by fox, angie
“I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t,” I said, my voice hitching.
Oghul didn’t get it. “The cracks, they are not so bad up ahead.”
“Goody.” He saw cracks.
I swallowed, hard, and glanced behind us. I could try to trace my way back, but I had no illusions of what I’d find in the enemy camp. Marc was injured—or dead. The guards were looking for me. And I had absolutely nowhere to hide unless I wanted to lead them straight back to Marc.
After he’d sacrificed everything for me.
I scrubbed a hand over my eyes. Marc had entrusted my escape to Oghul. That had to mean something.
The Mongolian sneered. “I do not know why the doctor loves you. You are a pain.”
My heart twisted. Marc loved me. It shouldn’t matter, but it did.
“Let’s go,” I said to the berserker.
We pushed forward. This time I moved slower, even though it was impossible to see the ground in front of us.
Dormant or not, hell vents were designed to tempt people before sucking them straight into the underworld. I didn’t know what kind of traps were set in here, or what creatures might have survived even without the lush, tempting jungle that usually came with eternal damnation.
My heart stuttered as Oghul and I reached a break in the trees. “That’s not—”
“No. The vent is forty paces farther. This is where we stop.”
Moonlight shone down on a small clearing of cracked dirt, littered with tumbleweeds. In the center stood the largest, sleekest horse I’d ever seen. It was pure white, with furs draped over its back.
“Áni.” The berserker smiled for the first time I’d ever seen.
The horse stomped, the muscles in her legs and shoulders flexing.
When we drew closer, I realized the dangling bits on the saddle were finger bones.
All of the sudden, Áni didn’t seem like the best idea anymore. “We’re just going to ride on out of here?”
“My Áni is the fastest horse in Norway,” Oghul said, cupping his hand to help me up.
I hated to break it to him, but we weren’t in Norway. Besides, “You look Mongolian.”
“I was adopted.”
“No kidding?” Far be it from me to know how berserker society worked. I just hoped they had fast horses.
He gave me a hand up and basically tried to shove me onto the horse. I grunted, clinging to the side of the beast. I tried to avoid the clacking finger bones as I struggled to get a leg over. My thigh muscles ached as I finally managed to straddle the horse’s wide back.
The saddle shifted as Oghul took his seat behind me. The fur on the saddle was coarse and thick, like that of a wolf. I re-slung my duffel over my back and gripped Áni’s pommel with both hands.
He seized the reins and we took off. Áni dashed straight for the tree line. I cringed, ducking low. As far as I’d seen, this horse had no wings.
We were ready to crash headlong into the trees when we wisped through them instead.
What? I choked. I had no voice.
Below me, I could see the outline of my legs straddling the horse’s back. It was as if they were made of smoke. My arms and my hands as well had taken on the same vaporous hue. I realized with a start that we were passing through the trees.
The world was silent, as if we were wrapped in a cloud.
We dashed out into the desert wastelands, through the old army lines. I didn’t even feel the pull of the Great Divide. We streamed through it like specters in the night.
The first streaks of dawn broke over the horizon as we raced through the lava fields, through the desert that divided them from the MASH 3063rd.
Home.
We saw Father McArio’s hut on the edge of the minefield. He stood near the wrought-iron fence he’d fashioned for his sculpture garden. It was alive with metal birds and flowers. Father was forever taking trash and discards and turning them into art. He stood eyes closed, lips moving, at the start of a new day.
We whisked past, through the maze of discarded junk and vehicle parts that crowded the minefield, until we reached the edge. Áni cantered, and then trotted to a stop.
The smoky sensation lifted.
I’d actually made it back. Part of me had wondered if it was possible. The air smelled familiar, clean—with a hint of desert dust and antiseptic. I could hear the comforting sounds of camp beyond the minefield. It was like coming home from a long, long trip.
I cleared my throat. “Thanks,” I said as Oghul dismounted. I tossed my duffel onto the ground and he held me steady as I swung a leg back over the horse. “I like the way you ride.” We should have done that the first time.
