I can barely keep my heartbeat calm. The view is wonderfully dramatic. Sliding tracks of poor Micka falling, bonking her head on a tree, and oh, look at this! — the impact was so hard, it ripped a few strands of her orange hair out. Oh no, she must have been knocked half-unconscious what with that sliding and slipping dangerously close to the swamp’s edge. Her sandal — why did she lose her sandal in the muck? Is that a footprint leading into the swamp? Did she…is that her sandal floating in the water?
I have to keep myself from grinning. White teeth flashing in muck-covered face wouldn’t do now. It might be cruel, but there’s no other way to trick Runner into carelessness.
I can’t hear him, but I know he must be very close. The few minutes head start weren’t all that much. When the tiny hairs on the back of my neck begin to raise, he steps into view like a large cat stepping out of the shadows. He, too, doesn’t wear his ghillie.
Are you feeling superior today, my friend?
I take aim and watch. Unmoving, he takes in the scene for a moment, then creeps toward the tree, centimetre by centimetre, and brushes the bark with my hair stuck to it. He stands, his rifle sagging a fraction and that is when I know I got him. I see his gaze sweeping to my sandal stuck in the mud, then the one floating like a dead leaf on the murky surface.
When he cocks his head, I know he finds the scene suspicious. I put the crosshairs right over his heart and squeeze the trigger.
Click. Plop.
He freezes, doubles over, and falls face down into the mud. He doesn’t move. Shit! Shitshitshit! I scramble down the tree, drop my rifle, and run up to him. I grab his shoulder and yank hard in an attempt to turn him around so he doesn’t suffocate. I barely register the flash of metal.
His knife is at my throat.
I snort. ‘Sorry to break the news, but you are dead.’
‘I’ve sucked up bullets before,’ he hisses. ‘As long as there’s life in me, I use it to kill my enemy.’
I point at the green paint blurred with mud. ‘Here. Shot through the heart.’
‘What if my heart is on the other side? There are people who have their heart on the right side.’
‘In that case, I would tell you I don’t give a shit just before I chop off your balls.’ I nod down to where my knife rests against his crotch. ‘You are a crappy loser.’ I let go of him and stomp away.
‘Micka, I’m being serious. A single bullet doesn’t necessarily kill. What happens when you are shot? Will you fall and give up? Or will you try to take down as many as you can?’
‘How would I know? I’ve never been shot.’ Fuck. I don’t even want to think about it.
‘Will you pull the trigger when I tell you to?’ he asks.
That stops me in my tracks. He wants to know if I can kill a man. ‘I don’t know,’ I say.
‘Hmm.’ He nods and lets it go. ‘I underestimated you today. When we return, you have to show me how you crossed that swamp without drowning. But the sandals were a tad over-dramatic.’
‘Shut up, you are dead.’ I’m walking faster. He has a point there, but that just makes me angrier. ‘You believed I couldn’t think, because I’m nervous because of what happened back at the comm tent and us going to Taiwan and possibly running into the BSA. You underestimate me because I’m a girl.’
The slop-slop of his boots in the muck are approaching. ‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Yes, you fucking did!’ I turn around and point my finger at his nose. ‘You think women are soft and need protection. That’s why you told me to get the toxic implant. That’s why you don’t tell Yi-Ting you’re in love with her. You protect her from yourself, the professional killer. And now it’s too late.’
Wow. That came out bluntly. Sometimes I speak like an axe in the woods.
‘Why would it be too late? This mission is low-risk. Besides, I can see how you are looking at her. Like a very lonely puppy. But you’ve never said anything either. Why?’
My chest contracts. ‘Because she likes you.’
‘She likes you, too.’
‘Bullshit!’ I stop and point my rifle at him. ‘If you keep annoying me, I’ll plop my second marker in your crotch.’
He lifts an eyebrow. ‘You turn into some kind of very prickly thistle every time someone offers you a friendly gesture. That might be a good method if you want people to treat you like shit. On the other hand, some people refuse to turn into assholes no matter what.’
My mouth wants to drop open, but I don’t let it. I set my jaw. ‘You’ve been a cold bastard ever since we arrived here.’
