The Veil

by Torstein Beck

  He took another two shots to the chest this time and followed Bjork. His screams of shock died quickly as he bounced on the gangplank and rolled into the icy water between the sub and the jetty.

  Berg cursed and tried to draw but Aaro was gone. Sorina had taken the direction and moved into the next cabin and now so had Aaro.

  Berg’s bullets followed him but they went wide and dinged off the metal interior.

  Aaro could hear him screaming in the comms but it was only just louder than his own heartbeat and was twice as muffled. He dashed forwards, diving through hatch after hatch as he put distance between him and Berg. He couldn’t see Sorina but he knew she was safe, hiding somewhere if she had any sense. It was just him and Berg, and Strom.

  He stopped to catch his breath. Berg and Strom were shouting in his head, directing each other and roaring in indignation, calling his name, cursing him.

  The steel of the sub was cold through the suit as he crouched in the darkness of one of the hundreds of compartments that had now been stripped of its innards. He was nestled between two steam ducts. He’d memorised the path from the outer hatch to the core room and he had that on his side. Berg and Strom had never been in there, so it was a home-field advantage if nothing else. Their heavy breaths echoed in his mask as they chased him. The near total darkness inside was his ally now. He was outnumbered and outclassed. They were both trained for this.

  ‘Where the fuck is he?’ barked Strom.

  ‘We’ll find him,’ Berg hissed back.

  ‘Ek and Bjork are both gone. He killed them both.’

  ‘I know. That motherfucker is dead, don’t worry. You hear that?!’ Berg called. ‘You hear me, Emmerson? We’re coming for you! You’re fucking dead, you hear! Where are you, you piece of shit!?’

  Aaro stayed quiet. He calmed himself. He wasn’t dying here. He couldn’t. He’d survived worse and he would again. They were close now. The floor shook with their footsteps, the vibrations bouncing through the dead skeleton of the abandoned beast. Maybe one or two rooms away. How they’d come, he didn’t know, but he needed to be ready. Surprise them if he could.

  A flash of light bounced into the room that Aaro was hiding in, the final compartment that led to the outer hatch. It was long and lined with pipes. He was hidden for now, but if he was seen he’d be trapped and he’d have no time to get to the hatch.

  Shit, Aaro had hoped he’d have the darkness to ambush them.

  The beam was closer now, a flashlight combing each section as they checked them off as clear.

  Radio silence had fallen. They’d reverted to their training, moving in a pair, checking every corner and covering the other.

  And then another voice came through. ‘What’s going on in there?’ It was Alva. She was frantic. ‘Guys? Hello! Is anyone there? Thea is out here, she’s screaming! She’s taken her mask off but we can’t understand what she’s saying! She’s gonna die out here! Hello? We can’t open the doors, we don’t have any breathing equipment? Hello? Anybody?’ She sobbed helplessly into the silence.

  Aaro heard someone stifle a cry in his ear. He could have sworn it was Sorina but he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t do anything right now anyway.

  The light was at the door. Aaro was halfway down the room, pressed against the wall behind the pipes, pistol held to his chest.

  ‘I can hear you breathing…’ came a cold voice. Berg. ‘That scared, shallow breathing of someone facing their death. We will find you. Come out now and we’ll make it quick.’

  Aaro smiled.

  I won’t.

  A dull clunk of boots on steel told Aaro they were in the compartment. Slow, methodical footsteps.

  He steadied his breathing and stayed tight to the pipes. He’d let them pass and strike from behind, take both of them as quickly as he could.

  Three metres.

  He breathed slowly, keeping it even. Holding his breath would make it obvious. He didn’t want to risk it.

  Two metres.

  He could hear them moving, the rustling of their suits, the subtle clicking of their pistols in their hands, the squeaking of their boots.

  They were passing. They didn’t see him between the vertical piping.

  Berg first, then Strom.

  He let them.

  He took one slow step into the corridor. They were thirty centimetres apart, Berg aiming right, Strom hanging on his shoulder, aiming left, covering the whole corridor.

  Except for their backs, that is.

