by Stevie Barry
"Woman's tough as shoe-leather, Ratiri," Geezer said. "She'd punch hypothermia in the face if she could."
Ratiri tried to smile, but it didn't quite work. "Tell me we'll get her back in one piece, Geezer," he said. "Tell me she won't be broken beyond repair."
"You're selling her short, if you think anything could break her. Once we get everyone else out safe, you and I'll go looking for her."
"You love her, don't you?" the reporter asked. Geezer had forgotten she was even there.
"More than anything," Ratiri sighed. "Knowing she's somewhere out there in this cold -- it's almost more than I can handle."
"Handle it," Geezer ordered. "And when we find her, you can spoil her 'til she gets sick of it."
That time Ratiri did manage a smile, just barely. "Let's go home."
Home. It was an unfamiliar concept to Geezer, who had wandered most of his remembered life. Could he turn his apartment into a home? Could he settle down in one place? Maybe it was time to. His fellow escapees were the closest thing to family he had ever known. Though he was a loner by nature, it was a habit he ought to break. They'd all gone through too much together to separate now. "Good idea," he said.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lorna woke the next morning stiff, cold, and very, very sore. Even her teeth ached, and her chilled hands were so stiff she had a hard time building up the fire again.
It was midmorning now, the sun washing everything with gold -- good grief, she must have slept close to twelve hours. One of the wolves had left her another furry offering in the night, and once her hands were warm enough she set about gutting it.
She was thirstier than ever, so much so that she decided to brave the stream. The water numbed her hands, but she scrubbed them well before she drank, and it was so cold it made her teeth ache even more. Small sips, to see how her body would handle it -- she could melt more snow later, if she had to.
Cooking breakfast was another messy, drawn-out affair, but food was food. And no matter how much she hurt, her head was clear for the first time since she'd been shot, with no morphine to dull it.
Lorna looked up at the sky, now very blue. Her mind shied away from the shooting, because to think of that would be to think of all that had followed. Even in this vast wilderness, the memory made her feel intensely claustrophobic, and she forced herself to breathe deeply while she stared upward, badgering mind and body into remembering she was free. Hurt, yes, but free, well-fed, her mind no longer hazed by drugs she would never voluntarily touch again. At least it felt better than her last detox had.
"Shift your arse, Lorna," she told herself. "You can't sit here all day."
Shift she did, swearing the whole way, and set about finding a walking-stick. She had to have something to lean on, or this bloody leg wouldn't support her long. The one she found was heavier than she liked, but she'd get used to it. Once she'd kicked some dirt over the fire to smother it, she turned south.
Part of her was afraid to run into the wolves, for all they'd helped her. They'd brought her food, but they could eat her just as easily -- she doubted her telekinesis could ward off a whole pack. Not in the condition she was in.
But she saw nothing of them as she limped onward, leaning heavily on her stick. Movement eased her stiffness, even if the pain only grew worse the longer she went. Chilly though the air was, the rising sun warmed her face, and Lorna smiled in spite of her hurt. Free, her mind sang. I'm free. And God help anyone who ever tried to lock her up again.
She thought of Ratiri as she hobbled, of where they would live, what they would do. Focusing on the future meant she didn't have to think of the past -- it would probably be a long, long time before she would be able to remember the Institute without having a panic attack. Her injuries made it impossible to ignore it entirely, but she was giving it the old college try.
This forest was gorgeous, and she thought she wanted to live in the woods. She liked the scent of the trees, the clean sweetness of the earth. Ireland was a place she could never live again -- she wasn't the same Lorna who had fled eight months ago. She thought it was eight months, anyway; she still wasn't sure how long she'd been in the Institute. It certainly felt like years.
Besides, Von Ratched would expect her to go back to Ireland. The Lady had as good as said she'd be facing him again, but it might be a long while before she was ready for that. No, she wanted to settle somewhere he wouldn't look, somewhere in the mountains. She and Ratiri could have a cabin, near enough some town where he could open a clinic, and she could either go back to bartending or into landscaping. She liked the idea of a job out in the open.