Runner just grins and walks past me. ‘Briefing in one hour. Well done, by the way.’
I can’t believe my ears. Since our training began, he’s never complimented me for anything.
The small aircraft sets down smoothly and slows to a stop. I hold on to Ben’s seat as inertia pulls me forward. During the short flight, I couldn’t bring myself to speak to Ben. All I did was gaze at his back — the small cockpit lights pinpricking the darkness — and wonder if we’ll ever meet again.
Ben takes off his night vision goggles and turns to us. ‘Elevation, five hundred metres. Can’t get you farther up; no landing strip anywhere near the observatory.’
And we’ll not get any lower than this. Runner and Kat consider all surface and groundwater from below five hundred metres elevation, as not safe to drink.
‘Thanks, Ben,’ Runner says, grabs his ruck and rifle, snaps his night vision goggles on, and jumps out without a goodbye.
I’m not as tough. I punch Ben’s shoulder and give him a peck on his cheek.
He grins. ‘Don’t you worry, honey. You’ll be back in no time and then I’ll let you ravage my hard body.’
The tension falls off. I bark a laugh and punch his shoulder once more. As I turn away from him, a memory of Yi-Ting hits me square in the chest. How she stood at the mouth of the comm tent when we were leaving, her outline cut sharply against the moonlight. She placed her hand over her heart, then to her lips before she waved her kiss to Runner. His expression was severe and he hid it quickly, lowering his head and bending down to tie his boot laces that were perfectly tied already.
‘I’ll bring him back for you,’ I’d told her and regretted this silly promise at once. For many years, Runner worked alone. He doesn’t need anyone to watch out for him.
I shoulder my pack, snap the night vision goggles in place, and grab my rifle. My boots hit the dry hard clay; the bulk on my back bending my knees upon impact. I straighten up and we walk a few metres, giving Ben’s machine space to take off.
We watch the small plane disappear, then trot to the very end of the runway, carving small marks into three trees while we walk back to the other end, assessing the distance as we go. We take our time, slinking from cover to cover and letting our rifles and scopes adjust to the higher humidity, temperature, and elevation. Silently, we lie down in the dirt, remove our night vision goggles, and aim our infrared lasers at the closest knife-mark. Nine hundred and eighty-seven metres distance shows in my scope in tiny red numbers. The night-eye paints the surroundings in shades of grey and green.
I aim and snap the first shot, watch where the bullet rips off the bark, adjust my scope and fire again. The night echoes the muzzle report. Fomp. Fomp. I know the BSA aren’t anywhere close, else Ben and Yi-Ting would have seen them on their flights. Still, I hate to produce noise. It’s as if I scream at the enemy, ‘I’m here! Come and get me!’
Two more shots for the next tree and another two fired at the farthest one. Then it’s Runner’s turn. While he zeroes-in his rifle, I try to adjust my eyes to the darkness. No stars light up the night, no moon. My pupils are cranked open to the max, but all I see are faint silhouettes in the corners of my vision. When I lower the night vision goggles, the world around me appears clear and crisp. I can breathe easier. The darkness was stupefying and Runner’s muzzle report did nothing to reassure me.
‘That’ll have to do,’ he says and stands. He brushes t
he dirt off his pants and we begin our march uphill. The SatPad is stuck in a side pocket of his rucksack. We’ll use it only in an emergency. We have no idea if the BSA can tap our communications. Odd, to be so cut off from the others. But I’m more creeped out by the fact that we can’t zero-in our rifles when we’re up at the observatory. The temperature and pressure up there will be lower, meddling with our finely tuned weapons. But it would be even creepier to fire shots in an area where the BSA could show up at any moment. The last thing we want is to let them know we are on the island.
There’s a one to two day hike ahead of us until we reach the border between Taitung and Pingtun at roughly one thousand seven hundred metres elevation. We’ll install an amplifier once we reach the crest. During briefing, we took a very close look at the images Ben and Yi-Ting shot of the observatory. It houses the island’s only intact satellite control centre. In the light of things, the observatory gained a whole new level of interest to us. The goal of our mission is to investigate and install a couple of mics. But getting inside the building undetected is another story.
