by C. Gockel
“You’re awake, I’m so glad,” she whispers. She bites her lip, and his eyes drop to where the pink flesh turns white beneath her teeth. “Have your memories come back?”
“What?” he says. It comes out a squeak.
The smile drops. “We were all sick. I think we caught a viral or bacterial infection from the bear. We were running fevers, and they had to give you, Beatrice, and Claire the serum. You were talking in your sleep in Hindi, I think … ” Her eyes drop. “I was hoping that your memories were coming back.”
He rubs his arm; it does feel a little sore inside the elbow. “The serum?” He blinks and she nods. The last thing he remembers is sitting on the back of the sled, a rifle between his knees. He remembers feeling warm, even though it was cold, and weirdly elated. He’d just found out the magic-bestowing serum Amy gave Steve was contagious and spreading on Earth while Odin thought all he had to do was hunt magical humans down here.
His breath catches. He has been given the serum! It brings back memories. He’ll know who he is soon; he’ll remember all the memories Loki stole. For a moment he is overwhelmed and awed, and then a horrible thought occurs to him. Was what he just experienced a dream or a memory? The vividness of it, the blue skin against Amy’s, her lips pressed to his knuckles ... hadn’t Amy said Loki had turned blue at the end? Closing his eyes he mumbles, “No, no, no.” Those aren’t the memories he wants—well, he kind of wants them—but not with Loki in them.
“Oh,” Amy whispers. “They didn’t come back, I’m sorry.” He hears her gulp. “I need to check your temperature…” She drops her hand on his forehead. Her fingers are just as soft as the dream. “You don’t have a fever,” she says, mercifully withdrawing.
Sitting up, avoiding her gaze, he says, “I feel fine.” He’s only wearing his skivvies. Shivering, he rubs his naked arms.
Holding up a pile of neatly folded clothes, Amy pointedly looks up at the ceiling. “You were burning up, we weren’t sure how much clothing to put on you.”
As Bohdi snags an undershirt from the top of the pile, he notices that she’s flushing. He wants to give her a suggestive smile, but he’s still too flustered from the dream.
“How long will it take to get to where we’re going?” he asks, to try and think of anything else. Amy and their magical companions believe the dwellers of the Iron Wood are their best hope of finding someone willing to give them shelter from the Jotunheim winter and Odin. He doesn’t say the name of the place aloud in case Heimdall or Odin’s other spies might be listening.
Amy sighs. “I think about a week.”
Bohdi’s jaw gets tight. Odin’s going to attack before that. He shakes his head. They’ll have to deal with it when it comes.
As he slips the under layer over his head, he notices that the team sleeping around them are sharing sleeping bags. He sees Claire and Beatrice still asleep in a double bag, and Mills and Harding snuggled up together in another. Bohdi’s eyebrows rise looking at the two women Brett and Bryant dubbed Zena and Gabriella. Harding’s blonde hair is tangled with Mills’s long black mane; Mills is nearly six feet tall, and she has one arm draped protectively over tiny Harding. They look very innocent, but thoughts of the two of them snuggled like that is going to keep the guys warm enough at night. And then he realizes why they are sharing. Tucker, Claire, Beatrice, Nari, Valli, and Bohdi aren’t supposed to be here. They don’t have enough gear.
The tent flap opens and Steve steps inside. “Bohdi, you’re awake,” he says, keeping his voice low.
Glancing up at Steve, Bohdi nods, and then proceeds to struggle to put on his long johns.
Steve takes a step closer. “We were worried about losing you. I gave you the serum to save your life … I hope … it doesn’t cause you any trouble.”
He says it in the same tone someone says, “I’m sorry.” Bohdi stops struggling and looks up again. His friend-boss-whatever looks distinctly uncomfortable. Steve doesn’t apologize. Bohdi’s neural circuits spark, and he pieces together what Steve is saying. Bohdi won’t be invisible to Odin much longer. Bohdi had planned on taking the serum anyway … but, he’s not going to tell Steve that. Instead he just nods. “It’s fine. You did what you had to do.”
Steve lets out an audible breath, and then taps his head and gives a smile Bohdi thinks is supposed to be encouraging. “Maybe you’ll get your memories back.”
Bohdi has a sudden flashback to Amy’s breasts spilled out inches from his lips. Restraining a groan, he manages a tight smile. “Yeah, maybe.”
