by C. Gockel
Cupping his hand over his mouthpiece and trying to keep quiet, Bohdi whispers, “Can you see them?”
Steve’s voice cracks back. “Not anymore.”
“We’ll have to plow our way through, just like we expected,” says Larson. “Our bullets won’t help.”
Bohdi hears Gerðr’s voice and lifts his head. The Frost Giantess has reappeared. Standing at the front of the very middle of the first line she says, “Light your torches and take off your helmets.”
The men immediately around her do just that, and he hears her Glock booming in the night. But the warriors closest to Bohdi shout and raise their spears. They’re fully armored and won’t feel his bullets. He’s afraid and also angry. His plan isn’t going to work … and then someone laughs bitterly—and it might be him. His vision starts to go red again. He pulls out his knife and charges forward.
Chapter 8
Amy’s sitting on the back of a snowmobile, Brill is in front. The engine is silent as they slip down the incline. She hears Bohdi’s voice in her radio. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” and he sounds like he will cry. She feels her heart skip a beat, thinking about what could upset him that much. And then she sees the line of torches in the distance. A moment later she hears Gerðr and gunshots and Bohdi screaming, in rage, not fear or agony, and she feels warmth in her chest. He’s alive and he’s angry and that’s hope.
Larson’s voice crackles over the radio. “There’s a break in the line, left and middle.”
“Head that way!” says Steve.
“I’ll break it up a little more!” says Valli.
“No!” shouts Sigyn. “Gerðr and Patel are down there!”
Amy hears the roar of wind. In front of the team, snow whips up from the ground in a tremendous funnel. She thinks she sees human bodies lifted above the ground.
“Strange,” says Valli. “Why did it do that?”
The snowmobile jumps over a slight incline. The landing jars her teeth and makes her bite her tongue. She shouts, “Bohdi!” as soon as she is able. And then she sees him, standing in a spot of ground that looks like it is the center of a crater. She hears gunshots and the hissing sound of plasma fire. She sees a spot of glowing orange that seems to be coming straight at them, and suddenly the sled is careening to the side. Amy goes spilling out into the snow, too late realizing she must have forgotten to belt herself in.
Plasma fire streaks overhead. In the orange light, she finds Brill, still strapped to the seat of the snowmobile in a gulley of icy rubble. He’s almost underneath the vehicle, and his neck is at an awkward angle. With a cry she lifts the tops of her mittens and disengages Brill’s seat belt. Still pinned, Brill doesn’t move or make a sound.
Over her radio, she hears Steve say, “Bohdi, get on.”
And then Bohdi replies, “Where is Amy?”
“At the base of the slope,” Amy says, taking off a mitten. “Our snowmobile tipped over.” She rips off one of Brill’s mittens. He still has a pulse, but it’s fading quickly. His face on one side is so burned it looks half melted where it doesn’t look charred. The smell of singed skin and hair fill the air. But more immediately pressing is the angle of his neck. He has an injury to one of his upper vertebrae. She swallows. He’s losing control of his lungs, and he needs air. Her brain is screaming that she needs to run, but she drops to her knees, takes a deep breath, bends down and puts her mouth to his and exhales.
He sputters almost immediately. She’s shocked; she didn’t think it would work that fast. He looks up at her, his mouth falls open, and his uninjured eye widens. “You ...” he whispers, “I know what …” Brill’s eyelids slip closed. “... your talent is, Doctor.”
Amy isn’t magical, and doesn’t have a talent, but he’s obviously in shock. She doesn’t contradict him.
Steve’s voice cracks in her ear. “Beatrice, stay!”
She hears shouting and Bohdi’s voice crackles in her ear. “Hit them with a gale, Valli!” There is a howl of wind and the gully lightens. She looks up to see Bohdi and her grandmother heaving the snowmobile out of the way, Valli looming beside them, eyes focused up the incline.
“Amy,” her grandmother says, “You can’t be captured! We have to leave.”
Brill’s eye bolts open, and he cries, “Doctor … you can’t die!” He winces and hisses in pain so sharply Amy feels herself hurt. From the slope the screaming intensifies. It’s the Asgardian “irregulars” from the open plains. Valli’s scream roars above their enemies’ voices. “Come and get it!” She hears the whip of his sword and the wail of a gale. Is it her imagination, or is it not as strong this time? From above the gully, Loki’s son mumbles, “We have to hurry, my sword is running out of milk.”
