get. Next time I’ll think twice before I tell him I’m a virgin.

  That made no sense whatsoever. What’s wrong with my brain tonight?

  A few windows are slid down a crack, and the speed sucks out smoke and pushes in cold air. Runner walks through the masses and I have problems keeping up. He climbs onto some kind of stand, takes a small black button between his fingers, and holds it close to his mouth.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ thunders through the room. The dancing stops, but not the laughing, drinking, and smoking. Most people look up to him. ‘A few of you have met Micka already.’

  Everyone’s gaze follows Runner’s outstretched arm and lands on me. I’m growing hot.

  ‘She’s my apprentice now.’

  Yeah. When I told him I want this, he didn’t seem to like it much.

  Dead silence falls, flavours dissipate. No one laughs. All eyes are on me, round like saucers. Then heads turn, and Runner gets his brunt of cold stares.

  ‘I know you don’t approve. I don’t, either.’ His gaze holds mine and I feel my cheeks reddening with anger. ‘Micka, if anyone offers you an apprenticeship tonight, I want you to take it.’ He nods at everyone in the room, puts the button back on a black box — the thing that makes the loud music — then he jumps down into the crowd.

  Someone pushes a glass into my hands, claps me on my shoulder in an I’m-so-sorry way, frowns, and leaves. I sneak to an open window and stick my nose in the draft to clear my mind. I know why he did this. But still it hurts.

  I search for him in the dancing crowd but can’t find him. The wind ruffles my hair. The night is crisp. I nod at myself. I’ll tell him the flavour of his name should we say goodbye tonight.

  An outstretched hand interrupts my thoughts. A stranger smiles, bends close to my ear, and shouts, ‘Nice to meet you, Micka. I’m Yam.’ And he laughs as if he’s just made a joke. Maybe he did and I didn’t understand it. ‘I have an apprentice already, but maybe you’re up for a dance?’

  Shocked, I shake my head until my bangs flap. I have no clue what to do with my limbs in combination with music. Even if I knew how to dance, I’m not in the mood now. Actually, I’d rather be alone. But sitting in my compartment doesn’t entice me in the least. Being alone in a crowd is something I’m good at. I stuff my hands into my pockets. Yam touches two fingers to his temple then throws himself into the boiling mass of dancers. There seem to be no rules. Throw out your arms, legs, hair, and hips in whatever style strikes your fancy. It looks like fun, though. Runner certainly has fun. Dickhead. He put me up for auction without warning.

  I turn away and plop down onto a bench, close my eyes, and let my body vibrate. I know it wants to move and do something radical, but it just doesn’t know how. I lift the drink to my mouth. Looks like fruit juice. I take a sip and my eyes widen in shock. That stuff burns! I cough, slap my own back as well as I can. Tears roll down my cheeks. Did someone pour battery gel in there?

  I down this drink for courage — slightly tipsy, I might be able to trick myself into hitting Runner in his arrogant face. But maybe I need another drink for that, because I’m not even sure I want to hit him.

  When I spot him, I almost gag on my saliva. He’s wrapped around a stunning woman. Her curves are soft and voluptuous, her hair a luxurious gold, reaching down to her waist. She laughs and they step away from each other then press their bodies back together again. He seems to whisper something into her ear. She squeals, slaps at his chest, and leaves him with the other dancers.

  When she catches my gaze, I grow hot. I think my face looks like a tomato now; it does that to me all the time. I hate it.

  She walks, undulating and graceful. I don’t like the direction she’s taking. Or maybe I do, very much so. Only a moment later, she sits down next to me and speaks into my ear. ‘Runner bit my earlobe, can you believe that? Is it bleeding?’

  She tilts her head to the side and lifts her hair. I see teeth marks. ‘Nope,’ I shout over the noise. She has a beautiful pale neck and an earlobe so delicate, I immediately want to bite it, too. I’m sure she tastes of almond and peach with a sprinkle of salt. Her mouth twitches as she notices my gaze.

  She bends closer. ‘Ever kissed a girl?’

