The Dream Widow

by Stephen Colegrove

  Kaya knelt beside Wilson. “I’ll stay and watch him.”

  Janna went into the medical area and began powering up equipment for treating the wounded, while Mary led the women and children to the series of small rooms near her quarters. She organized groups for cleanup, food preparation, and safety. When she returned to the cavern, Kaya was still sitting beside Wilson, her hands covering his.

  Mary stood over them and sighed. “Can you do me a favor, dear? Can you tell Badger?”

  Kaya nodded and the chestnut braids on her shoulders bounced. “I’ll bring the second group down here, too.”

  She took a lantern from the cold floor of the stairwell and began the long journey to the surface.

  CLOUDS STILL COVERED the valley at midnight. The mud froze into brown ice and Hausen rotated defenders back to the warm blockhouse every hour. On the first floor, Badger and Mast huddled around an iron stove with other men from the village.

  Mast rubbed his bare hands over the heat. “Do you think he wants to give up?”

  “Are you serious?” Badger shook her head. “This is Hausen you’re talking about, remember? The hard-case that made us run every morning and started the knife-fighting lessons? If he needs to pound a nail he uses his thick skull.”

  “I know that Hausen. I just didn’t see the same man at the pass or in the trenches.”

  “People change,” said Badger. “Take it from me––seeing your friends and family die is not something you can prepare for.”

  Mast glanced at the three long scars that ran down Badger’s face from her temple to her neck.

  “It’s been hours. Maybe we should check on Wilson.”

  “If you saw him rip those machines off me you wouldn’t be so worried. He was like a furious whirlwind. A few months ago that was me. But now, without a working implant ...”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t let the bad men get you.”

  “Ha! Anyway, his mother is down there. If anything goes wrong you won’t miss the screaming and shouting.”

  Mast turned to warm his backside. “So what’s the plan?”

  A bead of water dripped from one of Badger’s dark braids and hissed on the metal stove.

  “When the women and children are safe, the lines pull back to the blockhouse,” she said. “From here we can defend the Tombs without being flanked.”

  The blockhouse door creaked open and let in cold air.

  “Parn! Shut that thing,” yelled Mast.

  The bundled-up tribal boy closed the reinforced entrance.

  “Sorry,” he said, and held up a large kettle. “Hot tea for everyone!”

  HAUSEN’S FEET CRUNCHED on the snow. Loud, too loud.

  He held both arms out from his sides and felt stupid, like he was expecting a hug. In one hand light gleamed from a candle-lantern.

  A pair of soldiers led him through the pass. Bodies lay covered in a dusting of snow and ice, as if the heavens wanted to spare Hausen from his mistakes. He wasn’t grateful, because he couldn’t forget.

  The soldiers entered the Circle camp’s grid of tents and cooking fires. They stopped Hausen in front of a blue-green tent. One of the soldiers slid his hands up and down Hausen’s body and checked for weapons again. He took the lantern and waved Hausen forward.

  He pushed the thick flap and stepped into the tent. The air inside was thick with a strange, sweet aroma.

  “Greetings,” said a pale-faced man in black. He waved a gloved hand at the chair next to him. “Please sit.”

  Hausen sat on the edge of the seat. “Are you Darius?”

  The man bowed his head. “I’m at a disadvantage. You are?”

  “I’m Hausen.”

  “I assume you’re here to talk about my letter. As I outlined briefly, if your village flies the white flag at sunrise or before, we’ll stop the attack.”

  “Flies the what?”

  “My apologies. Give up your weapons before dawn and all of this tragic and unnecessary violence will stop.”

  Hausen rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Then what?”

  Darius shrugged. “Life goes on, and both of our peoples begin a trading relationship. We have a vast network of merchants, and offer machined weapons, high-powered rounds, quality fabrics, rare spices from the south, and newly-printed books.”

  “What do you want in return?”

  Darius licked his lips. “Any pile of junk you have from the old days. Dusty old books that nobody reads anyway. Perhaps you’ve odd metal parts lying in a corner, or even working machines?”

