My disguise gives me courage. I run my hand up along the line of black hair from his stomach to the soft curls on his chest. He catches my hand and kisses my dirty fingers. I lean closer to caress his face, leaving grey trails along his cheekbones and in his beard. I’m surprised at its silky feel.
He picks a leaf off my left breast then rests his palm there. I bite my tongue so as not to sigh. The toxic pearl clicks against my teeth. My heart is knocking against the rough skin of Runner’s hand. I lean closer. My face is only a handbreadth from his now, and I can see the patterns in his dark irises, his wide-open pupils. And I can see my own reflection there — I’m not pretty.
But will he kiss me anyway?
Would he, please?
When his fingers trail softly down my neck and his gaze wanders to my lips, I pounce. Our teeth collide. Our kiss is hungry, like two starved souls feeding on each other. He tastes of forest and fresh soil.
I grab his hand and push it between my legs. His fingers curl inside me as he inhales my sighs and presses his body closer to mine. Arching against him, I swallow his moans and explode only moments later.
I don’t want to look at him. I want to come again and again, scratch the itch, fuck his fingers, fuck the weeping away. It’s stuck in my throat, chafing it, aching, cutting my air off.
I press my face to his neck and a sob escapes my mouth.
When he gently pulls his hand away, I look up. I want to say that I’m sorry, that I’m disgusted with myself, that… But he silences me with a kiss, holds me in his arms and shares his warmth and calmness.
I cry until his skin is damp with my tears. All the while, he holds me to him, never telling me that all will be okay, never telling me that it’s time to stop weeping, to pull myself together.
How can such a small life weigh so heavily that my chest doesn’t know how to breathe? All the people I’ve killed… I don’t even know how many. Thirty? Fifty? But this little one who was already dying, the most fragile of all, is killing me. Every breath I draw across Runner’s skin feels like my last. I’m losing a battle. I want to curl up until the forest eats me, until beetles and maggots dig through my flesh and I can rest in peace.
Peace.
Wouldn’t that be wonderful and sweet?
I inhale Runner’s scent and realise it is not only Ezra I’m doing this for, not just her I want to protect. It’s him — mostly him. How stupid is this? He’s the professional. I’m a bloody novice.
I press my forehead to the crook of his neck, not daring to kiss him there, because suddenly it feels as if this closeness is too much. I can’t handle the softness of his touch; it breaks me. He is not mine.
I’m ashamed I used his pity to get myself off.
Swallowing, I push away and stand. ‘I’ll kill the fuckers. All of them.’
He blinks and wipes mud off his eyebrow. Before he can open his mouth and comment on my freakout, I say, ‘I’ll wash. Briefing in a minute, then we’ll get a move on. Kat needs us.’
‘Yeah,’ he croaks.
I peel off the bandages and dunk them in the water. Clay and leaves tumble downstream. There’s dirt in my wounds, dirt all over my body. I scrub myself and gingerly dab at the sutures. A dipper flits past and dives through a curtain of water falling down a pile of rocks. I watch and wait. A few moments later, it dashes back out and flies away. It must have its nest there. I smile and, for a moment, I forget what and who I am.
A small noise hauls me back, the crunch of bare feet on sand. The coarse surface of the rock digs into my butt and I focus on the sensation of stone against skin. I’m undecided whether to freeze, or to wrap my arms around my legs, pull myself into a knot and hide. The familiar urge to disappear raises goose bumps on my skin.
‘Let me,’ Runner says and places a MedKit and my clothes on the rock next to me.
He can see me now. There’s no dirt concealing my skin. I’m scrubbed clean and every scar is as sharp and clear as it gets.
‘You seem…cornered.’ A hand taps my knee lightly. ‘Did I hurt you?’
No, but you will now. I turn to face him, laying myself bare and watching his gaze wander over my body. He reaches out and touches my 1/2986.
‘This is the first scar you showed me,’ he says and brushes his thumb across it. ‘And the second.’ He places a palm over my DIE. ‘I don’t know what shocks me more. That someone cut this, or that you felt so much pain you cut the others.’
You don’t have to look.
‘Talk to me, Micka.’
‘I can’t.’ You’ll walk away.
