While he struggled to wrap a tattered blanket around his shoulders, Martin watched Nitro storm past him. The others had all tapered off, leaving Gally alone, still sitting in the corner with her arms around her knees. The doctor had heard the conversation, and realized he was staring at the girl.
They met eyes, and Martin wondered if he was beginning to understand her. Her eyes reminded him of the day he’d been taken from his home. She looked helpless and lost, as he had been. The slightest frown appeared on his face, and his mouth hung open as he searched for something to say. He remembered the transport lights flickering, the silence on his way to Heru. He felt that silence now, and wanted to fight it.
Still, the years had been unkind to him, and he was becoming increasingly aware of his decline in social skills. To compound things, he found her to be his opposite: a pretty face who knew just what to say to start a war. But as he looked at her, as he saw her so vulnerable and lonely, he couldn’t find it within him to hate her. So he pulled the blanket tighter and walked past her, letting one hand drop to her shoulder. He looked at the wall near her face and spoke to it. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, and felt her shoulder shake as she nodded.
Sabile:
Somewhere deep within what used to be an office building
Days passed, cold days that provided very little food. Ula scraped together what she could from dispensing machines or cafeteria freezers. It reminded her of her family; she would constantly wonder if this was what life was like for her father, scrounging bits and pieces from whatever she could find. It was hard for her, but she couldn’t imagine trying to do it for a family of four.
She’d grown up quite a bit during those days, but still couldn’t stop crying herself to sleep at night. She kept reminding herself of the nights when bad dreams woke her; she’d crawl into her mother’s bed and she’d hold her. “Everything ends, baby,” she’d whisper. “Even nightmares.” It always made her feel strong, as if she’d outlast most things, but Ula wondered if her mother had meant that the family would end as well. In actuality, it came from a woman who’d watched her home planet end.
Now, when these terrible thoughts kept her up at night, she wouldn’t attempt to sleep; she’d just keep moving. She was determined to put distance between herself and the monsters, but even during the most productive days she’d have to relocate due to hearing the monsters eating nearby. On one occasion, she even witnessed a building collapse from the beams being devoured. She felt so alone, so out of place, witnessing events that no Herulean should live to see.
One day, she thought she heard fireworks, but she couldn’t see them. While they were going off, she tried to track the sound. She even risked running in the open, but she didn’t see anything. That was a few days ago, but she didn’t lose hope that something was close by. Fireworks, though she’d only read about them in books, had to mean people; the monsters couldn’t have been capable of such things.
She’d never quite lost the feeling that she should make herself known. After all, it seemed like someone else was trying to be known. And if the positions were reversed, she would expect some kind of response. So, one night, while she sat in the windowsill of a fantastically warm building, she decided that she would do so.
The question that remained in her head, however, as she ate her lackluster dinner, was how to go about it without the monsters noticing. One of the most unfortunate things, she discovered, about her father’s sudden death was that he never got to tell her how he avoided the beasts, let alone draw their attention. She had been lucky enough to avoid them thus far, staying above them and out of sight. But she knew it couldn’t be like that forever. And in order to avoid the monsters, she had to know what drew them in.
Brushing the crumbs from her hands, she was happy to have made up her mind. Still, her supplies were limited. She’d have to find materials. There was already so little time to read during the day. Most of the books around here were boring anyway, not like the ones her mother picked for her. Still, she enjoyed having things to do, and she was looking forward to making friends.
Sabile:
Twentieth floor, ruins of a large hotel
The slightest fizzle permeated a beaker within a room that was once very beautiful. The walls still had some color to them—a faded and brittle red—and the rug still wore its design with a dying pride. Past the table was a wall that was made up entirely of a window. It was the first time in a long time that Martin Collier had felt at home. He didn’t know why, but the deteriorated room spoke to him, and he allowed himself to be comfortable within it. Whoever owned the building had prestige, but they were gone now; all that was left were their possessions, such as the table at which Martin Collier sat, with his back to the window.
The fizzle was from the two chemicals he’d poured together. They hissed and whined, emitting a small trail of smoke. Martin gave an amused smile as he leaned over and jotted in his tablet. It only took a few moments to download all of his notes he’d saved before he’d been captured, and he was all the more impressed with his former self that he’d remembered to back up the files.
He was so grateful to be able to do chemistry again that he’d forgotten he couldn’t sleep. At this point, he’d given up making excuses as to why. He’d recognized it as self-loathing, which always seemed to find him at night, since the escape. This seemed to keep those thoughts at bay.
He’d just finished writing the reaction down when he heard a door slide open. He half-expected Josie again, and was disappointed to see Boomer. The mercenary stumbled in the dark, squinting at the man with his beakers and chemicals. “You look like the world’s worst bartender.” The demolitions expert looked perpetually unclean, but this time his oily hair was splayed in several directions, and his voice was dark and tired.
Martin wrinkled his nose, and it took him a moment to respond. The realization occurred to him that the mercenary was joking, and his responses were filtered accordingly, albeit slowly. In this time, Boomer looked back down and stumbled over to a corner of the large room. “I’ll have you know, I’m this world’s only bartender,” the doctor finally responded, dryly.