  I inhale. Fruits, smoke, her hair, her mouth. ‘Nope. Kissed a boy once,’ I croak. ‘It was gross. Is kissing a girl any different?’ Uh, I think I’m drunk, but I’m not sure it’s from the alcohol.

  ‘Every kiss is different,’ she says. Her voice has a beautiful lilt. All I can focus on are her lips and the scent of her skin. She leans a little closer. Her breath caresses my neck, her cheek warms mine. ‘Are you curious?’

  Between my glowing hot ears, my mind stutters, Can a woman kiss a woman? Can I…try, at least?

  ‘Um…always curious,’ I hear myself say. Other than that, I’m quite frozen.

  ‘Hmm.’ She nods slowly, then shakes her head a little, the tip of her nose brushes my cheek, and an instant later, her lips come down on mine. They feel wonderful. She feels wonderful — soft and sweet and inquiring. When she flicks the tip of her tongue over my teeth, I’m on fire. Something melts in my pants. Sighing, I lean into her, her softness, her large boobs and wide hips. Oh dear. I want to sink in all the way and taste every square centimetre of her body.

  ‘So. Is it comparable to that boy’s kiss?’ she asks when I catch my breath.

  ‘Can you kiss me again?’ Actually, I want to ask if she can take me to her compartment, or to the bathroom.

  ‘I’ll break you, honey.’

  Am I that obvious? ‘I’ll pick up the mess, don’t worry.’

  She frowns. ‘I prefer multiple partners. You need a one-on-one treatment, I believe. Are you a virgin?’

  Yeah, shit, I’m almost sixteen and still a virgin and I even look like one. Mortified, I nod just a tiny bit.

  ‘Hmm. Sweet.’ She kisses my neck and sends trembles down my thighs. She stands before I can pull her closer. ‘Dance with me,’ she says.

  My hand reaches up. Nonplussed, I stare at my arm, wondering why it didn’t ask my brain for permission. She grabs me, walks me to the dance floor, and begins tossing her hair and her curves.

  Now I know why my arm accepted hers so quickly. I let myself be moved by the beats, by her hands and hips. I’ve never once considered wanting to be close to another person, never realised someone could smell so delicious or feel so good.

  What the heck was in that drink?

  ‘You are thinking too much, Micka,’ she whispers in my ear.

  ‘’kay.’

  She laughs and presses me to her. I can feel the dimples of her ass cheeks through the sheer fabric of her dress. I pinch her there, lightly, but enough to make her wiggle her hips closer to mine. My anger fades. Thoughts of Runner and what he asked disappear. When the music changes yet again, she takes my hand and pulls me with her.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘My compartment,’ she says. My hand in hers switches from too hot to very clammy and wet as a fish. How does one do it with a woman? I can totally picture the male-female coupling thing. Every kid in my village has seen Lampit’s billy hump the goats, so we learned how that goes.

  But…two women? Impossible. I tell myself that she wants to talk. Offer an apprenticeship or something. Yeah. Right.

  We reach a door and she looks at me. ‘I have only two rules. One: you tell me what you want and what you don’t want. Two: Only ton
ight.’

  ‘Why?’ I manage to say.

  ‘Because that’s how I want it.’

  My mind goes oh, yes, sure, pffffft, but at least I get my head to nod. I’m being pulled inside the compartment, a tiny space with a narrow mattress, a small washbowl, a dresser. We barely fit. I begin to panic when she pushes her hands under my shirt.

  ‘No. Wait. I don’t want you to see…me.’ I almost said “them” — my scars. ‘I mean, I’m…’

  ‘It’s okay,’ she says, places a soft hand on my chest, bends to the side, and flicks a switch at the wall. Darkness falls. ‘Better?’

  ‘Yes,’ I breathe.

  In the pitch black, my rattling brain calms and I can focus on my less annoying senses — to smell, feel, listen. Oh, and taste! ‘I don’t even know your name.’

  ‘Sandra,’ she blows at my neck. Goosebumps race down my spine when her name blooms honeysuckle at the tip of my tongue. I let myself fall into her embrace, we land on her bed, and our clothes…oh, well, who cares where our clothes went.

