Fog (27 page)

‘We will consider it,’ Runner says and switches the machine off.

A weak, ‘What?’ escapes my lips.
 

He stuffs the SatPat deep into his ruck, stands, and tips his head at me.
 

‘Hey Micka,’ he says softly and takes my face into his hands. He runs his thumbs over my temples and smiles. My heart contracts and I could die right this moment. His gaze slips down to my lips, his index finger follows. ‘You could end this, now.’ He lowers his head, and kisses me and I wonder if I should do it — crack the pearl and let us die together. I brush my tongue against his, let the pearl click against his teeth, and I know I can’t kill him. Softly, I bite his lower lip and lay my forehead against his chest.

‘I have this one chance,’ I hear myself say. My voice sounds as if it comes from far away. This is my call, not his. I’m surprised I can see so many possibilities where other people might only see their own ends.

‘There’s the easy way out,’ I begin. ‘Crack the pearl, die here and show Erik my middle finger because I know he’s watching.’

‘There’s the stupid way out,’ Runner says. ‘We hide, hope that Erik wants you badly enough to search for you, then we take him down and capture the helicopter.’

‘Yeah, that sounds like it’ll work.’

We chuckle. That would be an idiotic mission.

‘Or…’ he begins and I finish, ‘…I deliver my payload.’

‘Yes,’ he whispers.

‘Under one condition.’

He breathes into my hair, his calloused hand resting warm against my neck. ‘Okay,’ he says, and pulls back to look at me.

‘Promise me.’

‘I promise.’

‘You don’t even know what it is,’ I say.

‘I don’t see a reason to refuse you, whatever it is you want from me.’

‘I want you to survive.’ He shakes his head, about to reply. I raise my hand to his mouth. ‘Ssshhh. Listen, please. The observatory is not far from here, you can make it before the rain.’ I nod at the storm rolling in from the west. ‘The amplifier we hid there — use it. Call for help, get out of here. Tell them what’s happened.’

He laughs. It’s a bitter sound. ‘The detonation must have created an electromagnetic pulse that fries all electronic equipment out in the open.’

‘The SatPad is still working,’ I point out. ‘The observatory is more than sixty kilometres from the power plant and there is a lot of rock in between; mountains. Fuck, Runner, don’t give up now. If you give up, why would I keep fighting? What for? What about your daughter? She needs you.’ I’m so frustrated, I could kick his shin.

‘And you, Micka? You can get direct access to the man who controls the BSA, their communications, and intelligence. Will you poison yourself and him when you step into his machine and make a quick end of it, or will you try to make the best of the opportunities you get?’

I wonder what opportunities I could possibly get from a man who sends his own men to certain death.

‘I don’t give a shit about my own life. But dammit, Runner, if you dare sacrifice yourself…’ I swallow and press my fist to his heart. ‘If you don’t run really fast up that damn hill and hole yourself up in the observatory and call for an airlift, I’ll crush that toxic implant as soon as Erik and I are in the air. I swear.’

‘Are we holding each other hostage?’

I uncurl my fist and lay my palm flat against his chest. ‘Yes. As long as you stay alive, I will, too. Promise me.’

He places his hand over mine. His heartbeat is a deep rumble. Inside, rages a silent war between power and weakness, despair and hope.

I squeeze my eyes shut and memorise the flavours of his names. A tear skids down my cheek. He curls his arms around me. How painfully short time can be when one wishes for an eternity. All too soon, he steps away from me.

‘Micka, with the sunset hair and the desert skin,’ he whispers. ‘You have to hurry.’

‘When you hear the helicopter taking off, you run.’
 

He gives me a single nod. I squeeze his hand and turn away.

A helicopter is standing idle on the airstrip. I scan the perimeter, but my scope shows no trace of Erik or his men. When my ears grow hot and the hairs on the back of my neck rise, I know they must be close.

‘Freeze,’ sounds from behind me. Twenty metres away, my mind registers coolly while my heart drops to my toes. ‘Lower your rifle. Now, kneel.’

Sharp flavours of brass and iron coat my tongue. Finally, I can see Erik’s trap in its entirety. He set up the camp in full view and waited for us to find him; heavy weapons, even a helicopter and a rocket launcher. We were drawn to it like flies to dead flesh. Then he moved one pathetic-looking ship, showing us only part of his fleet. And again, we were drawn to it. He split our forces in two, kept Runner and me busy, maybe even studied me because he wasn’t sure if I might be useful to him. Then he snapped his trap shut and sent a fake message to let my friends believe Runner and I were in great danger. He moved our forces on his game board. Then, with a flick of his finger, he killed his own men and my people, and, in the same move, called me to him, knowing I’d not say no.