While we quietly hike through the night, my thoughts are free to roam. And they travel unbidden to sweet Yi-Ting and the way she bid Runner goodbye. When I step on a twig and produce a crack, Runner stops. His pale grey-green features show surprise.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Stupid boots. I shouldn’t have put them on. Give me a second.’
I pull off my footwear, tie them on top of my ruck and make sure they don’t flop around; then I shoulder my pack again and nod at him to walk on.
I know what made me slip into boots in the first place. Taiwan is home to a variety of poisonous snakes and walking around barefooted became less enticing the more I thought about it. But there are also snakes that jump off trees and into your face whether you wear boots or not. I grew up barefooted and know how to move silently through the woods.
Drawing the attention of a bunch of heavily armed morons in black suddenly seems much worse than stepping on a Banded Krait.
Roughly four hours later, Runner stops and choses a spot to camp for the night. We drink water and eat a thick paste made of dried fruit, honey, and nuts.
‘We’ll hunt tomorrow. I don’t want to touch our provisions unless it’s absolutely necessary,’ he says.
‘What do you want to shoot? Deer?’ I’m trying to picture a bird the size of a quail, shot with Runner’s .50 caliber rifle. I wonder if the bird would be recognisable or if it would disintegrate into a spray of blood and feathers.
‘My air rifle is in my rucksack.’
‘Oh. Okay. Can we make a fire?’
‘In the daytime, yes. I’ll spread a tarp up high over it and we’ll be fine. Uh, another thing. Hygiene is paramount here—’
‘Do I stink?’ I sniff at my hand and wrist.
‘What? No! What I mean is, as long as we are below one thousand five hundred metres elevation, the forest here is full of biting and stinging insects, as you’ve noticed.’
I have. And I’ve slapped at the buggers a million times already. It hasn’t helped at all.
‘They can give you nasty infections,’ he continues. ‘Combined with this heat and humidity, you won’t last long. It’s not a problem on Itbayat because the stiff breeze blows mosquitos away from our camp. But here, it is. In the morning, I want you to check your clothing for inhabitants, make sure every scratch and every mosquito bite is clean and healing well. Make sure you do that daily.’
‘Now, I’m itching.’
He grunts a laugh, ties his hammock between two trees, and spreads the mosquito net over it. I set up mine between one of his trees and the one next to it. He’s talked about Dengue fever before. Although the disease is life-threatening in only a small portion of infected people, it would render me vulnerable in combat. You just can’t aim well when you run a high fever.
‘We’ll have to pack up before sunrise,’ I mumble when I roll up in my suspended bed and take off my night vision goggles.
‘I’ll wake you. Sleep now.’
Runner and his quiet commands, they work better than anything. I slow my breathing, and imagine the wiggling of leaves in the breeze high above me, and then I drift off.
———
When I wake up, he’s already sipping water from his canteen and re-analysing the images Kat transferred to his SatPad before we left.
‘Here, I found these next to the stream.’ Runner holds out two yellow fruits. I’ve never seen this kind.
‘You sure they are edible?’
‘Yes. I also refilled your canteen. Give me a minute, then I’ll brief you.’
I drink the cold water and watch Runner.
‘Jin-Shui Observatory.’ He points to the map on his SatPad. ‘This is where the last BSA attack was reported before we lost contact with our Taiwanese Sequencers. Fifteen kilometres away as the crow flies. The difficult terrain will make it an eight to twelve hour hike.’
‘How many Taiwanese did they kill?’
‘Approximately three thousand Taiwanese, Chinese, Philippinos, and Japanese lived here before the BSA arrived. Ben and Yi-Ting didn’t scan the entire south half of the island, so there might be people left. But we can’t be sure.’
My teeth pierce the skin of the fruit and sweetness explodes in my mouth. ‘Do you have a theory why the observatory appears undamaged?’ I ask, wiping my chin.
‘There’s nothing on the footage, which doesn’t mean it’s perfectly untouched. Damage of the structure seems minimal, though.’
I drink the last sip of water and sit down next to him.