The thought distracted her from the pain, from worrying over the fact that she really was completely lost. Slow though her pace had to be, each step took her to the future, to a place where the pain would fade.
She pulled her braid over her shoulder, looking at it. The grey had advanced so much, but she no longer wanted to cut it off. Her hair was hers again, and as silly a thought though that was, it made her feel better. She was her own person again, with no one to pursue or covet her. And God, did that feel good. All she could do was hope it lasted.
----
Von Ratched was less pleased.
He'd stocked several bolt-holes away from the Institute, just in case he did need to leave in a hurry, and he stopped at one come the second dawn since his leaving. The DMA would be on their way north, and he didn't have the patience to deal with them. It was unlikely they would cross his path, but he needed to refuel and re-supply, and he ought to at least try to sleep.
This hole was literally that -- a tunnel bored into the side of a low hill. It contained water, winter clothing, some military meals-ready-to-eat -- the MRE's, he thought, had been designed for maximum inedibility -- as well as fuel, a gas stove, and some cookware. The water was frozen, and he had to melt some on the stove to make some coffee. The warmth it provided was meager, but it was better than nothing.
Somehow, Lorna had gone a lot farther than he would have thought possible. How didn't matter, though he would ask, when he found her. Something must have helped her, and he could only hope she hadn't made it to Anchorage. She'd be so much more difficult to hunt there.
This was likely a fool's errand, as Von Ratched knew very well. His odds of finding Lorna were next to nothing, but he had to try, for both their sakes'. She couldn't be forced to live with this.
He leaned back against a box of canned food, cradling the tin mug of coffee in his chilled hands. If he was honest with himself, his motives weren't entirely altruistic. He didn't want anyone knowing what he'd done, because he was embarrassed by such an egregious lapse of control. Being known as a murderer was something he didn't mind, but he so disdained rapists that he really didn't want to be remembered as one. It was selfish, but Von Ratched had never denied he was a selfish man. Killing Lorna would be a mercy to her, but it would also get rid of the evidence. At least he had the grace to be slightly ashamed of the thought.
----
In spite of his leg, Ratiri insisted on helping in the DMA hospital. Many of the former inmates were still terrified, but they knew him. A little Vicodin let him hobble around to see them all, reassuring them they were safe here.
The condition of some of them pissed him off, and set that alien animal stirring in his mind. Von Ratched must have decided a few of them were expendable, for Ratiri found eleven with improperly set broken bones, fresh surgical wounds, and one with an untreated skull fracture. The bastard must have taken his anger at Lorna out on the inmates, physically and mentally. Given the state of some auras, Ratiri thought a few might never fully recover.
Wrigley was in particularly nasty shape. Von Ratched hadn't physically harmed him, but his aura was so grey there was hardly any color left. He was curled in a fetal ball on the hospital bed, shivering, eyes vacant. Jesus, he was just a kid, and he might be permanently broken.
Julifer sat with him, a reassuring hand on his back. She looked exhausted, but she refused to b
udge. A nurse had told Ratiri she was a nullifier -- her curse let her suppress other people's, and she sat with Wrigley so he didn't have to be drugged again.
"Just relax, Wrigley," Ratiri said, pulling up a chair. "I'm going to clean out your aura. It'll make you feel better." Honestly, there was so much grey that he wasn't sure he could properly clean it, but even a little had to help.
The kid flinched, and Julifer rubbed soothing circles on his back. "Chill," she said. "You're safe. Nothing's gonna hurt you."
The grey was so entrenched that Ratiri's hands started burning almost immediately, even with the Vicodin. What had Von Ratched done to him? Even the woman with the skull fracture wasn't this traumatized.
That's what happens when you have an interesting curse. Ratiri scowled, wondering if he could get more Vicodin when he was finished -- his hands felt like they ought to be blistering. Wrigley, Lorna, himself, Geezer…they'd gotten an unfair amount of Von Ratched's attention, and they probably weren't the only ones. Mary the hover-woman refused to speak -- her head had been shaved, and there was a surgical scar along her left temple. She'd need an MRI, as soon as she trusted them to give one to her.
