"You don't have to say anything. Jeez! Why do people always feel they have to say something?" Etty shrugged. "It sucks. It fucking sucks. What can you do."
But despite her flippant attitude, her eyes were watering, and she pulled her knees to her chest.
"Did the slits kill them?" Jon said.
"Nah." Etty shook her head. "It happened on Earth. I'm from Israel, you know. Lovely country! But not one known for peace. There's been a war going on there for…" She counted on her fingers. "Five thousand years now. Oh, the enemy changes. First it was the Philistines, the Hittites, the Amalek, the Babylonians, and a bunch of other ancient conquerors from the desert. Then it was the Europeans. The Greeks. The Romans. The Crusaders. Every time, we rebuilt. Over and over—genocide and rebirth. We were finally getting hopeful about a hundred years ago. So of course aliens had to attack. And wipe us out again."
"I remember that from the history books," Jon said. "The Scolopendra titania. The giant centipedes. They destroyed Israel."
"Yep, and again, like always, the survivors rebuilt. We never learn, do we?" Etty sighed. "The holy land is cursed. We recreated the country again, only for new wars to break out. Over tribes. Religions. Ethnicities. Same old bullshit. Humanity finally defeated the aliens, so in Israel, we humans went back to fighting one another."
"It sounds like a microcosm for Earth," Jon said. "Earth too is like that. Destruction and rebirth, over and over. Recovering from the first world war, then fighting another one. Recovering from the second world war, then launching right into the cold war. Ending the cold war, then fighting the aliens. Recovering from the aliens, and now Earth is fighting Bahay."
"We humans seem to need a fight," Etty said. "Maybe it's evolutionary. Millions of years ago, we fought wild animals. It made us strong. We need competition. An enemy to cull the weak. If we can't find wild animals or aliens, we fight one another."
"That's a cynical view of humanity," Jon said. "I like to think I'm in the army to fight for justice. To defeat evil."
Etty snorted. "Everyone thinks they're the hero. Even the goddamn Nazis thought they were the heroes."
"I don't know if I'm a hero," Jon said. "My brother was a hero."
Etty placed a hand on his knee. "I'm sorry for your loss, Jon."
Jon placed his hand atop hers. "Do you want to tell me how your family died?"
"Terrorist attack," Etty said. "We were in the market. Just out shopping in Jerusalem's old city. I ran off to play. A second later, I heard the blast. The suicide bomber killed twenty-three people. My father died right away. My mother clung on to life for a week, but her wounds were…" Etty lowered her heads, tears falling. "She died too."
"Oh, Etty." Jon hugged her. "I'm sorry."
She sniffed. "I was just a kid. They sent me to America. To live with my aunt. I lived with her for three years, and then she died too. Cancer. I was almost sixteen and homeless and scared. I didn't know where to go. What to do. So I went to the recruitment center that day. The same one you went to. And I lied about my age, told them I'm eighteen. And I joined the army. I'm not a hero. I don't really want to fight Bahay. I just… needed somewhere to go."
Jon held her close. "You have a new family now, Etty. You have us. This platoon." He thought for a moment. "Okay, maybe not that asshole Clay, and probably not Bucky either. But me, and George, and the rest of us. We love you. We'll look after you."
A smile broke through her tears. "Thanks, buddy."
He mussed her hair. "No problem, kiddo."
The rest of their prison time passed easily enough—aside from using the toilet, which was very public and very uncomfortable, and involved one person turning around and singing loudly. Mostly they talked. With George, Jon would joke around a lot, talk shit, never get into anything too deep. But with Etty, he talked about history, art, the stars. During this day in the brig, he got to know her. Her soul. Her secrets.
They became friends. It felt like they had been friends for years.
Finally keys turned in the lock.
A robotic jailer pulled the cell door open.
Jon and Etty stumbled out, blinking in the pitiless white light that filled Roma Station.
The robot stared at them with black eyes. He was a cheap unit, really just a metal chassis vaguely shaped like a skeleton. On Earth these days, you sometimes saw androids that were remarkably lifelike, practically indistinguishable from humans. They served as maids, teachers, caregivers, romantic companions. The military didn't bother spending money on expensive skins. Its robots just needed to be efficient, not pretty.