  Aaro didn’t think he could shoot them both with true enough shots that they wouldn’t round on him in time. He took a deep breath and measured the distance.

  Then he struck.

  He stepped low, left arm under Strom’s. He threaded it up quickly and pushed his hand across Strom’s faced, pinning his arm over his head as he did. The mask was tight against his face but Aaro took it by the can and forced it up, covering his eyes. Strom yelled in shock and his free arm flailed. He dropped the torch and fired into the air. Berg stumbled and wheeled around.

  Aaro didn’t waste any time. He shoved the barrel of his pistol into Strom’s back and fired three times. Blood spray filled the room, bursting from the front of Strom’s yellow suit. It doused Berg and he cursed, wiping the blood from his mask. He smeared it across the visor and swore again, waving the pistol madly in Aaro’s direction.

  He ducked behind Strom’s corpse and used it as a shield. The last remnants of life quickly slipped from it as it absorbed a half a dozen of Berg’s shots.

  Aaro grunted under the dead weight as he shoved Strom at Berg. Through the bloodied mask, he didn’t see the body coming. Strom crashed into him and he staggered backwards, holding Strom up as best he could.

  Aaro rushed forwards and lashed out at Berg’s arm with a hard kick in an attempt to disarm him. The gun span into the darkness and clattered against the wall. Aaro tried to raise his pistol but Berg was fast. He’d shrugged Strom off and was on guard. He snatched Aaro’s hand out of the air and twisted it roughly.

  Aaro cried out and his fingers opened, releasing the pistol. The only light in the room was coming from the two flashlights. Strom’s was now rolling near his body and Berg’s was still in his left hand, illuminating the room with a narrow, whipping beam, silhouetting the two of them as shadows and nothing more.

  Aaro wrestled his hand free and stepped back, taking stock of Berg who seemed in no rush. He stood like a man who knew how to fight, and who’d just lost three friends. Rage was coming off him like heat.

  Aaro was a brawler at best, but Berg was trained. They were both unarmed but Aaro was still outgunned.

  There was only a second of stillness before Berg pounced, half blinded by Strom’s blood.

  He hit hard and Aaro tried to parry but the blow got through. Berg’s closed fist clattered into Aaro’s mask and his visor cracked.

  Aaro scrambled backwards and closed his hands around the seams. It was useless now. He took one deep raking breath as he did and held it before tearing the mask off and throwing it into the dark.

  The cold air scratched at his face, the radioactive dust stinging his eyes. It filled the entire sub. The reading on his monitor was far beyond the safe level but there was no other option. The cracks would have allowed the dust to seep in either way.

  He had a lungful of air — maybe thirty seconds in the struggle.

  His mind whirled.

  There were two functioning masks left in the room: Berg’s and Strom’s.

  One of them would need to be reached in time.

  A single breath of unfiltered air would make his lungs bleed and he’d drown in his own fluids.

  Berg’s was already in use and Strom’s was on the other side of Berg. The odds weren’t good.

  Could he reach the reactor room in time? A sprint there and he could take one of the other’s masks. Doing that would give Berg the advantage. He could get his gun and fire into Aaro’s back before he reached the door. No, it was now or never.

  He mo
ved, thinking Berg’s blood-smeared mask might have given him an edge.

  Aaro swooped in close and lashed out with a hard right hook to Berg’s ribs. He winced as it struck but the hard stacked muscle absorbed the blow like hitting a steel plate. A ripple of pain shot through Aaro’s wrist and he bit his lip to stop any air escaping. He tried to pull away but Berg was ruthless. He rained down in a hammer blow and his elbow struck Aaro on the side of the neck. Another pang of pain washed through his head and his lips parted now, a delicate stream of air escaping. No.

  Aaro sagged to his knee and squinted upwards at the shadowed figure of Berg standing over him. He wound up for another hit, tossing his torch into his right to bludgeon Aaro with it.

  With gritted teeth, Aaro struck low. He fired a punch into the inside of Berg’s knee. A loud crack rang out in the darkness. Berg twisted awkwardly on his feet but Aaro wasn’t sure if he’d dislocated something in Berg’s leg or just broken his own hand. Everything was hurting.