His hand slips off my back. My skin feels cold there now. I watch the crunch of bare feet on pebbles. He kneels in the riverbed, opens the MedKit, and begins cleaning and disinfecting my side. He dabs my skin dry, tapes a bandage over the injury, and moves down to my leg.
‘I can deal with whatever you throw at me, but I can’t deal with your silence now,’ he says, fastening the gauze around my thigh.
I hold my arms straight out, like an offering. ‘Look at me.’
‘I am.’ He cocks his head as if he’s wondering what I’m getting at.
‘I’m waiting for you to run away. I’m a…I’m a…’ Fuck, I hate crying. I hate the shitty clump in my throat. I want to be strong, set my jaw, and take, without a flinch, whatever life dishes out.
He takes my hand in one of his and places a fingertip on my wrist. ‘I grew up in the desert. I love it; it’s such a beautiful place. I love the sand…’ he traces my freckles with his fingers, ‘…the wild landscape scarred by countless battles…’ a zzzing shoots from this scar all across my body, ‘…the sunsets.’ He runs his hand through my orange hair. ‘I’m looking at you, Micka. What scares you so?’
‘Everything,’ I whisper.
His eyes darken, a frown hardens his features. I owe him an explanation, but I don’t quite know the answer, either.
‘For a long time,’ I stammer, ‘I was no one. But I chose it; it’s okay.’
Then, the truth forms and words tumble out of my mouth. ‘I chose to be invisible instead of being unwanted. And now, it’s hard to be seen, to be listened to. It makes me vulnerable. The hurt will come back. That’s what scares me.’
He nods; his gaze rests on my face and there’s a deep sadness that makes me want to reach out and touch him. But he’s faster. His fingertips brush my cheek. ‘Don’t disappear, Micka,’ he says softly.
Runner is walking ahead of me. I told him I can walk just fine. He knows I’m lying, but he lets me be. I don’t know what’s going on with me. Nothing makes sense anymore. Everything is jumbled.
He stops and extracts the SatPad from the side pocket of his pants, again. Every few minutes, he tries to contact Kat. She never answers. He pretends to wait for her reply, but in truth, he waits for me to catch up. My injured leg annoys the heck out of me.
About an hour ago, he climbed a tall tree and scanned the coast, checking to see if the BSA had dropped anchor at Gonggang, but the harbour was empty. We have no idea where everyone is.
‘—get the railgun back in position!’ screeches from somewhere. Stunned, I lift my head. Runner is rooted to the spot. Commands echo from his SatPad.
‘Kat? Kat! What’s going on?’
‘Runner? What the hell—’
The noise of a nearby detonation cuts her off. Swaying, she comes back into view. Behind her, people are flitting in and out of focus, shouting, hammering on keypads.
‘Where are you?’ Runner asks.
‘Southern tip, right at the bay. The BSA has three destroyers — we sunk only one of them — the rusty one they let us see days ago. Shit, Runner, we stepped right into their trap. Our ships are all down. This one is sinking. We’re losing the battle.’
Ask her about the temperature of the reactor, trails across the screen.
Runner stares, his face loses colour, and he sits down heavily. ‘Kat?’ he breathes. ‘What’s the temperature of the reactor?’
‘What?’ she shouts.
The nuclear power plant, not the ship’s reactor.
‘What the fuck?’ I whisper. No one hears me.
‘Kat, listen to me. Check the temperature of the nuclear power plant with an IR sensor. Now!’
Kat doesn’t ask why, she just turns away and yells a command at someone, then says, ‘We thought you were dead. Micka sent a text message…’
‘What? When was that? I didn’t send anything.’
She has no time to answer. The ship tilts and groans, metal screeches, and Kat is ripped from view.
‘Kat?’ Runner and I shout simultaneously.
No one replies. Runner points to one of the large windows where the deep blue ocean is gushing through.
A stranger’s face pushes into view, he squints at us. Blood is leaking from a cut above his eyebrow. ‘Did you ask us to check the temperature of the reactor?’
‘Yes, I did,’ Runner answers. ‘Anything out of the—’
‘All reactors are in meltdown. The walls are hot and about to blow. Did you do this?’
‘What? No!’ I shout. ‘We have—’
The live-stream is cut off, the screen turns black. Runner makes a noise as if someone kicked his chest.
