by T. K. Malone
The path turned between two fields and headed toward the river. Teah decided she was committed to hiding in plain sight now, and she stuck her chin out, pulled her shoulders back, and made swift time along the track. Thirst riddled her thoughts as her energy began to wane. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a drink. Teah marched on, angling her face up, catching the rain in her mouth.
Midway across the valley floor she began to feel dizzy, her tongue growing fat in her mouth. She unslung her backpack and sat on it, head in her hands. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten to drink, to eat—just carried on her escape from the city. Cursing her stupidity, she tried to get up, but her strength failed her. She slipped the rucksack from under her, reaching into it, fishing around. Her hand grasped a bag; she pulled it out. Opening it, a syringe and a small bottle spilled onto her lap. The bottle was labelled ‘5ml when needed’ and filled with an amber liquid. She wondered if she was ill—was that it? And felt the back of her head once more. Trust, whoever was looking out for her, she had to have trust in them.
She drew the syringe.
Rolling her sleeve up, jabbing the needle into her vein, she sat back and waited, wondering what would happen. Her thirst evaporated as her mind became tranquil. Her dizziness subsided, and her energy returned. She packed the syringe and bottle of seemingly magical amber fluid away and stood. Cupping her hand against the rain, she lit herself a smoke, and continued on her journey.
“Hey, soldier,” a voice hollered out.
Teah looked around, realizing she was marching straight past a small homestead. The voice belonged to an elderly woman sitting on its stoop.
“You lost?” the woman enquired.
Teah shook her head. “A little thirsty, maybe,” Teah replied, remembering her earlier parched throat.
“Got a well out back, if you got the leanin’s to pull a bucket up. Say, you AWOL?”
“Leave,” Teah replied, the lie coming easy.
“Marge,” the old woman said, by way of introduction. “You gotta smoke? In exchange…in exchange fer a drink.”
“Yeah, I got one. Let me get my drink first.”
“’Around back,” Marge repeated.
Teah made to walk around the house, but hesitated. She shrugged her gun off her shoulder, pressing herself against the side of the house. She edged along it. Coming to the corner of the building, she wiped the sweat from her brow, her breaths shallow. She glanced around; a small yard out back, fenced in, a well in its middle, nothing out of place.
Treading cautiously, she made her way to the well, lowering its bucket, hearing it splash at the well’s bottom, winding it back up. She grabbed a ladle hanging to one side, her eyes darting around, looking for—expecting—trouble. Teah took a long slurp of water, followed by another. She turned and sat on the well’s circular wall.
“What the fuck’s happening to me?” she murmured, trying to clear her scrambled mind, rid herself of its paranoia. Looking up at the evening sky, she realized it had stopped raining.
“Where’s my smoke?” Madge’s voice rang out.
Teah rolled her eyes and went back around the front.
“You should stop trying to pass yourself off as army, young lady,” Marge said as Teah sat next to her and passed her the smokes.
“Say what?”
“Army, you ain't SDF, not like them up there. They don’t march straight, they slouch. You ain’t from out here either, so that, my dear, makes you a gridder. Strikes me there was a lot of bombin’ last night, lot of shooting. Strikes me they was hunting runnin’ gridders. What d’you think of that?”
Teah was feeling much better now, the water having slaked her earlier thirst. Or was it just the drug? And since when did she need drugs to feel normal? She knew the old woman had her nailed.
“Runnin’,” she said.
“Thought so,” said Marge. “Where too?”
“Preppers?” she ventured.
“Good choice. And quite the right way to go about it, if you don’t mind me saying. You going up via the old road? Cute if you are, but how’re you getting across the river? Strikes me you can’t have that clear in your mind.”
Suddenly, skulking across it in the dead of night didn’t seem like such a good plan. “Was kinda making it up as I went along,” she admitted.
“Well, you gonna learn a couple of things tonight. First off, country folk ain’t so bad after all, and secondly, they can always be bargained with.”
“Bargained with?”
“You got the smokes, and I’ve got the van,” Marge said.
