Aaro sat back, taking it all in. Studying her. The best way to see how a machine worked was to see it running. ‘Well, your hands are soft and clean, your nails shaped with a file and not chewed down or picked off—’ She curled her well-kempt nails under her knuckles and closed her fists on the table ‘—which means they don’t see much work. Physical work I mean — you’re a desk-rider — so there’s your well-educated. You do something that requires education and not a spanner. And your neck—’
‘My neck?’
‘Yeah, you took it off here for fear of being robbed — and rightly so, Oslo’s a rough place — but there’s still a faint tan line where the chain has been sitting. No one wears jewellery any more. It’s all been sold off for whatever it’s worth. Unless of course, it bears some sort of sentimental value. Maybe your mother’s, or grandmother’s even — but usually, things with sentimental value also have actual value. People don’t hand down pewter. And, if your mother had expensive jewellery, it means her and daddy were well off enough to afford it. Along with some good schooling for you, I’d guess, based on your diction — which of course you’re trying to hide, along with that accent, albeit pretty badly.’ He shrugged. ‘Well-brought-up. And even if I didn’t clock any of that, it’s your hair. Dead giveaway.’
‘My hair? What do you mean?’
‘Well, for a start, someone else cut it. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t hack their own off with a scissors or knife these days. So, I circle back around to the original question. What’s a well-educated, well-brought-up woman like you, doing in a shit-hole like this?’ He smiled charmingly now, gesturing to the room they were in and everything beyond.
She smiled back and shook her head a little, closing the folder. ‘They said you were sharp. I was waiting for you to arrive this morning. You were early, though. Caught me a little off guard. When I got the alert that you’d picked up a job sheet, I was heading over. But I didn’t have time to get to you before your… altercation.’
‘It was hardly an altercation. I cracked some asshole over the head with a pipe wrench,’ he said flatly.
She cleared her throat. ‘Yes, well, whatever the circumstances, I’ve come here for you.’ She was unphased by the incident. He’d come out with it to see how she reacted. She didn’t seem to care.
‘To whisk me away so that we can drive off into the sunset together?’ he mused airily.
‘Almost.’
‘Colour me intrigued.’
‘Good. How’s your memory?’
‘My memory?’ Aaro asked, raising an eyebrow and picking at his thumbnail.
‘Yes. How much of your education do you recall?’
‘I still know my ABCs, if that’s what you mean.’
‘I don’t.’ She said it bluntly.
‘Then everything,’ he replied, sensing the seriousness of this talk now.
‘Good, then hopefully, my journey won’t have been wasted.’
‘Car?’ Aaro asked, curious. People didn’t venture outside the safety of the cities for fear of certain death. Those things were everywhere. And they were hungry.
A wide, open highway ran from Oslo to Stockholm, lined on either side by razor wire and minefields. They put them up after the cities were first walled off, dropping them in with choppers for fear of setting foot on the ground. But it was still almost three hundred miles from city to city and over the years the minefield had been set off and cleared in parts and the fences had been trampled flat during the early pilgrimages. The road was fairly safe if you had a vehicle and the sort of fuel to keep your foot down all the way. But travelling on foot was basically suicide. Nomads looking for safe haven were still attacked, the creatures — Varas, they called them — hurled themselves at whatever they could get at. There wasn’t much else in the way of food out there anymore.
Aaro couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard of anyone leaving the city. There was no point really. There was nothing to gain from it. Stockholm didn’t accept entrants without a valid Swedish passport. And most of the refugees arriving to Oslo these days came in from the port, from Europe. No one came from Sweden. No one except for this woman, it seemed.
She didn’t reply with a yes, or no. She simply said, ‘Chopper.’
Aaro turned out his bottom lip, impressed. Must be important. The woman leaned forward again. ‘Look, it took a lot to get here, a lot of bargaining and begging, but I did so because your university transcripts say that you were on track to be something special, and your plant foreman says that when you fix things here, they stay fixed. He says you’re the best goddamn engineer in this place. And, you’re the only engineer within a thousand miles who’s got a background in nuclear engineering.’
