Nomad

by Matthew Mather

  Following Jess’s finger, Enzo squinted. “What, the window?”

  “No, look at the sky.”

  White fingers of light danced across the starry night sky, visible even from the bright interior of the room.

  “What is it?” Enzo’s eyebrows came together as he squinted harder.

  “Look closer,” Jess urged. “Auroras from a massive solar flare triggered by Nomad. We need to get out of here, Enzo. And look down at the water.”

  Enzo stood and walked to the window to stare up. “So it’s true.” He leaned out and looked down. “Madre di Dio, where did the water go?”

  While Enzo stared out the window, Jess was busy. Keeping her eye on him, she unstrapped her prosthetic leg under the covers. Quietly, she stood, balancing on one foot, holding the bottom metal rod of her leg with both hands, wielding it like a baseball bat. She swung her arms back, coiled her midsection around like a spring. “I heard what you said on the boat.”

  Enzo still had his head out of the window. “What?”

  “That you’d like to get my legs wrapped around your head.”

  He pulled back from the window and turned. “You must have—”

  Jess swung as hard as she could, cracking Enzo in the side of the head. He staggered and dropped to his knees, his head flopping as if it wasn’t connected to his shoulders. Taking a hop forward, Jess raised her club-leg and gritted her teeth. As he slumped forward, she savagely cracked his head again.

  Panting, Jess wobbled on her good leg and sat back heavily on the bed.

  With a shaking hand, she wiped a smear of blood off the top of her prosthetic, watching Enzo’s inert body, blood streaming from his nose, as she strapped her leg back into place. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you to be careful what you wish for?” she muttered under her breath.

  34

  ISOLA GIGLI, ITALY

  “OH, ENZO, DON’T stop.” Jess moaned loud enough for the guard outside to hear as she shoved the cot across the floor to the window. She stooped to grab Enzo’s sagging body under the shoulders, “Oh.” This time she grunted for real, straining to heft his torso onto the cot. “Yeah.”

  Gasping for air, she put a finger to Enzo’s neck. A weak pulse.

  She grabbed his legs and pulled them onto the cot, stopping to mop some of his blood from the floor with the blanket, which she then threw onto Enzo. Before she attacked him, she’d already ripped several lengths of the blanket into strips, using a sharp edge of the metal cot. She gagged and hog-tied Enzo with the strips. Bouncing up and down on the cot, hard enough to generate loud squeaks from the rusty bedsprings, she moaned theatrically the whole time.

  That should give her a little time before anyone came in.

  She stopped again to feel his neck.

  Nothing this time. She waited, leaned her face to his mouth. He wasn’t breathing.

  Her hand trembling, she pulled her fingers from his neck. Her scalp tingled. She had never killed anyone before. But maybe that wasn’t true. Images of snow-covered hills flashed through her mind.

  Staring at Enzo’s slack face, his lips already tinged blue, she saw herself in her mind’s eye, raising her club the second time, smashing it into his skull. The first blow was probably enough; he was probably already unconscious. Then again, rubbing her shaking hands together, it made things simpler. In her mind, she was halfway to stuffing the blanket into his mouth, pressing it over his nose, to suffocate him.

  Too much risk if he woke up. And anyway, he deserved it, didn’t he?

  Jess reached under the blanket and unholstered his gun, checked the chamber and loaded a round into it, stuffing the gun into the front pocket of her jeans. She rummaged in his pockets, found a knife and put that into her back pocket. Tightening the straps on her prosthetic, she took a deep breath and stood up on the cot to lean out the window.

  Fifty feet below, it looked like the guard was still asleep. Looking up, the ghostly fingers of light danced ever brighter across the carpet of stars. Taking another deep breath, Jess grabbed her left leg and hefted it up onto the window ledge, then, with a grunt, grabbed onto the frame and swung her other leg up. Rolling onto her belly, she felt the cold metal of the gun pressing into her hip.

  Carefully, carefully, she inched her way over the edge into open space, her right foot searching for the tiny ledge she’d spotted about three feet down. There. She rotated her foot sideways, trying to get the best grip.

