The Dream Widow

by Stephen Colegrove

  “Wilson! What in Founder’s name was that thing in the air?”

  Wilson jerked up a hand. “Save it. We need to fall back to the pass.”

  The flying machine with its deadly cannon had driven the Circle army out of the forest and back to the open field. Badger helped Wilson along the trail to Station as Hausen and Mast searched for wounded in the dugouts.

  At the entrance to the valley, Robb stopped in front of the pair in a cloud of grit. Leaves and twigs covered the front of his jacket.

  Wilson shook his head. “Now what is it?”

  “The screens in Reed’s office are going crazy.”

  THE ARMORED VEHICLE REVERSED into the middle of the field and stopped, its narrow cannon a twisted metal straw. The hatch at the rear squealed open and black smoke boiled out, followed by Darius and the Consul. Darius inhaled deeply and bent over, hands on his knees. A fragment of metal had dug across the bridge of his nose and into his right cheek.

  The Consul pulled out a patterned blue handkerchief and wiped soot from her face. A soldier in a black jumpsuit hopped out of the rear hatch.

  “Status,” said the Consul.

  The soldier bowed. “The weapon is damaged. We may not be able to repair it until we return home.”

  The Consul pointed at a distant crack in the mountains––the pass into the valley.

  “Can we at least drive it up there?”

  “I don’t think so, Your Grace. The vehicle was not designed for a steep landscape.”

  Darius laughed. “Finally an honest man! It’s either brave or foolish to be one these days.”

  A boom came from the nearby mountain. Darius and the Consul watched as a silver needle arced into the sky. It sprouted wings and glided over the treetops.

  Darius pushed the Consul under the armored transport. They lay on the wet, crushed grass and listened to the faint whine of the aircraft. A cannon fired with a strange, air-slapping sound. It left after less than a minute and Darius heard horrified shouts from the Circle troops as they found their dead comrades.

  He crawled outside and helped the Consul to stand. At the rear of the armored vehicle lay the soldier in the black jumpsuit, a charred hole the width of a man’s hand in his back.

  The Consul brushed dirt from her black leather jacket and stared at the corpse. “I didn’t believe it, even when those young men vanished from our gunnery sights. But now ...”

  Darius spread his arms and smiled. “Now you trust me?”

  “No. Right now I think they’ve got something to hide.”

  BACK IN THE RECTORY, Wilson hunched over a draped body on the operating table. Holding a silver pen with a glowing tip he followed a long incision on Carter’s abdomen and cauterized the wound. He finished and handed the pen to a teenage boy wearing a white armband.

  “Done. Take him to a recovery room.”

  “No,” said Carter, sitting up. “I can do it myself.”

  Wilson washed his hands in the sink. “Janna––was Carter the last critical?”

  “Yup,” said a blonde girl at the door, another Medic student. “There’s a bunch of yellows and greens though.” Metal hinges squealed in the corridor and Janna leaned outside to look. “Your mother is here.”

  Wilson watched Mary close the entrance hatch. Injured men lined the floor of the corridor and Medics ran back and forth with blankets and cups of painkiller.

  “What’s wrong, mother? I tried to contact you but the displays in Reed’s office are haywire,” he said.

  “‘Haywire is a good description of things underground,” she said and brushed snow off her fur cap and jacket. “All the machines are going crazy.”

  “What about Reed?”

  “I couldn’t get close to him! I barely made it out myself.”

  “All right. I’m glad you’re safe. I’ll get down there as soon as I can. Are you on the way to Barracks? Can you tell Robb’s mother we need food brought here for the wounded?”

  “Sure, Cubbie. But you have to promise you won’t go to the Tombs alone. It’s not safe!”

  “I’ll be fine, mother. Don’t worry.”

  She exited through the hatch and Wilson wound his way through the crowded corridor to the office. He spoke a few words to each of the injured villagers on the way.

  The large display map on the wall and the screen on the desk were still covered in lines of numbers, none of them having any comprehendible pattern. He tried again to contact Father Reed and even went as far as pulling out an old manual keyboard. The screens refused to respond no matter what he tried.