Turning to Amy, Steve whispers, “Claire and your grandmother?”
“Their fevers broke a few hours after Bohdi’s did,” Amy says. “They’re still asleep, but I think they’ll be fine.”
Steve looks to his daughter, and then back to Amy. “And you, Dr. Lewis?”
That’s right, she’d said “we were sick.” Bohdi’s gaze slips to Amy.
“I’m fine,” she says. She shrugs. “I wasn’t that sick to begin with. And anyway, Beatrice got the serum. Maybe she’ll be able to fill me in on the missing hour?”
Pulling on his undershirt, Bohdi raises an eyebrow at the mention of Amy and Beatrice’s “missing hour.” In the hour between the time Loki destroyed the World Seed, and the FBI retrieved Amy from Loki’s apartment, someone had teleported Beatrice from a nursing home to Amy’s side, and cured Beatrice’s dementia. The same person had also completely healed some nasty stomach lacerations Amy had gotten when the Chicago Police Department had made an ill-advised raid on Loki’s apartment. Most people think Loki healed Amy and rescued Beatrice. Amy has always insisted it couldn’t be—that Loki’s magic didn’t work like that. Now … he eyes her carefully. There is something about her tone and the openness of her expression. She sounds relieved, not disappointed that the mystery has not been solved.
Bohdi sees Steve’s eyebrows lift, but his boss doesn’t ask Amy any more questions. Reaching into his pocket, Steve pulls out a razor and a fresh blade. Handing both to Bohdi, he says, “Shave and get cleaned up. You can’t have a beard in this cold. You don’t want to wear ice on your face. After you’re done, come around front and get something to eat.” He looks once more at Claire. Outside, someone calls, “Captain!” and with one last worried look, he ducks out of the tent.
A few minutes, and a very rough shave later, Bohdi steps outside. They’ve pitched the tent among the strange black trees that dot the islands of Lake Balstead. He adjusts the collar of his too big, borrowed coat. It’s windier than he remembers, colder, overcast, and it looks to be late afternoon. Out of the corner of his eye, a figure leaning against the tent makes him jump. Spinning, Bohdi draws back. A woman he’s never seen before, dressed in weirdly tight-fitting camis, loose muffler, and a jauntily-placed helmet is casually leaning against the tent frame. She doesn’t move when Bohdi stares at her, nor does her smile slip. She doesn’t even blink.
Bohdi takes a step back in awe. It’s not a real woman, it’s a snow sculpture of a woman. The muffler and hat are real. Someone has given her eyes black charcoal pupils, and gray charcoal irises—both make her disturbingly more lifelike.
Around the corner of the tent steps Redman, with an armful of branches. Redman’s mouth opens in a small ‘o.’ His green eyes slide to the statue, and his cheeks, already pink with cold, go bright red. “Uh … sorry if she scared you. Don’t know what came over me. Just, I dunno … my hands knew where to go, and it didn’t take any time.” Tipping up his helmet, he scratches at his sandy brown hair and then scurries away in a very un-Special Ops-like way. Bohdi blinks, unable to look away from the statue. It is eerily lifelike, just like the statue of Ruger, the slain comrade Redman had created. He hears another crunch of snow and turns his head.
Walking up to him is Jung Park, holding a hunk of dark meat on a bone. Inclining his head to the statue, Jung says, “Redman’s girlfriend. Freaky likeness.”
But Bohdi’s lost interest in the statue. His eyes have fallen on the meat Jung is carrying. It’s dark,
smells gamey, and is glistening with fat. Bohdi’s stomach physically aches with hunger, he starts to salivate, and it’s an effort not to rip it from Jung’s hand.
Bohdi’s vaguely aware of Jung nodding. “Magic. They say it’s making us all extra hungry.” Jung holds out the meat. “Go ahead, take it.”
Yanking off his gloves, Bohdi takes it by the bone and tears off a hunk with his teeth. “Thanks,” he manages to say. The meat tastes somewhere between lamb and beef, but sweeter, a little stronger, and very fatty. Taking another bite, he says, “What is this?”
“It’s bear,” says Park. “The guys say you’re supposed to take off the fat, but we need the calories. Tastes better than anyone expected. The Frost Giant lady says that this time of year it’s probably been eating the sweet tubers and nuts that grow around the geyser vents around here.”
Someone shouts, “Park!” and Jung heads off with a wave.