I just wish they sent robots to die in battlefields instead of humans, Jon thought. But even the dumbest robots are expensive. Human life is cheap.
"I hope you have been rehabilitated," the robot intoned in a mechanical voice. "Next time, I will keep you locked for a week. Then a month. Understood?"
Etty saluted. "Aye, aye, Captain!"
The robot ignored her. Gears creaking, it approached the next prison cell. It unlocked the door.
"I hope you have been rehabilitated," the robot said, speaking into the other cell. "Step out, human."
A shadow fell.
Jon's belly churned.
Out of that cell, his arm in a cast, stepped Clay Hagen.
Crap, Jon thought.
His heart sank into his pelvis.
"Thank you, my good man." Clay tipped an imaginary hat at the robot. "I'm now fully rehabilitated."
Jon could only stare with dread. He hadn't realized that Clay had been imprisoned in the neighboring cell. He remembered hearing snoring, some muttering through the wall, but Jon had never imagined it was his nemesis.
Etty and I spent the whole day talking, Jon thought. Sharing our dreams and secrets. Did Clay hear?
Etty was staring at Clay too, face pale.
"What's a matter, Ettinger?" Clay asked. "You look like you saw a ghost. You're not scared of ghosts, are you? I mean, you are an adult now. Not a kid. Right?"
He winked, and his smile was cruel.
"Clay!" Etty said, going pale. "You can't tell anyone. Please."
The brute laughed. "What, me tell?" He grinned, arms outstretched. "I didn't hear nothing! Of course, if somebody heard something, and if somebody told Sergeant Lizzy, and if somebody happens to be underage, well…" He barked a laugh. "But that'll never happen."
Etty cringed. "Clay, I get it. Look, I'm sorry I said you have a micro-dick. I'm sure it's enormous. And I'm sorry that I laughed when Lizzy kicked your ass, it's just that—"
"That bitch didn't kick my ass!" Clay roared. "First of all, Sergeant Lizzy has a bionic hand, and that's cheating. Second, I let her win, because she's a girl."
Jon stepped forward. "Dude, calm down. Look, let's just forget what happened and move on, alright? We—"
"Fuck you, ballerina." Clay shoved him. "You and the Jew. You both watch out. You fuck with me, I'll make your lives a living—"
The robotic jailer approached. "Do not engage in rowdy behavior. Depart the premises!"
Clay snorted. He walked away, whistling, a bounce to his step.
Jon and Etty looked at each other.
"Fuck," they said together.
Chapter Eighteen
Iron
He must have stood over six feet tall, the tallest man Maria had ever seen, a true giant from another world.
An Earthling.
An invader.
A monster.
And little Maria, shorter than his shoulders, marched him through the forest.
"Go!" she said. "Move!"
She walked a step behind, aiming her rifle at the Earthling. He shuffled forward, wrists bound behind his back.
The other guerrillas walked ahead, navigating through the rainforest. They carried their guns, their wounded, and their dead. In battle, they were victorious. They had killed a few Earthlings, taken one captive.
But many of the Kalayaan had fallen. Far more than the Earthling losses. It felt to Maria like a Py
rrhic victory.
Ernesto was carrying one dead man. The corpse hung across his back, gazing at Maria with accusing eyes. Half the dead man's jaw was gone. Other guerrillas carried more of their fallen.
I killed two men.
Maria's arms trembled.
I slit a man's throat. I shot another.
Her breath shook.
Who am I? What have I done?
The Earthling turned toward her. Tears filled his eyes.
"Please," he said. "Please, I'm just a private, I don't know anything. I want to go home. My mom must be worried. Please, I—"
"Move!" Maria shouted, and jabbed him with her rifle.
Because she was afraid.
Because he terrified her.
Because he appeared as just a scared boy, but he was a monster who had murdered so many.
The Earthling shuffled onward through the jungle, crying softly.
They bomb us. They butcher us. They kill like monsters. Peel back their metal machines, and they cry like boys.