  Hausen stared for a long moment at a dark splatter on the brown carpet. A metallic clicking sound made him look up. Darius had folded his hands and rapped the sharp metal thumbs against each other.

  “I’ll consider your offer,” said Hausen.

  Darius smiled. “I ask no more and no less.”

  WITH A VERY UNLADYLIKE GRUNT, Kaya pushed the stairwell door until it clicked.

  “Why does it have to be so heavy?”

  Claws scraped in the dark and the ugly dog trotted from a corner. Kaya rubbed the thick black fur at his neck.

  “Hello, boy! Time to go.”

  She walked through the red-lit chamber to the surface entrance and pulled a lever. The wide door opened enough for her to squeeze through and she ran through the cold night with the dog at her heels. They raced over the snow, Kaya laughing and the dog barking. At the concrete entrance to Office she hugged the mangy, deformed beast.

  Apart from the soft thud of Kaya’s moccasins and the click of the dog’s feet, the underground tunnels were deathly quiet.

  “I guess most people are waiting in the cafeteria,” said Kaya, scaring herself with the sound of her voice.

  She stopped in front of Delmar’s door and knocked.

  “Why don’t they answer? Flora was supposed to wait for me.”

  The handle wouldn’t turn. Kaya searched the pockets of her blue dress and pulled out a bent wire.

  “Delmar showed me a trick. Look here.”

  Kaya pushed the wire into a tiny hole in the base of the door handle and jiggled it. At last a mechanism clicked and the handle turned. She pushed the door open and screamed.

  In the center of the rug Flora stared at the ceiling, her mouth gaping. Her arms were twisted at wrong angles like a dropped doll. Blood covered her neck and chest and had soaked into the tan rug under her body.

  Dark blood dripped from an arm dangling from Delmar’s bed and pooled in a thick, uneven mess. Delmar lay sideways, eyes open and face as pale as an old candle. A slit black with clotted blood crossed his throat.

  Kaya ran to Delmar and hugged his limp body, sobbing. She heard the ugly dog growl and a voice spoke from the corridor.

  “Dear Kaya ... what’s all this screaming?”

  Tran stepped into the light. The ugly dog barked and growled louder.

  “You monster,” said Kaya. “Don’t try to lie––you killed them!”

  Tran shook his head. “You did. We were promised to each other, and you broke that promise.” He pointed at her. “You killed them, not me.”

  “That’s insane!”

  Tran raised his hands and took a step toward Kaya. The ugly dog jumped between them. It lowered its misshapen, mangy head and bared yellow fangs.

  “I’m only trying to protect you,” said Tran. “The Circle is going to win. Hausen, Wilson and the others will soon be dead. They won’t be able to lord it over us any longer. You and I can be together again. We’ll create a new village and a new family here. Together.”

  Kaya wiped tears from her eyes. “Go to hell.”

  Tran pulled a knife and the ugly dog leaped, knocking him backwards. The knife clattered across the concrete as Tran fought off the sharp-toothed, snapping jaws. He kicked the dog away and fled into the dark.

  Kaya ran through the twisting underground corridors in the opposite direction, the shining eyes of the ugly dog behind her.

  TEN

  “Hot tea,” murmured Parn. “Fresh tea.” />
  He wandered along the dark trenches with a wrapped tea kettle and offered the men drinks from a wooden cup.

  Tran met him in the central plaza. “Did you serve everyone?”

  Parn nodded. “Just about.”

  “What about the blockhouse?”

  “I went there first. Everyone had some.”

  “Even your father?”

  Parn hung his head. “I didn’t know what to tell him.”

  “It’ll be fine,” said Tran in the dialect. “Things are going to get very sticky, very soon. Stay close.”

  BADGER YAWNED.

  “Cat’s teeth, I’m so sleepy.”

  “Don’t talk like that,” said Mast. “It’s time to head outside. The cold should wake you up.”

  Badger rubbed her face. She walked away from the stove and curled up on the floor.

  “Aw, come on,” said Mast.

  He leaned over Badger and shook her arm. Something thumped behind him and he saw a tribal man lying near the stove. Muffled sounds and shouts came from the floor of the second story above. The rest of the tribal men in the room took a few steps, rubbed their faces, and slumped to the wooden floorboards.