  Sneakers weren’t the best rock climbing footwear.

  Gripping the window ledge, she put her weight onto her right foot and angled her body out of the window, scanning the wall to her right. It was a sheer stone wall, but there were cracks. She’d inspected the wall earlier, leaning out of the window, and already had a route planned. Just forty feet sideways along the vertical wall, the holes and cracks and handholds obvious, easy even. Something she could have done in her sleep when climbing with friends, but this time she had no safety.

  No ropes.

  No second chances.

  She glanced down. A fifty-foot drop onto jagged rocks and cement.

  Calming her breathing, Jess focused, zeroed her attention into the inches just ahead of her. A familiar sensation, one that she loved, the reason why she participated in extreme sports. No past. No future. Just the moment.

  Gripping the window with her left hand, she leaned to her right, her face against the cold stone, her fingers searching. There, a crack. Looking down, she shakily managed to position her prosthetic foot onto the tiny ledge while she reached with her right to find a metal post sticking out of the wall. Letting go of the window, she pulled herself right, now a spider trapped against the wall.

  Another crack, another hole, another tiny ledge—she silently edged across the wall. Ten feet from the terrace, reaching as far as she could with her right hand, she found a hole between the stones and she slid her fingers in as deep as she could, then twisted, jamming them in solidly.

  Her foothold slipped.

  Jess dropped a foot and a half, her legs dangling in space, her full weight wrenched onto the two fingers jammed in the rock and a tiny outcropping her left hand fingers barely held onto. Pain shot through her arm, her fingers on fire, cracking, straining.

  Just let go, a voice said in her head. It’s what you always wanted, isn’t it? Why do you put yourself in danger so often?

  Because you want it taken away.

  Your life.

  Just let go, and it will all be over.

  Jess dangled in space, pain ripping through her fingers, her arm burning, her eyes tearing. Looking up, she glimpsed the crescent moon over the edge of the wall, its outer circle just visible. Through her watery eyes she saw a boy’s face, disappearing into the moon, into the black hole ringed in white.

  No.

  Tears streaming down her face, Jess strained, scrabbled her legs against the wall. She pulled with all her might. Up an inch, then two. Her right foot found a flake, and she pushed on it. Gulping lungfuls of air, she pressed herself against the wall and used her left hand to find another crack. Another few feet and she swung her right foot out to the terrace’s railing, then pulled herself onto it.

  She collapsed onto the cold stone floor, her chest heaving to pull in oxygen.

  Giving herself a minute to recover, she wiped the sweat from her brow with her left hand and grabbed on to the railing to get to her feet. She flexed her right hand, tested her fingers—nothing dislocated or broken, despite the intense pain. Leaning forward, she stole a look inside through the terrace door window.

  The young guard sat in a chair by the door of her room, his eyes closed. She glanced to her right. Stairs led off the terrace, down past the rocks. From there she could walk through the trees to the dock.

  Run away.

  No.

  Jess straightened up and exhaled, took a moment to tousle her hair and roll her shoulders back. She unbuttoned her shirt all the way down, exposing her bra and torso, and unbuttoned the top of her jeans. Taking a deep breath,
she opened the terrace door and crept inside. She walked up to the guard.

  “Aberto,” Jess whispered.

  The guard opened his eyes with a start, looking back and forth before seeing Jess standing in front of him.

  “Aberto,” Jess repeated. “Enzo wants to speak with you.” She flicked her chin toward the open terrace door.

  Frowning, Aberto’s puzzled eyes were unable to keep from wandering to Jess’s open shirt.

  “Out there,” Jess whispered, pointing out the door.

  Hooking his right thumb under the strap of his rifle, Aberto stood, glanced at Jess’s breasts again, then peered onto the balcony. Jess took a step past him. Aberto craned his neck to look out the door, and Jess slipped behind him, brought her right arm around his neck and jammed it locked with her left.

  He barely outweighed her, and was no match for her wiry strength. The rear naked chokehold, one of the most basic martial maneuvers to swiftly disable an opponent. The goal wasn’t to deprive the victim of air—it was to stop the flow of blood into the brain. Done just right, it closed off both carotid arteries and the jugular in one motion, induced cerebral hypoxia and unconsciousness in as little as three seconds.