  I love her skin. I try to kiss her everywhere, but she wiggles from my grasp, slides down and kisses my breasts, my stomach, and — oh shit!

  I unfold for her as she ravishes my body until I cry. She giggles, and licks, and giggles. I’m trembling all over. And then I explode.

  Just like that.

  ———

  I draw lazy circles around her nipples until she slaps my hand away. ‘Can I ask you something?’ I say.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why did you invite me to your cabin?’

  ‘You are sweet.’

  Sweet. That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. I frown at the dark, glad she can’t see me.

  She sighs and rakes her fingers through my hair. ‘I was shocked to see he chose a girl.’

  ‘What does that have to do with anything?’

  ‘Everything. I asked him about it when we danced. He told me to shut up. Then he bit my ear, the asshole.’

  I clamp my lips together so as not to laugh out loud. ‘You didn’t look like you hated it,’ I tell her. ‘Did you have sex with him?’

  ‘A while ago. Are you jealous?’ Her hand freezes on my skin.

  ‘You told me, only tonight. So, no. I’m not jealous. I think.’ I wonder how jealousy feels. But I can’t muster the energy to bother much.

  Sandra chuckles softly and kisses my fingers. ‘Listen, Micka, I don’t think it’s a good idea to be his apprentice. As a girl, anyway.’

  I’m tired of this crap. This is my apprenticeship and none of her business.

  ‘Runner spends much of his time in battle,’ she continues. ‘That man has seen so much shit in his life, no one should be around him for longer than necessary. He’ll pull anyone down. He was talked into recruiting a warrior personally, to teach him his skills. He’s the best sniper and strategist we have, but he’s not a good teacher. He’s bad company for anyone not as calloused. My guess is that he planned to teach that boy what it means to fight like a man, and then drop him as soon as possible to get back to the front lines or wherever he finds his…calling. Problem is, he found a girl where there was supposed to be a boy.’

  ‘And you cannot fathom why he didn’t walk away.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  I find myself liking Sandra more when she’s not talking. I imagine seeing myself with Runner’s eyes when he showed up at my village for the first time — a scrubby girl with barely enough strength to hold up a light air rifle, who couldn’t even properly forage for food in summer, who got sick and pooped all over the forest floor. How embarrassing.

  But that’s not what’s bugging me the most. It’s the way Sandra is talking about Runner behind his back.

  Her fingertips trail up my arm, and my scars act like amplifiers. I take her elbow and push her hand towards my back. I want her to feel them, feel me. She wouldn’t be able to read what’s written there, anyway.

  Lightning hits when she touches DIE. Electricity shoots down my spine and into my thighs. ‘Spread your legs for me,’ I demand, hungry for distraction.

  ———

  I’m lying on the bed of my own compartment, staring at the ceiling and watching the small fan spin. A dim light makes sure I see only what’s there, what’s here. Darkness brings violence and I can’t handle it now.

  One tear crawls down my cheek and tickles my ear. Sandra was nice to me, in her own way. She was interested in whether I wanted to be kissed at all, where I wanted her hands, and what I felt. People usually don’t do that. People aren’t interested in what other people feel, or what they want, or what they are able to bear. They don’t want to know if what they do makes me die inside!

  I’m choking. I long for my knife, but try to pull myself together. Enough scars for a lifetime…

  There’s a soft knock at the door. ‘Micka? Are you all right?’ Sandra’s voice. She didn’t offer me an apprenticeship and I didn’t expect her to. ‘This once,’ she’d said and I wouldn’t want her as a…wife? I laugh. I wouldn’t even want her as a close friend.

  I left her compartment with a quiet, ‘Thank you.’ She lay on her bed and did not reply.

  There’s nothing like the aroma of a woman. I tried to wrap my head around the taste while I licked her. Salt, a hint of treacle in warm milk, and…maybe yew berry — slightly sweet with this peculiar succulence the fruit reaches after the first frost, and deadly should I dare sink my teeth into its centre.