  Mast looked at Simpson. “What the hell?”

  The old hunter checked the pulse of a fallen tribal. “They’ve been drugged. That tribal boy, what’s his name with the tea.”

  “But we all drank it!”

  Simpson grabbed his rifle from the wall. “We’re protected by the founder’s implants, don’t you remember?”

  The entrance door cracked open and a pair of olive-green cans bounced inside.

  Simpson pushed Mast away from the door. “Get back!”

  The room exploded in flame, scorching Mast’s face and knocking him off his feet. He stuck his face into his jacket and crawled through the smoke to Badger.

  The door and opposite wall burned with a ferocious white flame that threw brilliant sparks throughout the room. Mast swatted burning particles from Badger’s jacket and pulled her away from the heat. He reached the stairs and carried her to the second story as another blast seared the air.

  A half-dozen Station men watched smoke curl from cracks in the wooden floor.

  “Out the windows,” yelled Mast.

  With Badger in his arms he swung one leg then another out the open window. Mast breathed deep and chanted for a few seconds as flames hotter than a furnace scorched his back. He jumped and landed on his feet. Only when he’d sprinted a safe distance away did he stop and lay Badger in the snow.

  The blockhouse burned like a giant, crackling torch.

  HAUSEN HEARD A SIZZLING POP and crawled from his fortified corner of the trench. A brilliant fire roared from the blockhouse, bright enough to light the entire valley. Tiny figures, some covered in flame, leaped from the second floor of the structure.

  “Yishai! Where’s Yishai!”

  He searched the nearby trench. The large, bearded tribal was fast asleep and Hausen couldn’t wake him. All the tribal men were in the same sprawled and unresponsive sleep.

  Hausen left Carter in charge and ran toward the blockhouse. Halfway there he heard a handful of rifle shots crack from the trenches. A throng of black figures ran from the pass and across the frozen, snow-covered ground. The few defenders that hadn’t been drugged fired at the Circle desperately.

  “Hausen!”

  He turned. Something heavy and wooden smashed into his face and knocked him to the ground. A warm liquid dripped across his face and mixed with the freezing snow in his ear as the world spun circles. A hand pulled on his shoulder and turned his chin to the sky and the upside-down face of Tran. The fire shone on a long blade in his hand.

  “Look at me,” said Tran. “I’m the last thing you’ll ever see.”

  Hausen wanted the little bastard to be wrong. He wanted to stand up and rip out Tran’s heart with his fingernails. Instead, he closed his eyes and dreamed of his daughter, until he couldn’t.

  KAYA SPRINTED THROUGH the empty tunnels, her gasps loud on the concrete. One braid of chestnut-colored hair had come loose and whipped back and forth as she ran. The dim panels along the walls were her only light.

  She heard the babies crying while she and the ugly dog ran through the connecting tunnel to Barracks.

  Tribal women and children packed the low-ceilinged cafeteria. Some had curled up on the floor while others slumped against the walls. Infants bawled beside slumbering women, and toddlers tried to wake their mothers or had curled up in sleep themselves. Brownie and the remaining dozen or so Station women shook the drowsy refugees, trying to revive them.

  Kaya stepped over a sleeping woman and touched Brownie’s shoulder.

  “What happened?”

  “They drank something, tea with sleeping poison,” said Brownie. She turned and stared wide-eyed at Kaya. “You’re covered in blood!”

  Kaya wiped her eyes and gulped. “Delmar’s dead and Tran ... it was Tran.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Kaya shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. We need to get everyone to the Tombs.”

  Brownie waved a hand around the room. “Look at them! How long are they going to sleep?”

  “Brownie, we’ll have to leave them. We’ll carry the children now and come back for everyone else.”

  The wide Brownie folded her arms. “Young lady––I don’t see why we have to separate these babies from their mothers and go right this instant.”

  Back in the corridor the metal entrance hatch squealed. A Station boy in charred, muddy clothing ran into the cafeteria.

  “The blockhouse is on fire!”