‘Nuclear?’ Aaro nearly scoffed it.
‘Yes.’ She wasn’t joking.
‘And I’m the closest nuclear engineer? There aren’t any in Stockholm already? I don’t even have a masters in engineering, let alone nuclear engineering.’ He shook his head a little, almost disappointed in himself.
She sighed and rubbed her temples, taking her glasses off. ‘I’m going to be straight with you here. We’re working on a project in the city. Sustainable nuclear energy. Our engineer was testing the weld seams on our reactor housing and a bolt sheared. It damn near cut him in half when the shell fell apart. He died, and no one else is qualified to take his place.’ She looked saddened by it.
‘I’m not qualified to build a nuclear reactor,’ he said, trailing off, a little lost. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’ There was no way he could do what they wanted.
She laughed now. ‘We don’t want you to build the reactor — we’ve had one flown in from Germany. It almost bankrupted the city, but we did it. And now, we need you to go and get the core. That’s what our engineer was contracted to do.’
Aaro narrowed his eyes. ‘I don’t understand. What do you mean “go and get the core?”’
‘I mean, I need an engineer with experience in nuclear engineering to go with a team we’ve put together, and get the nuclear core, and then bring it back to Stockholm.’ She said it like it was nothing, but Aaro feared that meant the worst.
‘And where is this core that you want me to go and get?’ he asked tentatively, knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer.
‘Murmansk,’ she said without any hint of a waiver.
‘Murmansk?’ He did scoff it this time. ‘That’s gotta be nearly two thousand kilometres by road. Through some really rough territory. It’s suicide. No way,’ Aaro said, folding his arms.
She half smiled, her eyes glassy. ‘That’s what everyone’s said so far. We’ve got seven other people qualified for the job living in Stockholm alone, but they all have families. Houses, kids. Lots to lose. That’s why I came to you.’
Aaro sneered. ‘Why, because I have nothing to lose?'
She smiled again now, a sincere smile. ‘No, because you’ve got everything to gain.’
Aaro scowled at her. He wouldn’t be convinced. The whole idea was just insane. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.
‘My name is Katarina Ogden. I’m the project manager assigned to run this expedition. So, I’ll make you the offer, but once I leave this room, that’s it. I’ve got other names on my list to see. Once I’m gone, the offer is gone too, understand?’
He nodded absently, having already decided there was nothing anyone could offer him to make him want to go beyond those walls. Not again.
‘Five hundred thousand in credit. A house in Stockholm’s suburban district. And a job at the nuclear plant when the core is operational.’ She was staring at him, her eyes burning a hole in the side of his face. He did everything he could to look the other way.
That was a hell of a lot of money.
She continued. ‘Where do you live now? An apartment, a room-share? In one of those awful blocks? What do you make a week, two hundred? This is half a million. And the house would be yours, outright. Four bedrooms. A garden. And the employment would be permanent. Six figures a year, six weeks holiday
s. Or, do you want to grow old and die in this shit-hole as you so affectionately called it?’
It was suicidal sure, but she did have a point.
Aaro sighed. ‘Who’s the team?’
‘Two trucks, six men in each. Drivers, gunners, engineers, welders, spotters,’ she said, coolly, reeling off the information in a well-practised fashion.
He’d seen convoys like that before, armoured trucks barrelling off out of the city laden with supplies. Or at least he used to, back when Oslo had something to trade, and the fences still lined the highway. But this wasn’t a quick jaunt to a relatively nearby city via one straight road, this was a goddamn expedition into no man’s land. Everything north of Gothenburg was strictly Vara country. Nothing else lived out there. Nothing else could.
He pursed his lips and mulled it over. ‘You said welders right?’
She nodded. ‘To break the hatches on the subs.’
‘Ok, I’ll do it. On one condition.’
‘What?’