It is time, Mickaela, crawls across the SatPad.
‘For what?’ I ask, and Runner raises his hand to type it for me.
But Erik is faster. ‘I can hear you.’
‘Why?’ is all I can manage.
Because I can.
I open my mouth, but Runner grabs my hand and tugs at it. I look at him. He shakes his head no, then says, ‘You said it’s time. For what?’
I’ll not speak with you, Arab.
‘Fuck you,’ I growl, bend down and whisper in Runner’s ear, ‘What does Arab mean?’
He looks up at me; his eyes are warm as his palm brushes my cheek. ‘It is a reference to my home country. Ask him what he wants, Micka.’
‘What do you want, shitstick?’
The reply comes quickly. It’s not so much about what I want. Despite your lack of respect, I’ll be generous and give you two options. One: you stay with your comrade and die a rather gruesome death. As you know already, the nuclear power plant is in meltdown. The hydrogen buildup will cause a detonation that’ll contaminate the entire southern part of Taiwan and the northern half of the Philippines. It’ll happen any moment now. Neither of our forces has enough time to leave the shore. For now, you are protected by the mountains. The shockwave can’t reach you, but the fallout will. Highly radioactive dust will rise up into the atmosphere and precipitate as black rain. It’ll coat your skin and your lungs. Your body will die; you will watch it falling apart and there’ll be nothing you can do about it. No cure. Am I making myself clear enough?
‘Clear,’ Runner says.
Nothing happens until I repeat, ‘Clear.’
Perfect. Now, about that second option.
The earth trembles. A keening sounds from afar, then a deep groan and the sound of an entire forest being ripped from the soil. Runner stands and we look south, but see nothing. Trees and mountains are blocking our view. I slip my hand into his and he answers by curling his arm around my waist. ‘Can you see it?’ he asks.
‘No.’
‘There.’ He points. I strain my eyes and there it is — a ball of fire rising up, as massive as a mountain, swallowing clouds where it touches them, pushing a ring of smoke and steam aside and rolling it around, rising higher and spreading farther and wider. It’s terrible and beautiful — the fist of an angry god.
And then the fury takes control. ‘You killed my friends!’ I cry at the small machine. ‘You killed all my friends!’
Not quite yet.
I shut my mouth. My hands are sweaty and cold.
My apologies, we were interrupted. This is option number two: You come to me.
I can’t help but grin. Of course, I’ll do him the favour!
If you would now, step out into the small clearing west of you, so I can see you better.
‘Why did you do this?’ Runner asks. I repeat the question for him.
The balance needed to be restored. Many good men have perished. But now, information, force, and technologies are in the hands of both sides. The final battle can begin.
None of this makes any sense to me.
You have only two hours left, Mickaela. I recommend you stop talking and start walking.
‘I’ll not leave Runner here to die.’
If you bring him, he’ll die a quick death. It would be humane. You decide.
Runner shakes his head, eyebrows drawn low, lips a compressed line.
Step out into the clearing, now.
I look at Runner. He says nothing, just nods at the clearing as we both pick up our rucks and walk the few paces, gazing up at the ripped open sky. The word “slaughtered” comes to my mind. It tastes of metal, blood, and guts.
Very good. Three kilometres north of you is an airstrip. My helicopter will wait for precisely 115 minutes more. You come alone. You walk where I can see you. The Arab stays where he is, in full view. If he moves, the helicopter will leave the island without you and you’ll both die. Should you consider attempting an assault, you had better commit suicide now and spare yourself the walk.
‘I will kill you,’ I growl.
You will not, because you want to survive.
‘Never heard anything so stupid. “Run to the BSA to survive.” Sure. What do you want?’
What every father wants with his daughter: to teach her and shape her to his liking.
‘Fuck you! You don’t know me!’ I snap at the machine.
‘We will consider it,’ Runner says and switches the machine off.
A weak, ‘What?’ escapes my lips.
He stuffs the SatPat deep into his ruck, stands, and tips his head at me.
‘Hey Micka,’ he says softly and takes my face into his hands. He runs his thumbs over my temples and smiles. My heart contracts and I could die right this moment. His gaze slips down to my lips, his index finger follows. ‘You could end this, now.’ He lowers his head, and kisses me and I wonder if I should do it — crack the pearl and let us die together. I brush my tongue against his, let the pearl click against his teeth, and I know I can’t kill him. Softly, I bite his lower lip and lay my forehead against his chest.