He looked at me evenly. “I take one passenger.” He handed me my pack. “Dr. Belanger leaves you with me out of last resort.” He remounted his horse.
Okay. So we weren’t going to kumbaya. “I’m glad you were there,” I told him.
Oghul grunted. Ah, well. The corners of my mouth tugged up as I began walking toward camp. Home.
Two steps later I stumbled over a trip wire and a cold, fishy waterfall landed on my head. I shrieked, covering my head too late as the slimy, wet bodies tangled in my hair. Dancing sideways, the rancid water soaking me to the bone, I flicked the mess onto the ground.
Sardines.
The stench was unbearable. I rubbed at my face with the one semi-dry spot left on the end of my sleeve. Disgusting.
The Mongolian giggled like a schoolboy. “You did not see that coming.” He clutched his stomach, bending atop his horse. “I did not see that coming, either! I like this place.”
I tossed a fish at him.
“Skål,” he said, raising a hand in good-bye before he and his horse disappeared into a plume of smoke.
Right. Sure. Leave me alone in the minefield with a bucket of dead fish on my head.
The sun had broken fully over the horizon. I’d have to hurry if I wanted answers from Marius. He was usually late to go to bed, but when he did, it would take the entire old army to rouse him.
First, I had to get out of the enemy uniform.
I glanced at the empty, fish-littered path behind me. Dollars to donuts, Oghul had bugged out. He didn’t seem like the kind to wallow in sentiment and watch me to make sure I made it down the hill in one piece.
Just to be safe, I ducked into a dilapidated ambulance to change. It smelled like hot metal and dirt. And now, sardines. I shimmied out of the old army uniform pants.
Checking the pockets, I saw I still had the rock I’d picked up from the old army lines. I transferred it to my new army surgical scrubs, then rubbed some of the fish water out of my hair with the pants. It didn’t really work.
Quickly, I completed the rest of the change. I buried the uniform and headed down to camp.
I passed two nurses as I dashed down the hill.
They chuckled at me. “Rodger was right,” the younger one called.
“I don’t want to know,” I grumbled as I headed toward the tiny vampire lair we’d cobbled together for Marius at the edge of the swamp.
Whatever they were talking about was probably my private business—a concept nobody around here seemed to understand.
God, I hoped Marc knew what he was doing when he asked me to shoot him.
The problem was, I knew Marc too well. He was noble to a fault. Part of the reason I’d agreed to sneak into an enemy unit in the first place was that I knew he’d do anything to keep me safe.
I just wished he hadn’t had to prove it.
Merde. I kicked up a small cloud of dust as I skirted around the tar swamps. I’d lost all objectivity as soon as I’d gotten alone with him. It was so easy to fall into our old rhythm, probably because I’d wanted that in my life for so long. It was a familiar place, one I’d treasured even as I mourned him.
But it wasn’t my reality anymore. This was.
The peacekeeper will find love as a hideous new weapon is born.
Didn’t mean I’d get to keep the love. Or h
alt the weapon.
I pounded on the rough wood door of Marius’s lair.
“Go away,” he said, sleepy, “I’m brooding.”
“Stay awake,” I hollered through the wood, “I need to talk to you.”
“Petra?” Marius shifted on the other side of the door. “You’ll never catch a man smelling like that.”
“Shut up, Marius.” Focus. “That gun you gave me,” I said, lowering my voice. “Marc got shot.”
I heard shuffling inside. “Your human?” he asked, more awake.
“Yes.” I waited, gut filling with dread. What was he not telling me? “Marius?” I yelled.
“I never thought you’d shoot your ex-lover.”
I leaned my forehead against the door. I didn’t, either. I wished I could take back the last thirty-six hours. Call a do-over.
His voice sounded hollow. “It was for the ghost.”
Yes, well, the ghost hadn’t required deadly force. He couldn’t blow up the other MASH camp or he would have already. So I’d shot my friend instead.