  His eyes went blurry in the pain now, his hold on consciousness beginning to slip. Berg’s guard was down and Aaro had no more than a few seconds of breath left. The last shot had almost emptied his lungs. But this was about to be over. His hand mangled, he pivoted on his knee and hooked his left arm under Berg’s thigh. With a shallow grunt, he threw it upwards. Berg’s unsteady stance gave way and he toppled. Aaro drove forward with all he had left, throwing Berg’s knee into his own gut. It was impossible for him to counter in time and he tumbled backwards, landing with a clang on the metal grated floor. He let go of his flashlight and it bounced away under the pipes. But even in the pitch darkness now, Aaro knew his way and he knew his target. He was on top of him.

  He clawed his way onto Berg and straddled his chest. Berg regained his senses, but it was no use. Aaro ripped Berg’s mask off and pinned one of his arms under his knee, leaning into it with all his weight. Berg cried out in anger, arching his back to try and buck Aaro off, but he heard only the rushing of blood in his ears. The dust in his eyes and mouth stung like hornets but he barely registered it. His legs kicked wildly but Aaro was too high up on his chest for it to do any good.

  Berg’s free hand scrabbled at Aaro’s shoulder and chest but it was too little too late.

  Aaro straightened himself before falling hard onto Berg’s face with the only weapon he had left.

  He felt Berg’s nose crunch under his forehead.

  The pain was blinding, but his right hand was definitely broken and his left hand wouldn’t do enough damage to finish him off in time.

  It was the only way.

  He drew upwards again now, Berg’s screams of anger turning to shrieks of pain. He dropped again, harder this time. His eyes were closed but he could feel the blood running over them. He hit him again and with each strike, he felt the kicking grow weaker.

  Soon.

  He hit him again. And again. And again.

  And then the kicking stopped.

  Aaro collapsed forward onto Berg’s limp body and weakly reached out for the mask. It was there in the darkness somewhere. His hand found it but his fingers wouldn’t close around it. He whimpered, hooking his decrepit hand around it and dragging it towards him. He lifted it and pushed it against his face with his left. The foam sealed and he inhaled, rolling onto his back. He lay there for a minute or two, eyes still closed, drowning in the air. The pain in his wrist was agonising and he could feel blood pooling in his mask, building up around his eyes. His head was split pretty badly. He couldn’t see it, but he knew Berg’s would be no more than a crater at this point.

  Under his forehead, he’d felt three or four breaks. Three or four cracks where the bridge had shattered in his nose, and maybe an eye socket, the jaw, a cheek. Either way, it didn’t matter. The darkness that surrounded them both, the steel hull of the sub and the radioactive air that filled them, would all form the tomb for Berg. The deed was done, but he wasn’t finished.

  He still had to find Sorina, and then they had to get home.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THE BEGINNING

  2108 AD

  He stared blankly over his swinging arm, hanging at an odd angle, twisted and limp from the shoulder. The blackness was swallowing him up, his brain willing him to let go of the rope. His fingers started to loosen but his wrist was twisted. He wouldn’t fall.

  How cruel he thought it was, to keep him suspended there, to watch the carnage below as the dark crimson of Lila’s blood still spurted and sprayed from the parts of her that were left. The only things now visible that were still recognisable were the strands of hair that floated through the blood mist. The gunfire penned them in but under the gates, the Varas were safe from it, and they knew it. They wasted no time in ripping her apart.

  The darkness came quickly for him and with each blink, his eyes grew blurry and heavy. Each breath was laboured and slow and each second of life seemed to drain through him like sand through an hourglass.

  His last sight was that of the horror beneath. He stared into hell itself. And then he passed out. The horrid, peaceful darkness embraced him — just as it had Emilie, and now Lila too.

  If there was any justice, the nightmare would end and he would be allowed the mercy to die — to finally die and be rid of his life.

  But there was no justice.

  A hammer blow to the chest ripped him from the void. He sat bolt upright and sucked in a huge lungful of bloodied air.

  Death was obliterated and life returned to him in waves.