“Juice,” Beatrice replies, distractedly. “The word you’re looking for is juice.”
Next to her, Bohdi says, “Is Brill alive?”
“Leave me,” Brill croaks. “Go, Doctor!”
“Amy can make you better!” Bohdi shouts.
Amy closes her eyes. If they get him onto one of the sleds—carefully, he has a neck injury—she can give him CPR for the rest of the trip. She opens her eyes and takes in his burned face. He is, and will be, in horrible pain. She hears shouts rising in Asgardian again. Soon they’ll be captured. She thinks of Odin, and feels a toxic brew of horror and anger just beneath her skin. She presses her fingers to Brill’s wrist; his pulse is fading again. She looks up the incline, willing her mind to be calm. Maybe all she has to do to save him is hold up her hands and go with the Asgardians? Bohdi hates killing—but has to do it—his sacrifice for their lives. Maybe her sacrifice is to do whatever it takes to save lives when she can? She takes a deep breath, and leans forward, about to administer another breath of life.
“No,” says Brill, biting his charred lip, effectively locking his jaw. She’s still clutching his hand, but he rips it away and simultaneously releases a whimper of pain. Amy doesn’t know what to do. He is refusing treatment, it is his moral right to do so, but she doesn’t trust her own heart—it would be too convenient for her if he were to die.
Brill stammers, “Doctor, you are too much to sacrifice.”
Amy’s mouth drops open in shock. Had he somehow divined what she was thinking of a few moments before? Brill’s eye slides in Bohdi’s direction, and widens again. “Bohdi, I need you.” He reaches out with his hand.
“Amy, fix him!” Bohdi cries, hopping down beside Amy.
“No!” says Brill, still reaching toward Bohdi. “Please.”
“We have to leave!” says Beatrice, firing a shot up the incline. Amy hears more gunfire, and the rise of another gale.
Eye still on Bohdi, Brill whispers, “Nothing can be destroyed. Only transformed. Sometimes death is kind.” His eye sinks shut, and Bohdi finally takes his hand. “Thank you,” Brill says, and he smiles. Bohdi starts to stammer. “We’ll throw him over the sled. I’ll run beside you, Beatrice, you’ll—” He looks down at Brill’s hand, and then up to the SEALs face. Brill’s unburned eye is open and unblinking. Bohdi’s mouth falls open and he says, “No, no, no.”
Beatrice puts her hand on Brill’s free wrist. “He’s dead; we have to leave.”
Over the radio, Steve says, “Get your asses out of there!”
“I agree, we must go,” Valli says.
For a moment Amy sits stock-still. Brill knew she was thinking of turning herself over to Odin. Was telepathy Brill’s talent? He told her to run, that she was too much to sacrifice—he exonerated the part of her that was worried that his refusal of treatment was too convenient. Had she thought she knew him a few hours ago? She didn’t know him at all, or how brave and noble he could be. Her eyes get hot and her vision blurs. She sees Brill’s Star of David glittering on his neck where his gear had blown open. She grabs it just before Beatrice grabs her arm and pulls her up the gully’s incline. It’s only when she’s clambered out of the gully that Amy sees Beatrice has brought her own snowmobile. “I’ll drive!” says Valli.
“No, you
don’t!” Beatrice shouts, pushing Valli to the back of the vehicle. “I’m driving. Amy, you drive Bohdi!”
As Amy swings onto the front of the snowmobile, her grandmother grumbles, “Neither of these jokers should be allowed near heavy machinery.”
“I’m not a joker!” Valli says, sliding onto the sled behind Beatrice. “I am—”
A streak of plasma fire turns the snow nearby into a puddle. Slipping onto the seat behind Amy, Bohdi shouts, “Shut up and hit the guys behind us with Kusanagi!”
Plasma fire streaks to Amy’s left and right as they slide down the incline. Valli fires another blast up the slope. The sound of a gale whistles in her ears, and then the engine turns over, and they’re picking up speed, kicking up powder.
“Where are all the Einherjar who were in front of us?” Amy murmurs. “Are they invisible?”