‘We’ll follow this ravine until we reach an elevation of at least one thousand five hundred metres,’ Runner says, his index finger trailing across a greyish river bed that winds up along green mountains. He stuffs the SatPad into his ruck and stands. ‘We’ll leave in thirty minutes. I’ll prepare camouflage while you wash. One hundred metres down the river, a group of large trees protects you from view.’ He nods up at the sky. ‘Never forget the satellites. We’re safe only when the cloud cover is thick.’
When I make to leave, he adds, ‘Collect a few handfuls of chestnuts from the trees down there. They are sweet and can be roasted.’
Taking care to slip from tree cover to tree cover, I walk down to the small stream. Water is hopping over stones and whispering down the mountain. I pluck a few leaves off a chestnut tree and shed my brown cotton pants and sweatshirt. I never wear short sleeves, my skin makes for a repulsive sight. There are freckles on my shoulders and my chest, on my upper arms and very lightly on my lower arms as well. The dots are interrupted by crisscrossing scars that are more sensitive to touch than the unblemished skin surrounding them. If anyone saw this, they would probably retch.
I scoop up a handful of the reddish clay from the side of the stream, then walk a few steps and sit down in the water that feels wonderfully refreshing in this hot, humid weather. I rub the chestnut leaves over my hair and skin then wash the thin layer of foam off. A layer of clay is next. My fingertips rub the gritty stuff into hair and skin, working my way from head down to my chest. I rarely look at myself, but the changes my body has gone through in the past year are undeniable and rather unsettling. My breasts seem to be in the way all the time, the soft orange hairs in my armpits and between my legs tickle and amplify my body odour. When I was a child, I washed once a week. Now, I have to wash every day to not stink like a mix between a rotting pear and a fox. Sometimes I wonder why the others don’t crinkle their nose at me. But maybe it’s just me being repelled by my own smell?
I think of Sandra and how she kissed all my secret places. She must have found my flavours quite delicious, because she didn’t seem to be able to get enough of me into her mouth. I loved to feel her soft skin and hair, but other than that, I didn’t feel much. In my heart, I mean. I wonder how love might feel. What does Yi-Ting feel for Runner? I wish I could step in between the two, just for a second, to learn what this love thing is — to taste it. In my head, the word “lov
e” has the flavours of earth and wind and fire, mingling with my own imagination of what it might be like to feel this deeply for someone.
I bend down to wash my feet, taking care to clean the soles and the gaps between my eight toes. I quickly got used to the loss of the two small toes on my left foot. But I’ll never forget how I lost them. The unconscious Runner was wrapped up in a tent, the bite wound on his neck septic, and I was trapped up to my chest in a frozen river, both rifles wet, and a large pack of hungry wild dogs just behind us. I made it out of the river eventually and walked for who knows how far until Katvar and his sled dogs found us. My limbs were so frozen that my two toes couldn’t be saved.
I touch the small dog pendant at my neck. Katvar had carved it from a wild boar tooth, put it on a leather string, and given it to me when we said goodbye. He’d told me in his mute way that he liked me. Does he feel love? Or rather, did he feel love? Was it hard for him to let me go? I doubt he’d felt much, because we didn’t even kiss. All that had ever happened was a touch of his fingertips to my lips. Besides, I don’t miss him, and wouldn’t one miss the other when there’s love between two people? But maybe I’m unable to miss or love anyone. I don’t even miss my parents. I miss things, like the reservoir and the turbines I used to fix. But I don’t miss people. Maybe Cacho recognised this coldness in me and thought that I would make an excellent sniper. Maybe he thought I could kill without conscience.
I gaze down at my hands, where a pool of water shows my reflection. With a shiver I slap it in my face, rinse the clay off my hair and body, and leave to get dressed and collect chestnuts.
Runner sits where I left him. But now his face is darkened by a large hat made of palm leaves. White teeth flash in a smile. ‘Make yourself one as well. We want to look like trees from above when we don’t wear our ghillies. I’ll wash now, then we leave.’
A waxing moon illuminates the round top of the observatory. Two broad solar wings spread on either side, its base held aloft by a thin cushion of fog: a monster insect about to pounce.
Fog: The Climate Fiction Saga Page 4