"Mengele," he muttered. "Modern-day Mengele. It's hard to believe that son of a bitch is human."
"No," Julifer said, "it's easy. You need a human's brain and free will to be that kind of monster."
That was an appallingly bleak outlook, one Julifer looked too young to have. If she was any older than twenty, Ratiri would be very surprised. "That's harsh," he said.
"I've heard stories about that bastard since I was little," she said. "My aunt was one of the people the DMA sent after him. I don't know what he did to her, but when I started working for Miranda, my parents made me promise I'd never go hunting him myself. They're gonna chew me out for hours when they find out about this." She smiled, but it contained no humor.
"Can he get in here?"
Ratiri looked at Wrigley, surprised to hear the boy speak. That had to be a good sign.
"No," Julifer said gently. "There's no way he could even find this place, let alone get in. You're safe here."
Wrigley didn't say anything more, and Ratiri was even more surprised at how easily he fell asleep.
"Go get some coffee, Julifer. I'll be here a while yet."
She yawned, and stretched when she stood. "Miranda'll want to talk to us later," she said. "I'll let you know when. Don't overdo it in here."
How could he not? He was a doctor. This wasn't exactly a medical procedure, but he would stick it out until it was done, because that was what real, good doctors did.
And however much it hurt, it was rewarding. Wrigley's aura was normally a mix of green and gold, and the colors grew stronger as Ratiri worked. They were still pale, but in time they would return to full strength. Ratiri would clean out the aura of every inmate every day if he had to -- it was the only true comfort he could give, the one thing he could do that anyone else couldn't. And however tiring it was, it made him feel useful.
He let his mind wander while he worked, trying to distance himself from the stinging burn of his fingers. Just how many different curses were there? Did everyone only have one, or did any of the natural-borns have several? He thought that Lorna's telekinesis and telepathy were two facets of the same curse, like his ability to manipulate auras as well as see them. Transfiguration, precognition, pyrokinesis, weather-manipulation, nullification, electropathy -- what else was floating around out there?
Miranda probably knew, and he'd ask her, once everything had settled down. He knew next to nothing of these curses, and once he had Lorna back, once he knew she was safe, there were so many questions to ask. They'd both need time to heal physically before they could think of moving somewhere permanently, and there was so much he wanted to know.
By the time he'd finished with Wrigley's aura, Ratiri was so exhausted he was dizzy. He didn't even have enough energy to get back to his apartment -- he staggered down the hallway until he found an empty room, and collapsed on the bed.
----
For once, Ratiri didn't have any nightmares, but what dreams he did have were not entirely comforting.
He found himself in the Garden, a section he'd never seen before. It was a mountain, forested with fir trees that smelled bittersweet in the afternoon sun. The air was hot and still, the quiet broken only by the distant call of birds, and he basked in it -- after so long in the chill of the Institute, he'd wondered if he'd ever feel truly warm again.
His leg was just fine here, whole and free of pain, and he tested his weight on it. Even here, Ratiri couldn't shut off his doctor's instincts, nor his scientific curiosity -- he wondered how this could seem so very real when his physical body was elsewhere.
"Ratiri."
He turned at the sound of his name, and found himself facing the Lady. Good grief, she was tall; for once in his life, he felt downright petite. There was something about her that made her seem beyond ancient, some force that was invisible but nevertheless tangible. She was the most alien creature he had ever met, the sheer power that surrounded her rendering her more than daunting.
And she had no aura. That alone would have told him she was no ordinary living thing, no mortal being. She had no aura, and she smelled like nothing he'd ever encountered -- her scent was cool and sharp, neither sweet nor bitter, but there was a faint trace of ozone, of an approaching storm. It was the smell of magic, and he'd come to associate it with the most powerful of the cursed.