  ‘Lila!?’ was all he could scream.

  ‘Calm down, you’re ok!’ yelled a somehow familiar voice over the barrage of fire. It belonged to the same soldier that was arguing with his CO on top of the wall. The one who’d thrown the rope.

  Aaro was on his back, the private kneeling over him, his fist still pressed against his chest, an adrenaline shot buried between his ribs. The private pulled it out with a nagging sting, but then that pain in his chest was replaced by the one in his shoulder. His arm was cradled in his lap. He looked down at it but his fingers wouldn’t respond.

  ‘It was pretty badly dislocated but I put it back in while you were unconscious. It must have popped out when you lost consciousness and the muscles relaxed. You’ll need to bind it and sling it for a few weeks but you should be ok. You’re safe now, don’t worry.’ The private smiled warmly at him. All around soldiers were hanging over the rail on top of the wall, firing into the horde.

  The private dropped the syringe back into the first aid kit next to them and pushed it back under the small bench set against the rail. Aaro was on the battlement above the gate. He could have only been out for a minute or so. They must have spotted his body dangling above the road and hauled him over.

  He tried to stand but the private kept him down. ‘Woah, not so fast! Stay down, catch your breath.’

  ‘Where’s Lila?’ he asked, knowing the answer.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Lila, the girl I was with!’

  ‘What girl?’

  ‘The girl on the rope.’

  ‘There wasn’t anyone else on the rope. You were hanging there, your wrist tangled. You must have passed out from the strain. It doesn’t look like you’ve eaten or slept for days.’ He looked Aaro up and down, at the blood soaking his stomach, still eeking from his fresh wounds. The smile turned from one of warmth to one of concern. ‘You’re in real bad shape, you need to see a doctor.’

  ‘Lila first!’

  ‘There’s no one else, it’s just you.’

  ‘No, she was on the bike with me! She could still be alive!’ Aaro roared suddenly, emotion erupting inside him. He tried to push the private off again, but he found himself too weak. He found he was yelling indistinctly.

  ‘Listen! You came in alone! You road down the road like a madman, screaming for help, waving your pistol around, demanding we let you in! But you were alone! It was just you. I pointed that searchlight right at you. I’m telling you, there was no one else with you.’ He had his hands on Aaro�
��s shoulders now, trying to calm him.

  ‘'No, she was on the back, she must have been hugging me, hidden behind me, you must not have seen her!’

  ‘Trust me, you were alone. There was no one else. You’re in shock — it’s not uncommon for people to project things — see things — nightmares, hallucinations you know. It’s the PTSD. I’ve seen it—’

  ‘No, I’m not hallucinating! She was there, she was real!’

  ‘No, she wasn’t.’

  ‘Yes, she was! And I have to save her! She saved me and now I have to save her!’

  ‘You can’t save her because she’s not real!’

  ‘Listen to me,’ Aaro cried, feeling the warmth of tears on his dirtied cheeks. ‘You have to let me go, I can help her!’

  ‘Stay down!’ The private shouted, pushing Aaro backwards as he tried to get up. ‘Hey, hey!’ He pulled him in, sobbing and spluttering. He held him against his chest and restrained him there.

  Aaro sobbed wildly, struggling against the stranger that was telling him that the girl who’d saved his life, the one he’d been bound to for the last day and a half, the one that had helped him open a gate, persuaded him to kill two men, the one who had fetched him food and held him as he wept, wasn’t real.

  The two strangers stayed locked in that embrace for a few seconds before Aaro relented.

  Was she real?

  She was, to him at least. What he felt, the sadness, the gratitude, definitely was.

  Lila.

  Her name.

  His daughter’s name.

  He told her that he would have been proud to see his daughter grow up to be like her. Was that too close, too coincidental? Was it a final goodbye, the only way that his mind could process the loss? He’d taken it in his stride. He hadn’t had time to grieve, for either of them. Emilie stayed with him but he hadn’t thought of Lila, or had he only been thinking of her? So much that she manifested herself to him?

  He didn’t know, he couldn’t process. He was too tired, too hurt, too strung out.