  Brownie raised her arms and hushed the nervous chatter. “Calm down, calm down! Let’s take the children first.”

  Some of the tribals hadn’t drank the tea. Along with the Station women who hadn’t been affected, they picked up infants in blankets and led other children by the hand.

  Kaya ran through the entrance tunnel and opened the outer hatch. The clouds above her head were covered with a riot of noise and light. She walked up the steps with the ugly black dog at her heels.

  In front of her, the blockhouse burned like a festival candle and crackled with strange white flares that hurt Kaya’s eyes. To her right the defensive trenches were covered in smoke. Figures moved inside the haze and the strange Circle rifles popped in rapid yellow flashes.

  She gave a thumbs-up and led a procession of women and children across the snow. Many of the women turned away from the glare of the fire or shielded the children’s eyes with their own hands.

  Near the entrance to the Tombs she found Mast kneeling over Badger in the snow and trying to wake her.

  “Something’s wrong with her,” shouted Mast over the roaring fire.

  “I know. Take her underground,” yelled Kaya.

  The muscular teenager nodded and hefted Badger’s limp body over his shoulder. He followed Kaya and Brownie through the snow to the rusty fence marked “Restricted” and the concrete tunnel into the mountain.

  At the keypad Kaya stopped and waited. She looked at Mast.

  He shrugged. “What?”

  “What’s the code?”

  “I thought you were supposed to know it!”

  She tapped in a few numbers. The door beeped but didn’t open. “I kind of forgot. It starts with three ...”

  “... four seven two zero five three ...” mumbled Badger from behind Mast.

  Kaya typed in the code and the door rumbled across deep channels. Brownie led the line of women and children into the crimson light of the entrance room. The ugly dog followed with a tap of his claws and curled up in a far corner.

  Mast pulled a lever on the inside. The door had almost closed when Kaya squeezed through the gap and ran up the steps. “Going back for more!”

  “Wait!”

  He would have gone after Kaya but still had Badger over his shoulder. He walked to a spot near Brownie, who waited near the stairwell door, and lay Badger against the wall.

  “Same co
de,” said Badger, drowsily.

  “Three four seven two zero five three,” said Brownie as she jammed the silver keypad next to the stairwell door. It scraped open over the concrete. “Someone should write that down.”

  The ugly dog waited patiently next to the massive, shut door of the exit. When Mast pulled the lever the dog squirmed through the growing crack of concrete.

  Mast walked outside to a freezing night full of yells and rifle shots, but Kaya was already gone.

  BULLETS WHIZZED ABOVE THE TRENCH like mad hornets. Robb pushed and kicked the tribal men laying in the frozen mud.

  “They’ve been poisoned, stupid,” yelled Alfie from farther down the trench.

  Robb stood and fired his rifle at the swarm of soldiers running toward him, then pulled back the bolt arm on his rifle and reloaded. The wooden butt kicked his shoulder as he pulled the trigger and a Circle trooper tumbled face-first into the snow.

  He glanced at Alfie, who was also standing and firing his rifle at the soldiers. The young boy’s head suddenly snapped back and he slumped to the bottom of the trench.

  “No!”

  Robb scrambled over the sleeping men to Alfie. A round circle in his temple oozed blood. He lifted Alfie’s blonde head, covering his fingers in crimson blood. The boy gasped a few times and his chest stopped moving.

  He touched his forehead to Alfie’s for a second and breathed a prayer. Robb pulled his knife, leaped out of the trench, and sprinted through the attacking soldiers, snow flying like tiny bombs with each step.

  He carved a whirling path through the army and made half a dozen scream from stab wounds. Still using his speed-trick, Robb ran past the third trench and stumbled over a soft mound in the snow. He fell and rolled for ten meters, his head narrowly missing the concrete wall around the entrance of Office.

  Robb sat up from the snow and wiped his bloody hunting knife on his trousers. He crawled back to see what he’d tripped on and found Hausen’s bloody corpse.

  The Circle were in the trenches now. Robb crouched on the steps of Office and used the concrete wall for cover. He aimed at the muzzle flash of Circle carbines and shot the rest of his rifle shells.