Tearing off another piece of meat, Bohdi hears a clicking sound below him, drops his eyes, and sees Fenrir chewing on something like it’s bubble gum. She’s nearly the height of his thighs now, and the fur that a few days ago looked like someone had played a cruel joke with electric clippers now looks thick and full. Looking up at him, she wags her tail, teeth flashing.
He swallows a hunk of meat and raises an eyebrow. Fenrir seems to be growing several more sets of canines, and whatever it is she’s chewing on clacks between her teeth and sounds vaguely metallic.
“What cha’ eating, Fenrir?” Bohdi says.
Growling, Fenrir backs up.
“Sheesh,” Bohdi says. “It’s not like I’m asking you to share your metal bubblegum.”
Still chewing her mystery thing, Fenrir narrows her eyes up at him, swallows whatever it is, and then trots over to the tent. Bohdi looks down at the bone in his hand. What could be more interesting to a dog than meat with a bone in it? Shrugging to himself, he saunters off to the other side of the camp. The ground turns steep more quickly than he expected. He sees the guys on patrol, waves at them, and bites into another hunk of bear meat. He follows the rise of ground with his eyes, and then, almost unconsciously with his feet. The trees are interesting. The closer he gets to them, the more he realizes they’re not so much black, as very, very, dark green. Still chewing his breakfast—or is it dinner?—he inspects the bark. It’s actually tiny little leaves. He looks around. So they’re evergreens maybe? That’s kind of cool.
He sees a bit of steam wafting up ahead. Curious after Jung’s talk about geysers, he heads toward it, sucking on the now bare bone as he does. He looks down at the bone. A bare bear bone. Heh.
He’s about thirty meters from the camp, and ten meters away from the wafting steam when it occurs to him that he is eating a bear because there are bears in these parts, in fact this one attacked Sigyn. He looks down at the bone. He doesn’t have a rifle on him. He’s heard that bears are really smart; would they take extra offense to him eating one of their own? Bohdi’s eyes slide to the side. Suddenly anxious not to have any evidence of bear slaughter on him, he tosses the bone to the side without watching where it lands. He hears the sound of bone hitting metal, and then a very unbearlike curse. He doesn’t know what the swearer is saying, but he recognizes the language. Spinning back to camp, Bohdi sprints down the hill through the trees. At the top of his lungs he shouts, “Asgardians!” as a bolt of plasma streaks above his shoulder.
x x x x
As Bohdi leaves the tent, Beatrice murmurs, “We have to go. The FBI will be here soon.”
Amy turns to her grandmother. “Grandma?” But Beatrice is sound asleep. Amy puts her hand on her forehead. Beatrice’s eyes flutter open and then go wide. Beatrice sits up fast. “I have to take care of you. Where are my clothes? Where is my umbrella? My rifle and pistol?” Her voice is almost a shout. Around them the men stir.
Amy blinks. Picking up Beatrice’s winter gear and umbrella, she says, “Here, Grandma.” Beatrice takes the pants from the pile and begins slipping them on in the sleeping bag. “I have to protect you,” she says. “I can’t sleep.”
Amy’s mouth falls open. “It’s okay. We got sick, but I gave serum to you, Claire and—”
Beatrice looks at her sharply. “You didn’t get sick.”
Amy freezes. And then she shakes her head. “No, I did, but not as bad.”
Pulling on the outer layer of waterproof pants, Beatrice says, “You can’t die.”
Amy blinks. “Well, I’ll try not to …”
Beatrice’s nostrils flare. “That’s not funny! You took the serum … you know ...”
“No,” Amy says, shaking her head. “There wasn’t enough. I gave the last dose to Bohdi.”
Where she’s furiously pulling on her middle upper layer, Beatrice stops. Her brow softens. Outside the tent Amy hears paws, and a moment later, Fenrir slips inside, casually wagging her tail. Amy takes a breath. Her dog seems to have grown again overnight. She’s the size of a full-grown German shepherd now—but her paws and head are still too big. Amy holds out her hand, and Fenrir walks over, collapses, and rolls over on her back for a tummy rub. Amy’s brow furrows. At least she isn’t hungry … the guys must have fed her some bear.
“I’m sorry,” says Beatrice, drawing Amy’s attention away from her magical mutant mutt. Beatrice is giving her a beatific, grandmotherly smile that is kind of incongruous with the gun holster she’s slipping on. “I don’t mean to be cross. I just worry about you.”