The next morning, Marge’s van rattled along over the river and turned onto the old road that snaked up the valley’s side. Teah laid in the backseat, covered by a blanket, her machine gun lying across her chest.
“Say, do I really have to hide back here,” she said.
“Rain’s coming down again, Teah. You wanna walk?”
“Never said that.”
“Then you do as I say. There are plenty of prying eyes, ‘specially along this road.”
“’Cause of the army camp?”
Marge let out a chuckle. “You really don’t have a clue what goes on out here, do you? This here road forks ‘n leads to over the ridge. Mischief going on over there—I got no doubt about that. I can see helos, transport drones, all manner of things flying around there. Can see a lot from my little stoop. Not that I’m nosy or nothing. Just observant, that’s what I am. Plus, they buy my oranges, lemons, the folk that live over there—rich folk—heard they come from England, heard they fled before…”
Before the Russians obliterated the place. Even Teah knew about that. That was one of the things that had swept Oster Prime to power. They needed someone with guts, someone who could face down the enemy.
“And they ended up here?” Teah muttered, absently.
Her thoughts drifted away from Prime, her hand settling on her stomach. A baby, how in God’s name was she going to raise one? For a start, she didn’t know the first thing about them. How far gone was she? There was no doubt in her mind she was still pregnant—that the baby had survived her recent trials, and wondered whether it had inherited her ability to heal. Would she even survive the birth? She’d stashed away her doubts since May had told her, just concentrated on surviving. But now, for the first time in a long time, she had a measure of respite. “You got any kids, Marge?”
Marge scoffed. “Had some, three, one died, one ‘napped ‘n one buggered off. Some say a clean sweep. There ain’t much for ‘em round here. Think one lives in Christmas—heard that’s the boomtown, heard the bikers have made it rock. If I was a youngster, that’s where I’d head.” Teah heard her shift around. “Say, why don’t you go there?”
She heard her shift back. Marge screamed. “What the… Get out of the…” and the car lurched, skidded, crashed into something, and then swerved—the screech of tires, the sound of metal crumpling. Teah was thrown around the back, smashing against the seat, her feet drawn in, her head in her hands. She swept the blanket away to see trees, branches, the overcast gray sky, all seesawing back and forth. Marge groaned.
The car held there for a moment, and then a creak and lurched. It tilted further. Teah held her breath. She froze. Marge groaned again. “Marge,” Teah whispered. Marge groaned again and then Teah watched as her head slumped forward with the next tilt, a creak ripped around and the car slipped.
Slow at first, it picked up pace, branches scraping the sides, screaming, screeching. “Marge!” Teah shouted, but the car crashed into something and arced into the air, smashing into a trunk, bouncing into another. Spinning over and over, Teah was thrown around the inside of the car, pulverized until limp, and then the car folded in around her as her eyes closed.
The hiss of steam was the next sound she heard. Teah flexed her muscles, her arms, her legs. She opened her eyes and immediately wished she hadn’t. Marge’s lifeless head faced her, a branch skewering her neck, a stump where one of her arms had been ripped away.
The old lady’s blood dripped steadily on her face, flowing slowly down her cheek and neck.
Looking down her own body, she kicked at the door, but it didn’t budge. She reached up, pushing at the door above her head, now desperate to get away from Marge’s corpse, from the gruesome sight. Taking a breath, she tried to focus on the door by her feet. Bending her knee, she took a breath and kicked at it. “One,” she muttered.
She’d reached twenty-four when she heard the stumbling, the sound of someone skidding through the undergrowth. “Down here!” she heard a man’s voice shout. Her heart skipped a beat. Did she recognize it? It had a familiar lilt—a dread twang.
Teah calmed her breath, looked up, looked vacant like Marge. Pulling the blanket up, she felt for her handgun—the machine gun lost in the crash. She heard a rubbing on the window.
“Kin’ell, Roy, it’s ‘er.”
Shock raced through Teah, but she stayed stock-still.
“Who?” Roy bellowed from a little way off.
“That girl—Teah—it’s her.”