Boomer laughed through his nose and gave an uncharacteristically sane smile. “Any port in a storm, eh?” His smile evolved into his usual mad grin while he looked back. “Speaking of–” a zip was heard and Boomer placed one hand against the wall and the other on himself.
Martin had been away from people for some time, and it took him a while to realize what the demolitions expert was doing. Then he heard the hard, localized splashing, and realized he was staring at what should have been a very private moment. “Oh, good lord,” he muttered, embarrassedly looking down at his table. That’s when he realized he wasn’t the one who should have been embarrassed. “You know this place has a toilet, right?!”
Boomer shrugged. “Never could get the hang of these alien ones.” He looked down at himself. It just kept coming, so he remained patient. His steadying hand at his waist came up and gestured as he looked back. “Besides, what’s the point of an apocalypse if you can’t piss on the wall every so often?” His swift gesture made his spray swing, and Martin felt repulsed.
“Boomer,” he gripped a clump of his own hair and closed his eyes. “I am trying so hard to get used to people again, if you wouldn’t mind—” A flicker came across the desk, and the doctor opened his eyes again to make sure none of his chemicals had spontaneously combusted. But it wasn’t coming from the desk; the light was coming from behind him.
He turned.
Past the windows, against the outer walls of the tattered, black buildings, there hung ropes. These ropes were doused in a flammable liquid and lit aflame. The way the ropes were organized, it looked like it spelled something, though not in English. Boomer looked back at Martin as he shook out the last few drops. “How ’bout that, eh? Wonder what it says.”
“It’s Herulean.” Martin’s lips quivered as he tried to sound out the words. It was a very coarse language, full of nasal
exclamations. But beyond that, it was very sensitive, able to convey feelings well beyond the Human languages. And yet, there it was, written so beautifully and clearly, burning against the building. Martin pronounced the word in what was almost a whisper: “Bon’Tho”
“What’s it mean?” Boomer inquired, turning to the doctor before fully putting himself away.
Martin was mystified, “One word, two meanings.” He walked closer to the glass. “Hello, I’m here.”
This was the second time that Martin had dragged Purple Company out of bed. Nitro was beginning to sense a pattern he didn’t like. He made that clear the entire time he was putting on his environmental suit, then again as he put on his armor. Nitro, Josie, Boomer, and Martin, walked through the gray snow with caution. It didn’t make sense for everyone to go, and they mostly agreed that if it was a trap, it would have been spelled in English, not Herulean.
Whoever wrote it was certainly not looking out for anyone’s safety. Before long, the building would be aflame, or the flame would be out. That said, the Carrion didn’t seem to notice, and they probably wouldn’t for some time, provided nothing exploded from the flames. As they approached, Boomer was trying to calculate the odds of something explosive being in the building; his face reflected that he didn’t like his results. The wind seemed calmer at night, but it did not ease their nerves as they approached the building.
Nitro held up a closed fist, and the group halted. “Well, here it is,” Nitro sneered as he assessed the building.
“Shit,” Boomer quipped over the coms. “Could have seen this from the building.” Josie shrugged, curious and disappointed at the same time.
Martin looked around, dropping his hands at his side, wondering what would want them to come all the way out here for nothing. A horrible thought gnawed at his mind: what if he’d imagined the burning letters? What if they were just a product of the damage done to him by solitary confinement? But before logic could prevail, he turned around and saw it: a small figure dressed in the bulkiest of clothing. Her exposed mouth was all that revealed her blue skin. Otherwise, she was wrapped in layer upon layer of ragged clothing. She looked up at them as a proud smile crossed her face.
“Oh my god!” Doctor Collier’s awe-filled voice crackled in the others’ helmets. He took two steps toward her, and they stared at each other for some time before Martin turned. “Boomer!” He ran over to the demolitions expert and quickly began unstrapping his helmet.
“Wait a minute,” Boomer protested, but the helmet was removed nonetheless. The mercenary grumbled and covered his cold ears with his hands, a sour expression on his face.
Martin hurriedly thumbed the translating device in the helmet’s audio dial and set it to Herulean before he turned back to the girl. He waited, and simply took her in. While the beauty of finding a survivor was heartening, the guilt gave him pause. A hesitant smile crossed his face as his hand raised to wave at her. She didn’t wave back, simply adjusted her scarf and looked up at him. Despite a warning from Nitro, the doctor gingerly approached her, his walking slowly dipping into a crouch. With a long, extended arm, one would have thought Martin was feeding a bear, the way he was handing her the helmet.
“Hi,” he said, knowing she wouldn’t understand him. His eyes full of tragic wonder, the doctor fell cross-legged in the gray snow as he stared at her.
Her thick gloves carefully took the helmet and examined it. After she was satisfied with it, she looked up at Martin, who mimed that she should put it on. Scarf after scarf, hat after hat, and, finally, her goggles were all removed. Her dark blue hair dropped like a vine. It was one long braid that hadn’t been managed in some time. When Martin excitedly looked back at the others, he noticed Josie’s face had changed to sympathetic.