"She will come to you soon, Ratiri. Lorna has her own journey to make, before you may find her, but find her you will." The Lady stepped toward him, laying her hand on his hair. "She is powerful now in a way she cannot yet handle, and is growing more feral than she realizes. When she finds herself among humans again, she will need your help. And you will need hers."
There was something comforting in the Lady's touch, though it felt downright electric. Ratiri found himself leaning into it like a child. "What do you mean?"
"What Von Ratched did to you is permanent," she said. "You will never be free of it, and there will come times when it will try to take you over. Do not try to hide that from Lorna. She is the only one who may truly aid you. I mean it, Ratiri -- you cannot do this alone."
He didn't want to know what 'this' was. So far he'd gained a decent control over that odd inner beast, and he really didn't want to be told his restraint might slip. Would slip, for he was sure the Lady wouldn't warn him if it were merely a possibility. "Will I hurt people?" he asked quietly. Prior to the Institute, he'd abhorred violence, and he still didn't like the idea of inflicting it on anyone but Von Ratched.
"You could," the Lady said. "But Lorna can stop you, and you can stop her. There are things she will tell you that will rouse that beast, and you must not let it. You must help her work through her own anger."
"What happened to her, Lady?"
"That is not for me to say." She lightly stroked his hair. "I will say that it has woken in her more power than a human being should have. You must help her, or she may use it to no good end. You make her a better person, Ratiri Duncan, and you will need one another. You to calm her rage, and she to calm your wolf. She is learning much of wolves, among other things."
Ratiri swallowed. "That's…not exactly reassuring," he said.
"The truth rarely is, child, but truth is what I give you. Sleep now, and dream no more."
----
Lorna was indeed learning about wolves, and under no good circumstances. As she'd expected, the stream water made her sick. Very, very sick, so much so that she was glad she'd only had a little.
She'd thrown up her breakfast a good half hour ago, and spent all her time since either dry-heaving or swearing. Her clothing was damp with chilly sweat, her joints felt like shattered glass, and all in all, she was starting to wish she was dead.
Somehow she'd managed to get a fire going before she wound up too sick to care one way or the other. At least it was warm, and when the sun set it kept the da
rkness from swallowing her.
At first it kept the wolves away, too, but one by one they snuck out of the shadows, sitting at the very edge of the firelight and watching her with glowing eyes. They looked rather puzzled when Lorna sat up again and dry-heaved, spitting bile.
"Go on, then," she croaked, "eat me, if you've a mind to." She curled up again, her head rested on her arm, the heat of the fire adding to the sweat on her face. The Lady wanted her to learn something on this trip, but what the hell was this meant to teach? She'd known drinking from the stream wasn't the best idea, but it was that or die from dehydration. Bit of a catch-22 there.
One of the wolves padded toward her, and Lorna met its eyes as steadily as she could. What little she knew of predators told her not to look away, because averted eyes were a sign of submission -- something prey did. And despite her words, she didn't really want to be wolf-chow.
The creature paused, and she forced herself to sit up again, still staring. The wolf halted, cocking its head to one side and regarding her inquisitively. She sensed no actual malice from it -- only an odd, almost human curiosity.
The one that slunk up behind it was another story entirely. Its teeth were very slightly bared, its tail twitching. The first wolf turned and snapped at it, and Lorna wondered if there was dissention in the ranks, or however it worked with wolves. She transferred her gaze to the second as it backed away, trying not to blink. Something hung in the balance here, though she was damned if she knew what. Whatever she did now would decide what was to come.
The pair circled one another, while the rest sat and watched. Wolf number two refused to back away, and snarled when the first came too close. There was an almost human arrogance about it, something no animal should rightly have. To Lorna's feverish mind it was too much like Von Ratched, and she felt a sudden urge to whack it with one of the burning branches.
Both animals paused, looking at her, and she realized she was actually growling, very much like Ratiri had immediately after Von Ratched's first experiment on him. It was a strange, inhuman sound, reverberating from the back of her throat, and it felt…good. Too good.