Her voice must be transmitted over the radio, because Bohdi’s voice crackles in her ear. “They’re dead. Just go.”
Amy hits the gas, daring to flick on her headlamp to survey the terrain—she has no night vision goggles, and sometime in the past half hour the sky has become overcast. Park’s voice sounds in her ear. Even through the static, he sounds exuberant. “Bohdi is the angel of death, Doctor!”
Amy sucks in a breath. It’s a stupid, stupid thing to say to Bohdi—especially right after Brill, but she can’t argue now. Sucking in a cold breath, she focuses on going as fast as she can, seeking out level ground, swerving here and there to avoid bodies and piles of ice and snow. A snowbank erupts in hisses of steam to her left, and plasma fire turns the snow in front of them into a puddle. Amy hits the gas, aims for a bit of banked snow before the tiny lake, and shouts, “Hold on!” She feels Bohdi’s hands on her hips. They hit the bank squarely in the center and land neatly on the other side. Amy’s breath rattles in her ears; she almost laughs with relief but is too focused on not hitting the next obstacle. But then over her radio she hears Beatrice shout, “Ye-haw!” and Valli scream, “You are a madwoman!” and she does laugh, and Bohdi laughs, too. It’s so wrong, someone just died moments before … but it’s not really joy, it’s a release of tension, terror, and rage.
Steve’s voice snaps over the radio. “Hurry up! We can’t keep the gate closed for long!”
“It worked,” Bohdi whispers. “They’ve closed the gate.” She feels his fingers tighten on her waist.
Amy glances to the left and right. She sees no plasma fire. She flicks on the headlight. Standing at the center of the canyon, about one hundred yards in front of them, is the team. Half are waiting on snowmobiles, the others are inside and outside of a rough sphere of Promethean wire. It should be a simple matter to hold the material in place, but they’re obviously struggling, pushing against it as though it wants to explode from within. They’re blocking the World Gate with a rough sphere of Promethean wire ...
“Hurry!” says Steve.
Amy glides up beside them, Beatrice only a moment behind. She’d just laughed after their teammate had died. She stammers, “I’m sorry … Brill.”
The sphere collapses, and Berry shouts, “You did what you could! Move!” Around her the team containing the sphere makes a break for the snowmobiles, dragging the wire along with them.
Amy guns the engine. She hears other engines roar behind her, and then Steve’s voice cracks on the radio. “Teams of two, I want the rear man to cover retreat,” and Amy feels, rather than sees, Bohdi, spinning around in his seat.
“They’ve re-opened the World Gate!” someone shouts, and she hears Bohdi firing, and then the rise of a gale—Valli must be using Kusanagi again—but it sounds faint.
“Above!” shouts Berry, and Amy feels Bohdi sitting up, aiming his rifle at the sky as they coast over the snow. Then she hears more gunshots and screams.
“Got ‘em,” she hears someone say over the radio. But all she can think about is going as fast as she can. The world blurs by. In the night it is almost like being on Sleipnir’s back, but plasma hissing by and gunfire remind her that it is not a slip through time.
“We’re outpacing the Einherjar!” someone shouts a few agonizingly long minutes later, and Berry says, “Keep your eyes on the sky!” Amy wonders how they’re managing to do that. Big fat flakes are beginning to fall, obscuring her view. She hears gunfire, men reloading, and Valkyries and Harpies screaming above.
It feels like hours pass, but it’s probably only a few minutes when the battle cries of Valkyries fade into the distance and the plasma fire from the ground halts. Her arms feel like they’ve frozen in place by the time Berry says, “We’ve lost them.”
“It’s the snow,” says Sigyn. “It makes flight difficult, and the Einherjar do not have magical sleds like ours.”
A rock formation ahead makes Amy pause. Wiping snow out of her eyes, she sees a frozen waterfall. “That’s the pass!” It’s actually a narrow creek that flows into the canyon, creating its own mini sort of canyon through the mountains.
“We’ll have to dismount to get up that,” says Berry.
As the team draws to a halt, Steve says, “Check in.” Amy listens as the men say their names one by one. Her throat tightens. “Where is Mills?” she asks as their vehicles slide to a halt.