The Herulean girl looked to the doctor again before putting the helmet on. Martin spoke slowly and calmly, in an encouraging tone that hid his shame. “That’s it. Can you understand me now?” She nodded, and he endeavored to keep his words simple. “Good. We’re friends. My name is Martin.” He looked at her and waited before asking, “What’s yours?”
“Ula.” Her voice was small, fragile, and very tired.
“Where are your parents?” Josie’s voice came over the coms. It wasn’t as patient or as gentle as Martin’s; she just spoke normally, though her voice showed concern.
Ula’s face softened, her bottom lip curled. While they couldn’t see it due to the visor, tears grew in her eyes. Seeing her reaction, Martin couldn’t speak; a lump sat in his throat. His mind raced with the idea that he might have been the reason this girl was an orphan. He froze in guilt, staring at the girl.
Josie walked to him, placing a hand on the doctor’s back before speaking to the child. “Would you like to come with us? Are you hungry?” she asked, without first asking the captain for permission. Nitro bit his lip in disagreement, but didn’t protest.
They could see the tears falling past the visor as the girl nodded. “Okay,” Martin’s voice tried to gather strength as he got to one knee. “Okay.” As he stood, he extended a hand to the child. She took it.
He heard Nitro behind him; even without the coms, he could tell his tone was nervous, yet professional. “Alright, let’s go,” he said, scanning the area.
Nitro had made it clear to the doctor that the Carrion was an enemy he didn’t understand. They didn’t fight for survival, territory, or a cause. From what he’d seen, and from what Boomer had relayed to him, they only seemed to be going after people for fun, which freed them from using tactics or any reasonable course of action that soldiers would take. Even in the case of Research Station 4, they played with it first, and then ate it. An enemy with no territory could, and did, come from anywhere at any time, but the girl who lit the beacon didn’t look concerned about it. The captain waved a hand in a forward motion, and Purple Company began to move. Martin made sure that he and the girl stayed in the center of the group.
“Did you do that?” The doctor could be heard as they walked, his chin gesturing toward the building with the signal. The girl nodded before looking up at the doctor. “It’s very good.”
When the sun rose, the wind picked up and the gray snow whipped and whirled around the buildings. Gally stood atop a tall building, and she was grateful for the warmth of the environmental suit. She watched Nitro walk along the roof as well, staring upward at the three large burn marks in the sky. Although they’d begun to fade, they were a roadmap, leading the party directly to the people who had shot them down. They would also lead Gally to Rook. Her expression when she glanced at the marks was very different.
She felt Nitro’s eyes on her. When she looked at him, she couldn’t tell what his eyes meant. “All this, it’s for you, isn’t it?” His voice was deep, pensive. He worried her when he was calm. He had this eerie attractiveness; the dark and temporary serenity of the eye of a hurricane.
Looking into his eyes for that brief moment, she wanted to be free: wanted to be her young, reckless college-aged self who would have run away with him. But that girl, and those years, were far away from her. Now, there was a fire that needed to be fed. “We’re not having this talk right now.” She stepped forward, staring at the large complex in the distance.
Nitro huffed, finally looking away from her, as a smile appeared on his face. Holding one finger against the corner of his visor, he enabled the binocular feature. The outline of a large, black building sat in the distance. It was a makeshift airbase, even to the eyes of a government desk jockey. The runway was large, but it had several huge ships on it. The mercenary finally changed the subject. “Well, some good news. Those aren’t troop transports.”
“How do you know?” she inquired, thankful for his civility.
“Seen my fair share of military transports. Automaton assholes conceal their numbers. They crunch together like sardines. Those look like sardine cans to you?” He gestured.
Gally leaned forward and squinted, not seeing Nitro roll his eyes before walking over to her. He grabbed he
r gloved hand and gently extended her index finger. She shot him a look as he placed her index finger against a button on the visor. The visor whirred as the binoculars activated. “Ah.” Her hand didn’t budge, she didn’t remove it from his, nor did she falter in any way. She examined the large, clunky, square ships with rounded edges. They were being filled with other large containers. “No, they do not,” she replied, looking back in time to see him step back.
“They’re up to something,” Nitro muttered before stepping even further away from the ledge. “This is shitty.” He began to pace.
Gally slid a hand under the helmet to rub her eyes as the visor reverted back to normal. “Well, you can name your price when it’s finished.”
“That’s my fucking point, Ramone!” The captain walked back toward her, his voice raised. “This whole thing’s a suicide run! There ain’t no finish!”
She blinked and looked down, dropping her hands to her side. Her lip curled, and her left foot tapped against the roof. After a sigh, she pressed him. “I knew you needed a pilot. Did I tell you that?” The captain’s anger froze for a minute; his posture suggested he was expecting an argument, but he didn’t get one. So he looked uncertain as she continued. “I didn’t just hire a random contractor. I did my research. You’re the only one on your whole team with a searchable history, which tells me you’re not a criminal or a disgraced officer. You were on Sondur during their revolution; you had your own battalion for two years of hell.”
He seemed to have simmered; the anger in him was quieter, different than what she’d seen. His posture wasn’t that of an insulted man, but of a teenager who didn’t know what to do with his anger. “I don’t want to go back there.”
Stars Gods Wolves: Book One: Carrion Page 13