“Where did you hit him?”
“Square in the chest,” I said.
“Good. A head shot would kill him. Anywhere else, he might have a chance.”
Dread washed over me. “Give me odds.” I didn’t want any gray around this one.
Marius’s hesitation was palpable. “Twenty percent. Maybe. I’m sorry.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. I’d screwed up. Big time. Marc had come back to me whole and alive and I’d blasted him with a supernatural weapon. All so that I could escape back here and know he was dead or dying and that I’d never see him again.
Tears stung my eyes.
I pushed off the door. “Thanks, Marius.”
Marc had left me—possibly forever—so I could live on, fight another day, figure out what in Hades we were going to do about Dr. Keller’s superweapon.
Alone.
I had no idea if he was alive or dead.
Being with him had felt so comforting, so familiar; well, this feeling did, too. I had lived with this heaviness in my heart before.
I reached down deep in my pant pocket for the rock I’d taken from that dig we’d stumbled on.
There’d been an accident there—one that the old army wanted hidden or they wouldn’t have brought their casualties to the underground bunker. I had to think that the excavation had to be connected somehow with Dr. Keller’s formula gone wrong.
The shard felt cool against my fingers.
I owed it to Marc to push on. It was the only thing I could do for him.
My roommate Rodger had been a geology minor in college. He also collected rocks—somewhere among the Star Trek action figures. He might know what this was, or at least where to look. I glanced over at our tent on the edge of the swamp. I just hoped he was home.
chapter fourteen
I banged into our tent. Rodger was still organizing the action figures he’d brought back from his leave. At least that’s what I hoped they were doing spread out all over my cot.
My roommate was stretched out on his neat and clean bed with a Justice League comic book. “You’re back,” he started to sit up. “Whoa!” He gave a gross-out look. “What happened to you?”
“The minefield,” I said, looking for a place to sit.
Rodger leapt up and began clearing action figures, for their sake more than mine. Heaven forbid vinyl cape jawa 1978 get fish goo on his original, factory-sealed packaging.
“Oysters or chicken guts?” he asked, making sure the twelve-inch masterpiece edition of Captain Kirk was safe from my stench.
“Sardines,” I said, sitting, not caring about my blanket and sheets. They were washable.
Now that his children were out of the way, Rodger was impressed. “Nice one,” he whistled under his breath.
“I don’t have time to worry about it,” I said, resting my head in my hands.
“Actually, I think you should.”
That’s right. Rodger had an über-sensitive werewolf nose. He’d just have to suffer.
“I shot Marc.”
“Damn.” Rodger slumped down next to me.
That didn’t begin to cover it.
He sat with his elbows on his knees, trying to get me to look at him. “Marc was the enemy?”
I cringed. Yes, Marc was technically the enemy, but, “No, I didn’t shoot him because he was on the other side.” I explained the horrible mistake I’d made.
Rodger’s eyes were going bloodshot. “Marc might be okay,” he said, rubbing at his face with his sleeve. He dropped his hands. “We’ve both seen patients with twenty percent odds pull through just fine.”
But we usually saw them die. “The worst part is, I don’t know anything.” I stood, unable to sit for one more second. “Before, I knew Marc was dead. I could at least try to deal with it,” I said, pacing the tent. “Now he could be clinging to life, in pain and alone. He could have gotten caught anyway. He could be getting court-martialed or shot. They could be shoveling dirt over him at this very minute and I don’t know.” I’d failed him. “I’m not there.”
“I understand,” he said quietly. I stood looking out at the bubbling tar swamp and we just were. Rodger knew I was right and that he couldn’t make it better. So he just chose to be with me. It helped. Maybe.
I didn’t know anymore.
My throat felt raw. “Before, there was at least someone to blame,” I said, chest heaving. It felt hollow. “It was the old army’s fault. They took him. They put him on the front lines. It was their fault when the enemy slashed his throat and left him to bleed out on the ground. He left me because they took him from me.” I dropped my head, not wanting to say it. But I had to. I owed it to Marc to at least face what I did. “Now it’s all me. I pulled that trigger. I ran, not knowing if he’d make it. I left him.”