Hardings’ voice cracks on the radio. “She was shot,” and Amy can hear welled-back tears in her words. Hopping out of her seat, Amy starts frantically looking around the camp. Bohdi is beside her a moment later. Pulling back her mittens’ fingers, she puts her hand in her pocket to make sure she still has Loki’s book. She finds it, and Mr. Squeakers too, but her hand catches on Brill’s Star of David.
“Where are Beckman and Licht?” Amy asks.
“Beckman’s gone,” says Tucker. “So’s Licht.”
She hears Tucker in her radio and then footsteps right behind her. She turns and finds Tucker right there—his baby face looks like it has aged a decade in the past hour. She puts her free hand to her mouth, and he puts a hand on her shoulder, nods at her, but not Bohdi, and then heads to the falls. The Star of David bites against her fingers as Bohdi stands beside her as silent as a shadow.
What did she know about Mills, Beckman, and Licht? Mills was quietly as plucky as her friend Harding; Beckman was from Oklahoma, played guitar and could square dance; and Licht was from Maine, and his parents were lobster fishermen. It’s nothing, she didn’t know them at all, and their anonymity makes their deaths worse. Before she can well up, Fenrir woofs. The sound makes her heart leap and brings Amy back into the present. She can’t break down; if she breaks down she’ll be an extra burden. She runs to Fenrir as though her puppy is a lifeline—which maybe she is—Amy is ridiculously grateful Fenrir is alive. “Fenrir!” she cries, “You made it!”
She finds Fenrir sitting on a sled with her least favorite SEAL. “Yep,” says Rush. “And a lot of other nasty people didn’t because of her.” He gives her dog an affectionate pat and says in a baby voice, “Who can spot invisible bad guys in the snow? Fenrir can!”
For once not caring about Rush, Amy says, “Because she’s the best doggie in all the realms!” She rubs the sides of her dog’s head. It’s nearly chest high now. Fenrir wags her tail and looks at Amy, but she’s chewing something and doesn’t drop it. Amy tilts her head at the sound of Fenrir’s teeth on whatever-it-is. Clink. Clink. Clink. Amy blinks. “What are you chewing on, Girl?”
At her words, Fenrir crouches down on the sled and growls at Amy. Amy’s eyes widen in shock. From her pocket Mr. Squeakers gives a worried cheep. Fenrir’s snout drops to Amy’s pocket, and she growls at Squeakers, too.
Rush laughs. “Oh, yeah, one thing I learned quick—don’t mess with Fenrir’s treats.”
Standing up, he shakes out his legs and arms.
“Treats?” says Amy.
“Used cartridge casings,” says Rush.
Amy’s mouth drops open. Bohdi’s voice near her shoulder makes her jump. “Are the rifle cartridges depleted uranium?”
“Yep,” says Rush. His eyes slide down to t
he dog. “That’s probably not good, is it?”
Not good? Amy’s skin heats, but she is too angry to even speak.
“Rush, get over here!” Berry calls, before she can verbally rip Rush’s head off. Rush gets off the sled and starts in Berry’s direction, but as he does he stops and puts a hand on Bohdi’s shoulder. “You did good out there, Had—”
“Call me Hadji again and I’ll slit your throat,” Bohdi says, looking at a point in the snow near Amy’s feet. His voice is so calm it’s scary.
Instead of getting mad, Rush laughs, “Okay, Bohdi.” He claps Bohdi on the shoulder, gives Amy a respectful nod, says, “M’am,” and then leaves.
Amy is so mad she can barely see. Ripping the radio mouthpiece away from her face, she hisses, “He let my dog eat uranium!”
Beatrice’s voice rises behind her. “She’ll be fine.”
Amy spins. “Grandma—”
“She ate two kilos of yellowcake before we left Earth,” Beatrice says, stepping close.
Amy’s jaw sags.
Her grandmother sighs. “She puked it out as lead.”
Amy blinks.
In her ear, Larson’s voice squawks over the radio. “What? Did you just say the giant dog turned yellowcake into lead?”
Eyes on Amy, Beatrice touches her mouthpiece. “Yes. I think that’s why her appetite has been relatively normal.”
“But the half-life of uranium is …”
“Billions of years,” says Beatrice.
Amy turns to her dog, voice hushed. “Is that her magical talent? Eating radioactive materials?”