  It bugs me that I can’t describe her taste with precision. Maybe I have to open a new category for the scents and flavours of sex — the intensity, sweetness, and tanginess of the skin, the urgency of the moves, the soft hoarseness of sounds. What a fantastic spectrum of impressions that cloud the mind and sharpen the senses.

  I wonder when, or if, I’ll get to taste a woman again, or how a man might feel. Right now, I want to cover everyone in this train with my body, crawl into embraces, taste personalities, experience. Experience.

  I sigh and open my eyes.

  The small ceiling fan hides behind a dusty grid. A dead fly, wrapped up in spider silk, tumbles back and forth with the moving air.

  Pulling the trigger. I think of the rabbits and hares I’ve shot. I didn’t feel sorry for taking their lives. I ate them. But people? I wonder if I care enough about anyone as not to shoot them. Maybe I do, but I’m not entirely sure.

  Runner said we have ten or fifteen years left. He wants to show me why tomorrow. I cannot imagine the world coming to an end for everyone. My own world, yes, I could very well imagine this not too long ago. But everyone else’s? Maybe I do care about other people.

  Another knock at the door. ‘Micka?’

  What the heck is up with Sandra? Can’t she just leave me alone? I grind my teeth and press the pillow to my face.

  BLAM! and the door flies open. Startled, I throw the pillow aside and look up. Runner’s hair is ruffled, his expression wild. Sandra looks puzzled. We stare at each other. ‘What the heck?’ I manage to say.

  ‘I was worried,’ she says.

  ‘I’m okay,’ I answer and lie back down to stare at the ceiling. The door closes.

  ‘Micka.’ Runner’s voice. He’s still here.

  ‘Fuck off.’

  ‘You hate me.’

  ‘Yes.’ I watch the dead fly spinning in circles.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because most of the time you treat me like a person. It makes me trust you. Then you treat me like a weakling, and this hurts.’

  ‘Sandra told me that she wants to offer you an apprenticeship.’

  ‘I don’t give a shit.’

  ‘Look at me, Micka.’

  I sit up.

  ‘I want you to take the offer.’

  ‘You said we’ll all be dead in ten or fifteen years. I’m not spending the little time I’ve left going on hikes with her, sticking my feet under her armpits, and dragging her around wrapped up as a tent-sausage. If I have to shoot people to keep us hanging in there for a little long
er, then I’ll shoot people.’

  He is leaning against the door, his jaws are working, and his eyes are the deepest black. ‘I have one condition.’ A raspy whisper.

  I nod. Whatever.

  ‘You’ll get a poison implant. The moment you are captured, you’ll use it to kill yourself. You’ll die within two minutes.’

  I nod again.

  He lowers his head and leaves my compartment.

  ‘This might come as a little unexpected.’ Runner’s cautious tone pricks my ears. He slides the wagon door open and beckons me into…

  …absurdity.

  ‘What…is this?’ My chin feels loose, as if it’s about to come off its hinges. The room is filled with screens that show moving images, a babble of voices without owners, and an illuminated round thing hovering above the floor. It looks precisely like the globe we had at school, except for the lights flickering and trailing across it. But this one is huge! And punch me in the face if a woman didn’t just walk through it!

  Bleep bleep bleep a machine complains as she hurries to it, pressing buttons, reading something off a screen.

  My knees feel a little wobbly.

  ‘The flight is delayed by five hours. Snowstorm,’ she says.

  I hear myself producing a weak ‘Fl…’

  Runner flicks his gaze toward me. He’s obviously enjoying this. ‘We are flying to Taiwan. You are pale.’

  ‘Of course I’m pale!’ I bark. ‘The fastest I’d travelled before I met you was with a donkey cart!’

  I really want to slap that grin off his face.

  ‘Come.’ He nods to the globe. The door slides back into its frame. ‘We are here.’ He points to where the Alps slide into the lowlands. As if I don’t know where we are. I’m not brain-amputated, I’m just…ignorant. As are most of the people living in small villages, tending to their cabbages and goats while having no clue about satellites, artilleries, the BSA, or the end of the world.

  ‘The train’s destination is here — an abandoned military airport west of former London, where our plane will be waiting for us,’ he says.