I want to punch his throat and rip out his airways.

A hard shove sends me to my knees. The stupid suture tears, yet again. My ruck is yanked from my shoulders, my face slammed in the dirt, my hands tied behind my back, as pistol and knife are taken from me. There’s no more effective way to strip a sniper naked than to take away her rifle and her partner. And only now does it hit me: Runner’s mother and sister had been taken by the BSA and he’d been unable to do anything about it. He hid in a cow carcass. Today, history repeats itself for him. I couldn’t have been more ignorant. Why did I not see it in his empty expression, the paleness of his eyes, the grim set mouth? Why did I not find the right words to make this easier for him?

Suddenly, I realise he didn’t promise me to stay alive. Something breaks inside my head; I can even hear it — must be sanity.

A bitter laugh erupts from my mouth. I never learned how to comfort people, how to feel for them and with them. Nothing about me has changed in the past months. Only now, I’m an effective killer.

‘Erik…. There’s something I need to tell you.’
Come closer. Come closer!
I’ll take you away with me.

‘Blindfold her.’ A deep, rasping command. It’s the first time I hear my father speak. Strawberry flavours tickle the root of my tongue. A grating sensation — much like rows of small seeds and tiny hairs on a smooth berry — spreads on my palate. It mixes with the metallic taste of danger. I gag.

A bag is slipped over my head and tied around my neck. I’m in my own small bubble. I can poison only myself. He’s taken my last defence from me.

Bristling fury surges through me and I do find the right words then, and let them out in a cold growl. ‘Motherfucking son of a bitch!’

The kick to my injured side comes as a relief. This pain I can handle.

The cloth bag is coarse. Small specks of light shine through it. The rope cuts into my wrists, my injured side rubs on the helicopter’s metal floor and my ears are assaulted with the roaring of motor and wings cutting air. A perpetual series of images flicker across my retinae: my hand on Runner’s chest, the explosion, the noise, the cloud, my hand on Runner’s chest.

I’m numbed by the fear of his death, by hopelessness, by my own failure to be or do the right thing at the right moment. My eyes seem to already forget the beauty of his smile; my tongue cannot recall the taste of his kiss. I try hard to summon images and flavours; I need to see and taste him. So much. Just once. Just this once.

My hand on his chest, his heartbeat within, his hand covering mine and him asking, ‘Are we holding each other hostage?’ — that’s all my mind shows me of him, over and over again. Even when I open my eyes and try to squint through the holes in the fabric that covers my face, I can still see our hands, his broad chest, his dark-brown shirt.
 

My words and memories begin to lose their flavours. My mouth seems to fill with ash.

I feel the stirring of something new. Somewhere behind my navel, a knot forms. It’s cold and hard. Comforting in a way. And deadly precise.

———

They have plundered the world, stripping naked the land in their hunger… they are driven by greed, if their enemy be rich; by ambition, if poor… They ravage, they slaughter, they seize by false pretences, and all of this they hail as the construction of empire. And when in their wake nothing remains but a desert, they call that peace.

Tacitus, The Agricola and the Germania

Preview of Book Three: Ice

I put for the general inclination of all mankind, a perpetual and restless desire of power after power, that ceaseth only in death.

Thomas Hobbes

When you lay down a law, see that it is not disobeyed; if it is disobeyed the offender must be put to death.

The Art of War, Sun Tzu

I’m about to die. I have mixed feelings about that, but no time to elaborate. The crunching noise is sickening — something’s broken. A sudden impact jerks me forward and I hit my head hard on the yoke, tilting the nose of the aircraft towards the sheer rock wall before me. I yank the machine up, blinking blood and sunlight from my eyes.
 

Snowy mountains shimmer through the clouds. The small aircraft tumbles and hollers, muting the wild knocking of my heart against my ribs. An orchestra of terror. The crest is racing closer — a black shard cutting through soft white clouds. I growl, clench my teeth, and fight with the stubborn machine.
 

A piercing noise and I’m thrown forward again, barely missing the yoke this time. I pull the aircraft back up until blue sky is all I see. I want to remain up here, but I can’t.

Both control screens flash warnings in capital red letters, telling me nothing I don’t already know. I push the nose of the machine down to bring its wings level with the horizon, and make sure it’s somewhat in line with the previous course.
 

I’m skidding along a blanket of white. One last glance, then I leave the cockpit and enter the cabin. At once, the machine starts to fishtail.

I hurry the parachute onto my back and pull the buckles tight. My large ruck goes upside down against my front, its straps around my belly and thighs. My rifle sticks halfway out and I’m sure I’ll bonk my head against the stock on my way down. But a headache would be the least of my problems.