“Drivin’, that weren’t her drivin’.”
“Na, hidden in the back.”
“She dead?”
“Hey, don’t…”
“Give me a look,” Roy growled.
“No need to shove—”
“Every need. Gimmie your gun.”
Teah held her breath. A thud, and then another followed by the shattering of the window. Glass scattered all over her. She blinked, but opened her eyes wide straight away.
“Did she move,” said Kin’ell.
“Na, she’s dead as they come.”
“Shame.”
“Shame?”
“She was pretty n’all.”
Roy laughed. “She was a bitch.” He reached in, grabbing at the blanket, pulling it off. His hands snatched at the handgun’s nozzle, pulling it. Teah let it slide out of her grip. “She’s still warm,” Roy said, and cackled like a hyena. “Not fer long though, even she’s gotta stay dead. Anything in the front?”
“Haven’t looked.”
“Well look you fucking idiot. We gotta get to Meyer’s before he decides we’re surplus to requirement.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Just search the front, ‘fore I shoot you.”
“Jesus, Roy.” The front window shattered inwards. “I think I’m gonna puke.”
“What’s the matter with you?” Roy barked.
“She’s clean cut in half.”
“She got anything?”
“Bag…hang on…looks like a bit of food. Hey, hey, hey—jackpot.”
“What.”
“Machine gun.”
“That’ll do. Grab it. Let’s get outta here.”
“You gonna put a bullet in her…you know…make sure?”
Roy huffed. “And have the army on our tails? They’d hear the shot easy. Na, that’s the last we’ve seen of her.”
Teah heard them shuffling off. Roy growling as Kin’ell grumbled all the way up.
She waited until all was silent.
“Twenty-five,” she whispered, as she kicked the door again.
Chapter Eleven
The door gave way somewhere in the hundreds, sometime in the early afternoon. Teah slid from the seat, her rucksack snagging a few times before it finally let her get away from Madge’s corpse. The flies were busy already.
She took a moment, thankful that Roy hadn’t rifled her pockets, thankful for the smokes. Stealing one more glance at poor Madge, she looked up the slope. What had Sticks said? “Follow the path to the fork. Four miles then cut across the valley.” She sighed, no clue as to how far the fork was, no choice but to climb back up to the road. The car had cut a path through the slope’s undergrowth, scuffs in the wet mud told of Roy and Kin’ell’s struggles to clamber back up. Teah discarded the smoke, took a breath of the damp, forest air, and started the climb.
Among the vast redwoods now, she felt the familiarity of their power. It woke the memory of her and the army boy, Sticks, and she wondered when he’d become so important to her. Maybe, she thought, it was because he was her most vivid memory—something to cling to. Teah had known instantly that Roy and his mate were enemies, but she wasn’t exactly sure why, just a deep-rooted fear of them, though she couldn’t see that either—they hadn’t seemed a vast threat—fairly incompetent if anything. It was obvious to her she knew how to handle herself. Her instincts when the drone had attacked had told her she knew her way around a gun. Stiff, she thought, I was a stiff in The Black City. Teah smiled at that. She had the beginnings of a past.
The slope didn’t disappoint. Treacherous was an understatement. Twice, three times, she slipped back down a good portion of it. Twice, three times, she nearly gave up. By the time she reached the road, the afternoon had drifted to evening. Her head felt light, a familiar dizzy feeling, her tongue, fat in her mouth and that craving for water. This time, she knew exactly what to do and fished in her rucksack for the bottle and syringe, its mellow effects soon soothing away her cravings.
“Up, I guess,” Teah muttered to herself, and began the walk. It started to rain again. “For the love of…” she let slip.
Whatever was in the bottle gave her a good measure of stamina, she decided. Though her stomach grumbled, her energy never waned. She made good progress and only stopped for a smoke or two on the way. The moon was high in the sky—strong—spraying its silver glow around the wet undergrowth, reflecting off the vast redwood trunks, the moss, tarmac and rocky outcrops. The fork in the road marked a milestone for her, so she stopped and crawled under the cover of a low-hanging copse and lit herself another smoke.