  Jess pulled Aberto back into the chair, wrapping her right leg around his waist. Confused, he clawed at her, trying to yell through his closed windpipe. Nothing came out, not even a wheeze. His body jerked back and forth, the chair rocking beneath them.

  Jess held on. It was a move they practiced over and over in her martial arts courses in the Marines. They even choked out each other, just to experience it. Jess’s instructor had done it to her. Just a momentary panic before sleep descended. She felt Aberto’s body stiffen. Five seconds. Six. His body relaxed. Eight seconds. Nine.

  If she let go now, in ten seconds or so he’d regain consciousness. Hold on for a few more seconds, and it might take a minute for him to come back, and another minute or two for him to regain his senses from what felt like a deep sleep. Jess knew how it worked. Fifteen seconds, she counted. Sixteen.

  But never—she heard her martial arts instructor’s words in her head—never hold more than thirty seconds, never past when you feel the body start to twitch.

  From that point is brain damage.

  Death.

  He was just a boy, really. Maybe nineteen. A teenager. Jess had no argument with him, not really. He was probably dragged into this, offered a job; he might have had no idea what was going on. He had a sweet face. He was somebody’s little boy.

  Tears came to Jess’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered into Aberto’s ear as she felt his body twitch and shudder. “I’m sorry, Aberto.”

  Thirty seconds. Forty. At a minute, Jess released her hold on his neck, slid out from under him, took his keys from his pocket, and arranged him on the chair. He looked peaceful. Asleep. But he wasn’t. He was dead. She brushed his hair back from his eyes and kissed his forehead, tears in her eyes.

  She had killed two people in the space of ten minutes. When she was in boot camp, she’d heard that you never knew if you’d be able to do it—kill someone—if the time came. Some people just couldn’t kill.

  Apparently Jess could.

  A fit of laughing erupted downstairs and Jess stiffened, adrenaline pumping, bolting upright and stepping into the shadows of the hallway. She glanced around the corner, down into the main hall. Four men at the card table now, more empty bottles littered around them than before. Where was the fifth?

  Enzo came up maybe fifteen minutes ago? She needed to hurry. So far they hadn’t seemed to notice the light show going on in the sky. If they had a TV or radio on, there had to be announcements of the destruction that was already happening on the other side of the world.

  The scientists knew it was coming, but there were too many conflicting estimates. Jess wasn’t even sure her father’s time estimate was right until she saw the water draining from the bay. The speed of the water disappearing gave her a frightening estimate of how close Nomad might already be.

  But these guys, drunk and playing cards, were isolated on this island. They had no idea. Jess needed to keep it that way as long as possible.

  Creeping down the hallway, she pressed her ear against the first door. Silence. At the second door she heard shuffling, then the sound of muffled crying. She tried a few of Aberto’s keys before the lock clicked over. Ever so slowly, she opened the door.

  There, inside, Hector was on a cot, his knees pulled up into his chest, his eyes wide. Jess held a finger to her mouth—quiet, be quiet—and motioned for him to come. He uncoiled his legs, his small chest heaving in and out with quick breaths, and slid off the cot to take a step toward her.

  “Come on, it’s okay,” Jess whispered. “We need to go.”

  He stopped two feet from her, his lips trembling. Jess held out her hand. He stared at her, then lifted his hand and pressed his cold little fingers into hers. Jess scooped him into her arms.

  “Giovanni?” Hector whispered.

  Jess closed her eyes, gripping Hector tight.

  Giovanni.

  He almost got her killed. He hid things from her, even as she risked her life. Why didn’t he tell the truth? An ugly surge of spite rose up in her ancient brain-stem.

  But then again…

  Truth was a slippery thing. Sometimes, our lies became our lives. Jess knew that more than anyone.

  “Which room?” she whispered to Hector.

  He pointed at the second door down the hallway, near the end. Jess listened to the voices downstairs while she crept along the hall, fumbled with the keys until she found the right one.

  The door swung open.