Pity filled Maria's heart. She couldn't help it. But she thought of her village, of the corpses of her parents, of the ruins of her life. Of the millions of dead Bahayans in the burning north.
And she hardened her heart. And she jabbed the Earthling in the back, shoving him onward. He obeyed. He did not fight. The dreaded giant who towered over everyone, even over Ernesto—he cried and begged.
But he walked on.
Maria clutched her rifle, and she noticed that blood still stained her hands.
The images flashed before her.
Slitting a man's throat.
Her gun booming. A man falling.
Her parents in the ashes, their faces gone.
Just a few weeks ago, I was Maria the rice farmer, the girl with the big head full of questions, she thought. Who am I now?
It was a long, hard march to the camp. The helicopters and planes always rumbled above. Bombs exploded in the distance. Every second—another boom like a dying man's heartbeat. The smell of smoke and gunpowder filled the rainforest. One time, a plane flew so low that the canopy bent, and a great explosion bloomed only a hundred yards away, tearing down trees.
Trudging ahead, Ernesto looked over his shoulder. Sweat soaked his face and hair. The fire painted him red. He grinned at the captive Earthling. A cruel grin. A predator's grin.
"Your stupid pute friends are looking for you, little boy," Ernesto said to the prisoner. "I think they want to take you home in a bucket."
He tossed back his head and laughed.
Maria remained solemn.
"Quiet, Ernesto, and hurry!" she said.
Fire spread across the sky. They ran.
For hours, they pushed through the jungle, leaving the fire behind, but the threat of planes forever hovered above.
At night, they slept in the mud, a dozen men and a dozen corpses, and Maria dared not sleep, because sleep brought visions. Sleep brought memories. Sleep brought parents without faces, strange toads, and her knife in a man's throat. She guarded the camp, knuckles white around her rifle. Blood still stained her hands, dark brown under her fingernails. The prisoner slept tied to a fangwood, weeping softly all night.
In the morning, they found that bugs had laid eggs in their skin. Maria worked with a knife, digging into her arm, plucking the eggs out one by one. Nobody helped the prisoner, and when Maria tried to remove the eggs from him, Ernesto shoved her back.
"Let him suffer." He laughed. "Putes are only good for breeding bugs."
The corpses, which they had carried since the battle, were rotting. So they buried them. They did not mark their graves.
"I should put up crosses," Maria said. "And their names. So their families can visit someday."
But Ernesto shook his head. "No. The Earthlings would find the bodies, add them to their kill tally. They would gloat and celebrate our losses. Let the bodies be hidden."
"But they will not be forgotten," Maria said. "I will remember each name."
As they trudged through the jungle that day, she repeated the names of the dead over and over. Farmers. Fishermen. Villagers like her who had lost their families, who had joined the Kalayaan, who had given their lives for freedom.
I will remember you. Always. I will remember you all.
On the third day, another man died, succumbing to a bullet wound.
On the fourth day, a woman fell ill after drinking from a pond, and they carried her, but she died on the fifth day, a rot inside her. Maria wondered if anyone here would survive the jungle's crushing embrace.
That night, for the first time, the Earthling did not cry. As Maria stood guarding him, he looked at her.
"You speak English, don't you?" he said.
She pointed her rifle at him. "Be quiet!"
He gave her a hesitant, shaky smile. "I know some Tagalog. Just a few words."
She jabbed the muzzle into his chest. "Don't talk, pute."
"Your name is Maria, isn't it?" he said. "I'm David. I'm eighteen years old. I'm from Oklahoma. That's in America. On Earth. Maria, I just want to go home. To my parents. I was drafted. I didn't ask to be here. You understand, right? Maybe I can pull strings, bring you to Earth with me. Whatever you want."
She sneered. "Earth? Why would I want to go there? Earth bombed my village. Killed everyone I know. Earth murdered millions of my people."
David lost his shaky smile. Tears flowed down his cheeks. "Maria, I'm scared. Please. I'm so scared." He trembled. "I just want to go home."
Maria couldn't help it. A tear flowed down her own cheek.