Wiggling on her back, Fenrir thumps her tail and whines. Around Amy, the team starts to rouse in earnest.
The tent flap opens and Steve steps in. His eyes go to Beatrice. “You’re awake.”
“And fit as a fiddle,” says Beatrice, slipping on the last of her gear.
Steve’s eyes drop to Claire. Amy sees his shoulders fall, and his eyes get soft. “Dr. Lewis,” he says, wiping his jaw. “Is it alright to move her?”
Amy looks at Claire, still sound asleep, and looking very tiny in the adult bag. “It’s not ideal, but I think she will be alright.” She tries to give Steve a reassuring smile. “I can sit beside her.”
Steve nods fast. “Yes, please, I’d appreciate that.”
“If my granddaughter is watching over her, you can be sure she’ll be fine,” says Beatrice, and Amy feels her cheeks burning with the compliment.
Steve tilts his head sharply, as though someone has tugged his ear. His gaze goes to Amy’s grandmother. “Beatrice,” Steve says, stepping toward Amy’s grandmother. “Now that you’ve had the serum … do you remember anything?” His says his words slowly and cautiously, and his head ticks again, as though he’s heard something.
Beatrice smiles and meets his eyes. “About what?”
Amy’s brow furrows. She knows very well about what. The hour that they spent out of time, after Beatrice was rescued from the nursing home where she’d been suffering from dementia. Everyone thinks it was Loki that rescued Amy’s grandmother, but Loki couldn’t have done it. Amy had been injured too, by an ill-advised SWAT team raid on Loki’s apartment. Loki, even with all the power of Cera, the nearly omnipotent sentient entity with aspirations of galactic domination, hadn’t been able to help her—but Amy had been completely healed when the FBI had found Beatrice and her later.
Steve stares at Amy’s grandmother a beat too long. Sigyn steps into the tent behind him. Smiling at Amy and Beatrice, she says, “Where is Bohdi?”
Steve spins. Lifting the tent flap, he gazes outside. “I don’t see him.” He taps the radio in his ear. “Anyone see Bohdi?”
Someone’s voice cracks on the radio. “I saw him about ten minutes ago. He was heading in the direction of the geyser. Thought he was just going to take a leak.”
Steve’s eyes get a faraway look. “Odin’s men have found us. They’re here.”
“What?” says Sigyn.
Unholstering the handgun she carries, Beatrice picks up her umbrella. The team around Amy is suddenly in motion, putting on gear and picking up very big guns.
Amy taps her earpiece. Larson’s voice crackles in her ear. “I don’t see anything ...”
“They’ll be coming from the geyser!” Steve says. “We take them here, we take them now.”
Larson is suddenly at the door of the tent. Amy thinks of him as a golden boy—he’s chisel jawed, blue eyed, and under his helmet he has blonde hair. His mood seems to be permanently set to stern. He thinks being Loki’s lover makes Amy unreliable and has told everyone as much. The memory of it still makes her feel embarrassed, helpless, and angry.
“Sir,” Larson says. “I don’t see anything; there is no need to panic. We can load up our supplies and be out of here in less than ...”
“No,” says Steve, staring at the thin strand of trees separating their camp from Lake Balstead. The plain of ice dotted with occasional pools of geyser-heated water is calm and empty. “Get in the defensive formation we talked about, now!” Steve shouts.
There is no sound. It is like everyone is holding their breath. Amy shivers, and it’s not just from the cold. Steve is the leader, why aren’t they obeying? She looks at Larson. Despite her and Steve’s somewhat troubled past, she trusts Steve more than the young lieutenant, maybe just because Steve seems to at least respect her brain.
Eyes on Steve, Larson says in a slightly bored-sounding drawl, “You heard him, get moving.” He turns away, and everyone springs into motion again.
Amy looks to Steve; his nostrils are flared, his eyes are on Larson’s back, his jaw is tight, and Amy can feel his anger. In a too-calm voice for the fury she just saw, Steve says, “Get the gear packed and roll up the tent.” With that he scoops up Claire, sleeping bag and all, and carries her outside. Sigyn follows him. Amy hears Sigyn say, “Valli, get ready.”
Over the radio Larson’s voice cracks. “I still don’t see anyone.”
A blood curdling shout rises over the din of the men hustling to get going. “Asgardians!”