Tears streamed down my cheeks. I’d been prepared to never see him again, but I wasn’t prepared for him to cease to exist. Not again.
Rodger pulled me into a bear hug. I sank into him, taking the warmth and the comfort, needing it like I needed my next breath. “I just wish I knew somebody on the other side,” he said, almost to himself.
I swallowed hard. “Me too.”
Marc would contact me if he could. He had to. In the meantime, I just had to hope and pray. And help him any way I could.
Rodger pulled back, his face grave. “He could be okay. You have to remember that.”
“I know.” I meant it. I tried to smile as I patted him on the arm. “I have a question for you,” I said, wiping my nose on my sleeve.
“Yes, you may borrow my soap.”
I laughed despite myself. God, I was a mess.
“I found something on the other side,” I said, digging in my pocket for the crystal. “I don’t know what it is, but I thought you might.”
He took it and held it up to the light. “Titurate?” He inspected it closer, rolling it over in his hands, exploring every nook and cranny like a kid with a new toy. “It is! Where did you get this?”
I explained while my roommate continued to ooh and ahh over the piece of rock. At least I’d asked the right person.
“So why is this rock so special?” I asked, worried for a moment he was going to want to sleep with it like a teddy bear.
Rodger shook his mop of auburn hair out of his eyes. “It’s the hardest crystal ever,” he said, holding it up as if I was supposed to be able to see that. “Eeeee!” he screeched at it.
Now I’d seen everything. “Please tell me you’re not singing to a piece of rock.” I sniffled.
“Eeeee…,” he continued, his voice warbling, sounding like a dying seal. “I’m working it.”
“Try not to work so hard.”
“No, see.” He turned the crystal sideways, as if that would help. “You hit the right sound frequency and poof! The entire crystalline structure collapses. You’re basically left holding nothing. Well, a fine dust. But you really can’t see it and it’s basically nothing. Or
so I’ve heard.”
“Okay,” I said, trying to sort through the rock geek code, “so basically, you’re trying to break my crystal.”
“I saw it on YouTube. It’s gorgeous. The whole thing goes up like a mini Fourth of July before—poof! It’s the only use for something like this. Other than to put in a collection. Which would be so amazingly cool.” He inhaled like I’d been holding him underwater. “Can I have this for my collection?”
“Not if you break it.”
He grinned like a groupie. “My rock club is going to freak out.”
I knew he was into this, but, “You have a rock club?”
Rodger couldn’t stop playing with the crystal. “Where do you think I go every Tuesday afternoon?”
I had no idea. I was usually on shift.
“Just kidding.” Rodger grinned. “Rock club is every other Saturday. I do LARP on Tuesdays.”
I didn’t care. “Do you think somebody in your rock club will know more about this?”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “One thing’s for sure. They are going to have puppies.”
“Seriously?”
“Actually, no. Only I can have puppies.” Rodger grinned. Lucky for him, he got back on track before I slapped him. He held the rock up to the light. “I’ve only seen one other Titurate crystal and that was at a show in Los Angeles. It wasn’t even for sale. The guy was just rubbing our faces in it.” He laughed. “Everybody kept trying to make it break.”
“You think you stood a chance?” I asked.
“You never know.”
I doubted this guy would have left his rock out where just any Eee could smush it. I reached for the stone, but Rodger dodged me. “It must be a hard frequency to hit,” I said.
“It is,” he said, fondling it some more. “Look.” He dug under his bed for a massive box of books. Shoveling through the pile, he found one on crystals and flipped through it.
“You want to hand me the rock while you do that?”
“No.” He found his page. “See here? That’s a picture of it.”
Lo and behold it was. I did have a genuine Titurate on my hands. Although I didn’t know why we were still looking at a picture when Rodger had the real thing in his tight fist.