It briefly crossed her mind to put up the tent, crawl into it and sleep, but she decided it was safer to keep on the move, use the night for the cover it lent. Roy, she wondered at him. Had he taken the fork like he’d said? Was that threat gone? And why? Why did she feel they’d both wronged her, that they were enemies? She thought about following them, getting answers, but decided she had enough on her plate just surviving.
“They can wait,” she muttered, and wondered if she was going mad. “Maybe I’m talking to you,” she said to her stomach. “We’ve already been through a lot.” Teah rested for a while, and then pushed on.
The road leveled, then began to fall. It had rained sporadically in the night and by morning she was soaked to her bones. She’d judged she’d gone far enough, guessed it was time to switch direction and head across the valley. She hoped she was near her goal. But the road had taken a turn as well, and now snaked down to where she was headed. Its route was tight enough that she could take shortcuts and forge through the woods to the next strip of tarmac.
It was obvious the road was barely traveled; its surface pocked with moss and bursting weeds. She descended the slope steadily, not a soul around her, not a hut with smoke curling up from its chimney, not a vehicle grumbling along. When the trees permitted, she could look right along the valley. The army encampment was a mere speck in one direction, the other way, it narrowed further, the sides both becoming sheer cliffs. Sticks had told her right, she thought, no way could she cross the valley further up. Midway down the slope, she felt her energy begin to dissipate, by noon, she was stumbling blindly on.
The slope leveled and offered a small, flat clearing. Teah knew she needed to sleep, needed to eat. It was time to stop, time to rest. Pulling the tent out of her rucksack, Teah unstrapped it and had to jump out of the way as it popped into shape. She pushed it into the cover of some bushes and crawled inside, soaked, exhausted, and famished.
She heard the breaths, the slurp of licking, and opened her eyes. It was dark, black, deep into the night. She knew instantly something was outside her tent. It was an animal, she was sure of that. It buffeted the tent, scraping its vast body against it. Teah tried to breathe as quietly as she could, but found her breaths coming in stutters. She reached around, her hands fumbling in the dark. Finding the flashlight, she put it between her legs. “Taser,
” she muttered to herself, and fumbled some more. Her fingers folded around it, she put it in her pocket.
The animal padded around. It was huge, she could tell by the dull thuds of its paws on the forest floor. Bear, she decided, though why she had no idea. It seemed a good enough guess. She had that familiar fat tongue feeling, dizziness coming on. “Not now,” she muttered.
More grunting, more licking, and more steps, and then they faded away, and Teah breathed a sigh of relief. She waited, counting again. At one hundred, she unzipped the tent and looked out.
Flicking the flashlight on, she filled the syringe and injected herself. Teah knew she needed food, but the liquid made her feel better, gave her energy. She popped the bottle and syringe in her tunic’s pocket. Putting the taser away, she balanced the flashlight on some rocks and looked at the tent. “How the hell do you get these down?” she wondered, then froze. The animal’s eyes reflected in the dark. It was staring straight at her.
She glanced at the tent, then back at the animal, unsure of her next move. The bear was standing still, just staring at her. Its grunts became louder, seeming more agitated. Teah looked at her flashlight, at the tent again, and then decided what to do.
She spun around and ran for her life. Instantly stumbling—instantly flailing her arms around—she didn’t dare look back. The slope was dangerously steep, her strides more like jumps, each time she planted her foot, the bark, mulch and mud gave way, making her slide another few feet before she could plant her next step and spring further down. A jarring spasm vaulted her into the air when she hit unforgiving tarmac, spinning her around, tossing her over the road. She bounced on the other side, bounced again and again, and then rolled and rolled down the slope. Somehow, she righted herself briefly, skidding down feet first, her backside scraping, banging over rocks and tree roots. Sticks and leaves flew past her on both sides, her scrambling feet like a plough carving through the forest’s detritus. Teah screamed. Her boots snagged on a rock, but her body continued on and she started cartwheeling on, only stopping when she slammed into the road again.