  “At least we’ve still got power and heat,” he murmured.

  “Right, but for how long?”

  Mast stood in the doorway, his clothing covered in mud and black, shiny patches of blood.

  Wilson stood and knocked over a chair. “Are you shot?”

  “No, it’s Mina!”

  Wilson rushed to the treatment room. A pale blonde girl lay on the operating slab, the skirt of her cornflower-blue dress and leather trousers soaked with blood. Janna, the blonde Medic, frantically attached wired discs to Mina’s arms.

  Wilson chopped his hand sideways. “Forget about that and find the other Medics!”

  He pulled up Mina’s skirt and saw bright blood streaming from a hole on the inseam of her trousers. Wilson grabbed a white cloth and held it on the wound.

  “Here,” he said to Mast. “Push down.”

  Mast’s face turned white as Wilson cut through the leather of Mina’s trousers. He tossed the scraps in a corner and Janna reappeared with Lizzie and another Medic. Lizzie wore a new set of clothes and her head was wrapped with a thick white bandage.

  Wilson pointed at Lizzie. “Not her! She needs to rest.”

  “I don’t feel that bad, and you need my help.”

  “Fine. Surgery’s already powered up but double-check. Also hook Mina up to the monitors.”

  He went to a black cube in one corner of the room, a machine Reed had found in the Tombs a few weeks ago. Featureless and measuring half a meter on each side, it was a liquid sterilizer. White tubing ran from the back of the cube across the ceiling to the silver and white medical unit and treatment slab.

  Wilson touched a small display no larger than a thumbs-width and the cube began to hum. Lizzie and the two students pulled off Mina’s dress and attached the wired discs and belts to her pale skin.

  “Do something,” said Mast. “She’s not waking up!”

  “I’m doing it,” said Wilson.

  He touched symbols on the viewscreen. A band around Mina’s left arm tightened. A silver arm popped out of the side of the medical unit with a needle attachment. It moved to the crease on the inside of Mina’s left elbow and slowly inserted a needle. A clear window in the arm flashed red and Wilson attached the dripping tube from the ceiling.

  He touched more symbols on the viewscreen and took a pair of silver, pencil-like tools from the medical unit.

  “Step back,” he said to Mast.

  “Is she going to be okay?”

  “I can’t tell yet. Put a finger here and press hard.”

  Mast pushed on a pressure point and Wilson pulled away the bloody cloth. The hole in Mina’s leg still streamed with arterial blood.

  “Her pressure’s dropping!” yelled Lizzie.

  Wilson grabbed the attached display and swiped through screens rapidly. “I have to cut the leg. Mast! Look at me!”

  The big teenager stared at Wilson. “What are you talking about?”

  “She’s losing too much blood and I’m not trained for this. The machines can cut it for us, that’s not a problem.”

  “You’re crazy! Why would you have to––”

  Wilson grabbed his arm. “If I don’t do this, she’s going to die.”

  “Fine.” Mast closed his eyes. “Fine.”

  Wilson pressed a series of symbols on the display. A tarnished arm clacked from the base of the bed and rose over Mina’s body like a hooked finger. A high-pitched beep sounded
from the display.

  “Look away or get blinded,” yelled Wilson.

  He grabbed Mast around the shoulders and both stared at the wall as a long series of brilliant flashes crackled the air.

  The pops of white light ended, along with the warning beep. A black line marked Mina’s right leg, a few centimeters above the wound on her thigh. Wilson wrapped Mina’s now-amputated knee and lower leg. He pulled it apart to examine the cut and Mast saw pink scar tissue.

  “I can’t believe what you just did,” he said.

  “Janna, program another line and increase fluids,” said Wilson. “Lizzie, set up the rest of the equipment,” He turned to Mast. “Reed’s not here, and I’m not a trained surgeon. The machines have a few settings and that was the only way to save her life.”

  “Pressure rising now,” said Janna.

  “Mast, tell me how in founder’s name she was shot?”

  “It’s all so stupid,” said Mast “She and a bunch of the tribal girls came to the pass, all wanting to help.”