  On a bare metal cot, Giovanni was tied up with rough yellow nylon cord. His face purple and swollen from the beatings, he opened one puffy eye, barely even registering surprise at Jess standing in front of him with Hector in her arms.

  “Go,” Giovanni whispered from cracked lips, “go without me.”

  “You’re coming with us,” Jess whispered back, putting Hector down and pulling the knife from her back pocket.

  She raised her eyebrows at Hector, nodding at the door. Keep watch, her eyes said. Hector nodded and tiptoed to the door, peering out. Jess cut the ropes binding Giovanni, and he winced as he sat upright, rubbing his wrists.

  “Can you walk?” Jess whispered urgently.

  “I think so.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  35

  ISOLA GIGLI, ITALY

  GIVING GIOVANNI THE knife, Jess pulled Enzo’s handgun from her front pocket and led them out the door, sneaking across the landing. Giovanni pointed at the slumped body of Aberto, thinking him asleep, but Jess shook her head, don’t worry, keep going, she mouthed silently.

  As they passed Aberto, Jess fixed her eyes on the staircase down, listening to the voices. Giovanni stared at the inert body of Aberto, glancing back at Jess, then back at the dead body.

  Hector crept along between them.

  Out onto the terrace and down the exterior stairs, Jess led the way. She limped on her unfamiliar prosthetic, while Giovanni stumbled behind her, wincing in pain on every step. He stared up at the glimmering light show in the sky but said nothing.

  “What are we going to do?” Giovanni whispered as they reached the cover of the trees. “Is there a boat?”

  “I don’t think so.” Jess pressed forward, the hair on her neck prickling in anticipation of shouting behind them. Just a few hundred feet to the dock from here.

  “Then we swim?” Giovanni tripped on a root and tumbled into the ground, cursing. He got onto his knees, his bloody face contorted in agony. “It’s a kilometer to the shore. I can’t swim that, not now.” He waved his hand at Jess. “Give me the gun. I’ll hold them off while you take Hector.”

  Jess hauled him to his feet. “We’re not going to swim.”

  Giovanni doubled over, panting. “Then what?”

  “We walk.”

  “What?”

  Jess grabbed Hector and marched
forward to the edge of the trees.

  “Have you lost your mind?” Giovanni hissed, staggering behind her. “How do you expect to…”

  Jess pointed at the water. Or what was left of it. Wet mud glistened in reflected pink and greens from the lights in the sky, rocky outcroppings covered in seaweed dotting the almost empty bay.

  Almost empty.

  A thick band of deep water still stretched in a channel between the island and shore, but the water was still draining out—churning whitewater visible over the rocks even from this distance.

  “We walk,” Jess repeated, grabbing Hector’s hand. “And we need to hurry. Nomad will be here in four or five hours.”

  “Four or five HOURS?”

  “How is this a surprise? It’s almost exactly as my dad predicted.”

  They reached the edge of the tree cover, and she put a hand out, telling Hector to stay. She looked cautiously from left to right before stepping out of the shadows and onto the dock.

  “When the water comes back, it’s not going to be gentle. Not like the way it left.”

  “What are you doing?” Giovanni hung back in the shadow of the trees by the side of the dock.

  Jess hurried to a small wooden shack near the end, the tire of the dirt bike still sticking out from behind it. The keys were in the ignition. Finally, some luck. She wheeled the bike out and down the dock, scanning the villa up on the rocks for any sign someone saw them. Still nothing.

  “Come on, let’s keep moving,” Jess urged as she passed Giovanni and Hector, pushing the bike off the dock, down across seaweed covered rocks and onto the sandy mud.

  In her mind, Jess visualized the Earth, their location spinning toward Nomad as it raced at them from behind the sun. What time was it? Past three a.m.? The tidal forces still emptied the bay, but soon it would reverse as they rotated toward Nomad. “We don’t have much time.”

  She glanced up at the light show, pulsing and glowing, building in intensity, then at the village across the bay, lights twinkling in some houses. Nobody was outside looking up. The town looked deserted. Even here they must have heard what was coming. The men in the villa, though, they were disconnected. Unaware.