‘I have this one chance,’ I hear myself say. My voice sounds as if it comes from far away. This is my call, not his. I’m surprised I can see so many possibilities where other people might only see their own ends.
‘There’s the easy way out,’ I begin. ‘Crack the pearl, die here and show Erik my middle finger because I know he’s watching.’
‘There’s the stupid way out,’ Runner says. ‘We hide, hope that Erik wants you badly enough to search for you, then we take him down and capture the helicopter.’
‘Yeah, that sounds like it’ll work.’
We chuckle. That would be an idiotic mission.
‘Or…’ he begins and I finish, ‘…I deliver my payload.’
‘Yes,’ he whispers.
‘Under one condition.’
He breathes into my hair, his calloused hand resting warm against my neck. ‘Okay,’ he says, and pulls back to look at me.
‘Promise me.’
‘I promise.’
‘You don’t even know what it is,’ I say.
‘I don’t see a reason to refuse you, whatever it is you want from me.’
‘I want you to survive.’ He shakes his head, about to reply. I raise my hand to his mouth. ‘Ssshhh. Listen, please. The observatory is not far from here, you can make it before the rain.’ I nod at the storm rolling in from the west. ‘The amplifier we hid there — use it. Call for help, get out of here. Tell them what’s happened.’
He laughs. It’s a bitter sound. ‘The detonation must have created an electromagnetic pulse that fries all electronic equipment out in the open.’
‘The SatPad is still working,’ I point out. ‘The observatory is more than six
ty kilometres from the power plant and there is a lot of rock in between; mountains. Fuck, Runner, don’t give up now. If you give up, why would I keep fighting? What for? What about your daughter? She needs you.’ I’m so frustrated, I could kick his shin.
‘And you, Micka? You can get direct access to the man who controls the BSA, their communications, and intelligence. Will you poison yourself and him when you step into his machine and make a quick end of it, or will you try to make the best of the opportunities you get?’
I wonder what opportunities I could possibly get from a man who sends his own men to certain death.
‘I don’t give a shit about my own life. But dammit, Runner, if you dare sacrifice yourself…’ I swallow and press my fist to his heart. ‘If you don’t run really fast up that damn hill and hole yourself up in the observatory and call for an airlift, I’ll crush that toxic implant as soon as Erik and I are in the air. I swear.’
‘Are we holding each other hostage?’
I uncurl my fist and lay my palm flat against his chest. ‘Yes. As long as you stay alive, I will, too. Promise me.’
He places his hand over mine. His heartbeat is a deep rumble. Inside, rages a silent war between power and weakness, despair and hope.
I squeeze my eyes shut and memorise the flavours of his names. A tear skids down my cheek. He curls his arms around me. How painfully short time can be when one wishes for an eternity. All too soon, he steps away from me.
‘Micka, with the sunset hair and the desert skin,’ he whispers. ‘You have to hurry.’
‘When you hear the helicopter taking off, you run.’
He gives me a single nod. I squeeze his hand and turn away.
A helicopter is standing idle on the airstrip. I scan the perimeter, but my scope shows no trace of Erik or his men. When my ears grow hot and the hairs on the back of my neck rise, I know they must be close.
‘Freeze,’ sounds from behind me. Twenty metres away, my mind registers coolly while my heart drops to my toes. ‘Lower your rifle. Now, kneel.’
Sharp flavours of brass and iron coat my tongue. Finally, I can see Erik’s trap in its entirety. He set up the camp in full view and waited for us to find him; heavy weapons, even a helicopter and a rocket launcher. We were drawn to it like flies to dead flesh. Then he moved one pathetic-looking ship, showing us only part of his fleet. And again, we were drawn to it. He split our forces in two, kept Runner and me busy, maybe even studied me because he wasn’t sure if I might be useful to him. Then he snapped his trap shut and sent a fake message to let my friends believe Runner and I were in great danger. He moved our forces on his game board. Then, with a flick of his finger, he killed his own men and my people, and, in the same move, called me to him, knowing I’d not say no.
Fog: The Climate Fiction Saga Page 19