  “Why didn’t you––”

  “I’m not an idiot! Of course I told her to leave, but she was hit only a second later. Probably a ricochet.”

  Wilson stared at an interior view of the amputation on a display.

  “I think she’ll be fine now,” he said. “Should be fine in a few days.”

  “Are you forgetting something? She doesn’t have an implant.”

  Wilson nodded. “You’re right, tribals take much longer to heal. The leg is cauterized but it might take a month or more before the pain goes away.”

  Mast didn’t say anything. He moved closer to Mina and held both of her hands.

  “She’s going to be okay, Mast.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Janna will take care of her,” said Wilson. “I need you to tell Badger and Hausen that I’m going to the Tombs.”

  “Why now?”

  “Something’s wrong with Reed. Don’t worry, I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

  Wilson stuck his arms through his leather jacket and tightened his knife and gun belt around his waist.

  A thin layer of snowflakes dusted the steps to the surface and the sky was bright with a lazy flurry. Gray clouds had dropped close to the earth and covered the mountains around the valley. From the south, the pass crackled with gunfire and the occasional thud of Circle explosives.

  Wilson crossed the circular stone plaza in the center of Station and walked north.

  “Wait!”

  Alfie and another Runner slid to a stop next to Wilson. The two boys left long horizontal tracks on the snow-sprinkled ground, like wagons skidding across a frozen lake.

  “Did you find anything?”

  Alfie shook his head. “Twisted metal and parts everywhere. Must have hit the ground pretty hard.”

  “Thanks for looking. I’m going to the Tombs and I need you to find more people to help with the wounded. Janna’s in charge of the rectory while I’m gone. Once you get five or six helpers, get to the pass and see Hausen.”

  The boys ran off, leaving miniature tornadoes of snowflakes in their wake. Wilson watched the snow float down and freeze in the wide-spaced footsteps.

  BETWEEN THE PINES of the foothills and the mountains lay the pass into Station.

  Whether excavated by ancient machines or cracked on the slow grindstone of time, it was the protected airlock for the valley. A narrow, serpentine trail twisted through the high granite walls and over rotting spruce trunks and fallen hunks of rock. The pass spanned five meters at its widest point, but in the sharp turns a man could stretch out his arms and touch both walls with no problem.

  Badger ducked behind a granite boulder at one of the turns. Dirt and rocks flew over her head with an earsplitting boom. She glanced at a snowflake that had fallen from the sky only to melt on the barrel of her rifle, then pulled back the bolt with a clack. She dropped the empty brass into her pocket and slid in a gleaming new round.

  After wiping grit from her eyes and counting to five, Badger aimed around the edge of the boulder. A half-dozen Circle troops were sprinting through the whirling snow in their mottled green and brown uniforms. Badger wondered how they hit anything with the short barrels of those strange guns. The butt of her rifle kicked as she snapped off a shot. The bullet tore through one soldier’s neck and tumbled into the chest of the man behind. The others dove for cover and Badger reloaded.

  There would be no mercy for anyone if the village fell. She, more than anyone, knew that.

  A trio of hunters crouched beside her, waiting to take over. At their backs and farther up the trail was the snow-covered mound of an underground bunker Simpson had constructed last week.

  Badger fired twice more and Zhang touched her shoulder. She fired again and Zhang pulled her away from the fight.

  She jogged a short distance up the pass and passed a dozen village men with rifles, ready to fire if the Circle charged out of the granite choke-point.

  Inside the bunker, Hausen waited with another dozen hunters.

  “Status,” he barked.

  Badger tried to rub the cold out of her nose. “They’re still coming. On and on, like the devil’s at their heels with a red-hot poker.”

  “How much ammunition do you have left?”

  “Four. The other three have about a dozen.”

  Hausen gave her a handful of golden shells. “Here’s more. Tell them we’re pulling back in ten minutes.”

  “What? This is easier than target practice––we’ve got them bottled up and running straight into our sights!”