‘I get to choose my own welder, and they get the same deal as me,’ he said definitively. There’d be no negotiating.
She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘I don’t know that I can do that. We’ve already got two welders signed up. It would mean taking one of their spaces.’
‘Well, it’s a package deal. If you want me, I get to bring my own welder,’ he said, shrugging as best he could in chains.
She slumped backwards and huffed. ‘Can you give me twenty four hours to make the arrangements?’
‘Sure.’
‘Ok then.’ She sighed. ‘And just out of interest, who is he?'
Aaro grinned for a second. ‘Oh, it’s not a he. It’s a she.’
TEN
THE BEGINNING
2108 AD
The world looked peaceful through the windows of his car. The birds were still chirping and the trees were just as green and tranquil as they’d ever been. The militarised convoys roaring past and the repeated emergency broadcast on the radio were the only clues that things weren’t just completely normal.
The discordant noise ended and the message started over, the voice wooden and monotone. ‘This is an automated broadcast, authorised and recorded by the National Emergency Response Committee. Please listen carefully. Remain indoors where possible. Do not try to reach loved ones. Stay calm and wait for assistance. Military Forces have been mobilised. Please, make sure all entry points securely locked. There is no need to panic. Assistance is on the way.’
The voice droned on repeat, interspersed with a sharp, invasive tone. The message was probably recorded years ago, before any hint of something like this was even whispered. The voice saying those words had no alarm in it. Aaro was sure if it was recorded this morning, it would be a damn sight more frantic. After the fourth repeat on the fifth different station, he knocked the radio off and opted for a personal playlist, just to get out of his head. He drove at a steady pace, obeying the speed limit, the scenery rolling by in a blur. The gravity of the situation hadn’t yet sunk in. His home was desecrated, his life in tatters, but he still sang along to the songs on the stereo on autopilot. He knew that the heartache and the sadness would set in when they set in. It was such a surreal and violent turn of events, it just played out in his mind like a misremembered bad dream. And he knew that that’s how it would live on, as a nightmare, visiting him every night while he slept.
He tried not to focus on it, he just drove.
For an hour or so the roads were empty, except for the odd police car and string of military jeeps racing in the opposite direction. He was headed to Oslo. He didn’t know where else to go. Where would be safe? Where could be? He came around a bend and headed down a long straight. One song finished and another began. It was an old song, by an American band. As the first chord was strummed on the intro guitar, he burst into an uncontrollable sob. His arms sagged on the wheel and the car swerved across the road. He blinked and yanked the wheel back straight. The tires squealed and locked up. He jammed his foot against the brake and the car speared off into the gravel verge. It ground to a halt and the engine stalled. He sat there with the music playing, tears streaming down his cheeks. It was their song. The song that played the first time they made love, the one that was the first dance at their wedding.
And now she was gone.
It all came crashing back.
He sobbed again, his knuckles curled white around the wheel. The song played on.
The tears kept running, the image of her mutilated body invading his mind. They’d never make love again. They’d never dance to that song again. They’d never see each other again. The memory of her scent, the feeling of her hair in his face as they lay entwined in bed — they came in fragments now, already fading. The images were tainted, poisoned by that thing. He’d killed it, but that wasn’t worth anything. No revenge would be enough to take the taste of horror from his mouth, no action powerful enough to rectify the damage done. He was broken now.
He just sat there and cried, head hung, tears falling solemnly into his lap, shed for her. Shed for his Emilie.
The vicious blare of a passing horn, scornfully mashed, snapped him back to reality. The back half of his car was still in the roadway and blocking a lane. He was lucky it was just a horn.
He sat bolt upright in the seat and smeared the tears across his cheeks with the backs of his numb hands. He spluttered through his fingers and tried to clear his nose, but only managed to blow mucus over his knuckles instead. They shook uncontrollably. The sobs didn’t cease. But at least their song had finished and the one currently playing held no sentimental value. Aaro raked in a breath, his fingers groping meekly for the key under the wheel. He turned it, firing the engine back into life. The gear stick slid into drive and he wheeled the car back onto the asphalt, the motor whining as he picked up speed.