As the other guerrillas slept, she cleaned David's wounds, plucking out the insect eggs one by one. She fed him, and she even loosened his ropes, letting more blood flow through his limbs.
But she did not release him.
Because she was one of the Kalayaan. She was a woman mourning. She had to stop the bombings. She had to sacrifice one scared, crying boy to save her world. She had killed two men, and her soul could never be cleansed.
* * * * *
Finally, after a week, they reached the Kalayaan camp.
A village! It was a village! So much like San Luna!
A handful of bamboo huts. Rice paddies. Groves of papaya, banana, and pineapple trees. Chickens roamed freely, pecking for seeds. It reminded Maria so much of her home. Her tears fell.
Yet as they entered the village, she realized: This was nothing like San Luna.
This village was just a front.
Kalayaan fighters huddled in the huts, not families. More guerrillas worked in the fields, disguised as peasants.
Maria wandered around with wide eyes. For the first time in weeks, she was not in the jungle, and her head spun. She inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of the rice paddies, and approached a papaya grove.
"Maria!" Ernesto grabbed her. "Watch out!"
She froze. Ernesto leaned down, rolled back a sheet of grass like a carpet, and revealed a pit full of spikes.
Maria winced.
I was a second away from falling to my death.
Ernesto snickered. "The village is full of booby traps. Be careful. Don't walk anywhere without me."
He took a few steps away, knelt, and pulled back another sheet of grass. This one revealed a tunnel.
"Come, Maria. We go underground. Bring our Earthling guest. In the shadows, we'll ask him some questions."
The tall, young Earthling was ashen, his eyes sunken. They had barely fed him all week. His wounds were infected and bloated, and maggots had invaded them. His wrists were still tied behind his back, and a rope was tied around his neck. Ernesto tugged the rope, yanking the prisoner down. David knelt by the tunnel, trembling.
"Don't treat David so roughly," Maria said. "He'll answer our questions."
Ernesto snorted. "David? He's nothing but a filthy pute." He kicked the prisoner and laughed.
Shame filled Maria. She hated seeing this violence. Hated seeing the terror in David's eyes.
But she had to kno
w. Who had bombed San Luna? Who had killed her parents? She had to prevent more massacres. David was a scared boy, yes. But he was also a soldier of Earth. An enemy. And he held the answers.
They entered the darkness.
Maria crawled through the tunnels, still aiming her gun at David's back. She could barely squeeze through, and she was so small. Normally, an Earthling would never fit, but David had lost much weight over the journey. Ernesto pulled the rope, dragging the prisoner, and Maria pushed him, and they moved through the tunnels like moles.
The tunnel system was larger than the village. They wormed left and right, down and down. It was like a great ant colony. The tunnels took them by several earthen chambers: some filled with guerrillas sleeping on hammocks, others with ammunitions. Some were storerooms full of bags of rice. One room was an infirmary, and several men lay here, bandaged and moaning. These were barely more than burrows. The walls were just crumbly soil reinforced with wooden slats, threatening to cave in at any moment.
At one point, Maria looked down a narrow tunnel, smelled delicious cakes, and her stomach growled. She made to crawl down there, unable to resist. But Ernesto stopped her.
"Maria! Don't go that way. That's a false tunnel." He grinned. "If Earthlings invade our tunnels, they will go that way. Boom!"
Maria peered down the tunnel and squinted. She noticed cables along the ceiling. She shuddered.
Deep underground, they reached a cold, dark burrow.
Old blood stained the walls. Chains were attached to a rafter.
A few other guerrillas entered the chamber, eyes hard. All had lost loved ones to Earth's fire. They hung David from the rafter. The Earthling trembled, eyes closed, and whispered prayers.
"Please, Maria, please…"
And she realized: He wasn't praying to God, Jesus, or Mary. He was praying to her. Hoping she could save him.
Ernesto pulled a clothing iron from his pack. He hefted it and approached David.
He spoke in English, his accent thick. "I interrogated an Earthling once, you know. A bitch called Lizzy Pascal. She didn't speak at first. After I took her hand, she spoke." He laughed. "What should I take from you?"
The Earthling (Soldiers of Earthrise Book 1) Page 14