  Hausen shook his head. “We’re too far from the village and the snow is falling harder and harder. The Circle has more rifles and men than we do–”

  “What does that matter? They can’t shoot around corners.”

  “No, but they can rush all their men forward, instead of the dribs and drabs they’ve given us so far. Once we get them out in the open with a clear field of fire they’ll drop like flies. Our rifles are long-range, not like those toys they’re carrying.”

  “If the snow keeps coming down like you say, we won’t be able to see them in the open,” said Badger. “Much less hit anything.”

  “I don’t have time to argue,” said Hausen. “Get some water and rest.”

  Badger stared at Hausen’s worn, dirt-streaked face for a moment. She jabbed a finger at his nose.

  “Don’t tell me what to do. And don’t make stupid mistakes.”

  Hausen looked away. He opened his mouth to say something grim but Badger had already squirmed out of the bunker’s tiny exit.

  She knelt in the growing flurry of snow and used her fingers to count the remaining men. Thirty-six. Three dozen to hold the pass. Plus forty back at the village with Yishai in case there was a break-out. Nelson and ten men guarded the trail that ran over the shoulder of Old Man. All but one of the Medics were back at the rectory and the Runners were busy carrying messages, ammunition, and supplies.

  The big, loutish Mast jogged along the path from the village. He stopped near Badger.

  “There you are,” he said. “Wilson said he’s going to the Tombs.”

  “So?”

  Mast shrugged. “He just wanted me to tell you.”

  Badger sighed. She pulled Mast and the eight remaining students into a huddle.

  “Work in pairs––one using a trick and one ready for a rescue. If we keep a grip on things right here the Circle can’t break through. If they do attack in big numbers, don’t fight it and just fall back to the trenches. Got it?”

  The students all gave a thumbs-up.

  Badger pointed at Robb. “You know how to climb, right?”

  The redheaded teenager nodded.

  “Check your rifle and bring ten rounds,” said Badger.

  She left her empty brass with the resupply boy and walked a short distance up the trail toward Station. At a set of small ledges in the sheer rock she slung her rifle on her back.

  “The hardest part is the firs
t five meters.”

  Badger tightened her shoes and gloves and began to climb hand over foot. She pulled herself over the top of a wide ledge with Robb right behind. The pair inched sideways along a narrow lip on the granite wall. They squeezed through a wide crack and lay on a flat rock.

  Snow skidded over them and whirled down to a long line of Circle troopers around a corner of the rock canyon. All were crouched and gripping those short rifles in their hands. Near the bottleneck defended by the villagers, a pair of bodies lay bleeding in the snow. From the eastern, Circle-controlled end of the pass Badger heard a steady hammering and faint shouting.

  “Sounds like they’re making camp,” she whispered.

  Badger bit the finger of one glove and pulled it off, then lay it at the edge of the drop-off as a cushion for her rifle. She lined up the post and pillar of her sights on the farthest Circle trooper and fired. He slumped into the dirt as the sound of the shot bounced on the walls of the pass. The other soldiers swiveled their heads left and right. Robb’s shot panged off the rock wall and the troopers looked up.

  Badger and Robb reloaded as dirt and chips of granite spattered on them from the missed Circle bullets. Badger slid to the edge and shot a man trying to drag away the first wounded soldier. Robb’s second round cracked into the black carbine of another soldier, blowing it apart in smoke and shards of flying metal.

  “Got one!”

  “I asked if you could climb,” said Badger. “I should have asked if you could shoot.”

  The Circle pulled back with the wounded men, but not before Badger had shot two more and Robb finally hit a soldier in the leg.

  Badger handed Robb the rest of her shells. “Stay up here. I’ll bring some furs and water.”

  She inched back along the narrow lip and carefully descended along the same small divots in the rock she’d used before.

  Mast ran up to her from beside the dugout.

  “Kira! I just heard from a messenger––”

  “You already told me. Wilson went underground.”

  “That’s not it. One of the Runners saw Mary at the cafeteria. She said the machines are ripping the Tombs apart.”

  EIGHT

  The spout of the brown teapot clinked as Tran poured hot water into a painted cup.