In his rearview, he could see another car.
The road was starting to get busier.
A light drizzle had started to fall, like a thin mist, joining the clouds to the earth.
As he drew nearer to the city, more and more cars littered the route, either having run out of juice or having been abandoned so that faster progress could be made on foot. He crawled forward, weaving through gaps in a string of other cars, toward a bridge up ahead. The road bottlenecked and traffic was mounting.
Military jeeps were parked along the sides, some up on little ridges, others splitting the traffic into single lanes while soldiers pushed the dead vehicles off the tarmac.
Armoured gun turrets roved back and forth, perched on top of them like giant eyeballs, scanning the landscape for any sort of danger. But it wasn’t just any sort of danger they were looking for. It was one specific type.
Aaro eased between a sedan and a military jeep and came up on a young camo-clad private waving cars along, a rifle over his elbow. He leaned into each passing window and muttered something to the drivers. Aaro wound his down, smearing snot on the button, and slowed to a stop behind a people carrier with two young kids in the back. They were hung over the back seats, looking at him wide-eyed.
Aaro swallowed the lump in his throat and turned to the soldier. He was no older than him. Early twenties. He looked drawn, blotchy faced, and scared. His words came out garbled and rushed and he stooped so fast that his helmet slipped down onto his brow. He pushed it back up and stuck his face through the open window.
‘Keep moving, an emergency camp is being set up about a mile down the road.’ He called it louder than was necessary, making sure he was heard over the din of idling engines and blaring horns up ahead.
‘I’m heading to Oslo,’ Aaro replied, his voice shaky and cracked.
The private looked at him sadly. ‘Oslo is dark. We haven’t heard from them in almost six hours. The whole city’s on lockdown. Nothing’s moving on the roads leading in. Nothing human anyway. They’re all shut down. Blocked off. We’ve been told to direct people to the nearest camp.’ The private stood up and checked the traffic ba
cking up behind Aaro.
‘The whole country can’t have gone to shit in one night,’ Aaro said quickly, realising then just how exhausted he was.
‘Look, sir…’ The soldier looked conflicted. He sighed. ‘It hasn’t. This has been happening for weeks, travelling north to south. How do you think we got the entire national military mobilised in time? They kept it quiet, not to cause a panic. Now, you have to move on, you’re holding up the traffic.’
‘In time? Not to cause a panic!?’ Aaro yelled, his hands leaping out of the window and gripping the flak vest of the private. He pulled him against the door and his helmet clanged off the metal. ‘If I’d have known I could have saved my family!’
There was a sharp click and the barrel of the private’s rifle was suddenly against Aaro’s neck, pressed into the patch of flesh under his chin. ‘We’ve all lost people. We all have.’ He said it coldly, and Aaro saw something familiar.
It wasn’t the gun in his face that made him release the private, it was his eyes. Full of sorrow, of loss. Aaro knew because his eyes were the same. He looked at this kid, no older than him, no different than him, and saw himself.
His mind stuttered and the image of this stranger’s dead mother, or father, son or daughter, or like him, wife or lover turned in his head. He didn’t need to ask. He knew it was the truth, and yet here he was, not running to their aid, or running for safety in the wake of whatever had happened to them, but instead standing in the cold morning drizzle, doing his job. Helping people.
Aaro released him and he stood straight, eyes still locked on Aaro’s. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ He said it sincerely, for the hundredth time that morning. ‘Now please, move forward.’
Aaro took the wheel and closed the gap with the car in front without another word.
He wallowed.
His eyes closed and he sank lower into the seat, wishing for the nightmare to end. But as his mind repeated that thought, he heard the sounds of boots on the road. His lids flickered and he saw a dozen soldiers, rifles in hand, sprinting past his car towards the back.
The Veil Page 6
