by R. D. Hale
'Hey, guys, I'm struggling here. What about you?' I say.
'It's certainly slippery,' Bex says.
'You think we should stop?' I gasp, thinking I could maybe rest with my feet on a ledge.
'And do what? Slide back down?' Sirah says.
'The way we're going, we may end up sliding down anyways,' I say.
'Nah, the slope isn't much steeper than forty-five degrees. We can–'
'Whoa!' My foot slips hard and then my hand loses grip of the ledge. I slide down fast at an awkward angle, thumping into the next ledge and tumbling. As my body rolls over another ledge, I grab onto it, almost dislocating my shoulder, but I somehow hold tight. I reach my other hand to the ledge, stabilise myself, and gasp for breath. The bone in my upper-arm hurts like shit, but the fact I am holding tight means it cannot be broken.
'Are you okay down there?' Bex says.
'Nothing to worry about. I just almost broke my arm,' I say.
'You need to be more careful. Slow steady movements. We're almost there,' Sirah says.
Curling my lips, I continue the climb, slow and steady, and I meet the girls at the mouth of the shard. The snow on the rooftop is now so deep, the steel drums are almost concealed and the flames are no longer burning. The huts have become a sequence of shadows and the occupants must be in hibernation.
We sit with our legs dangling over the frosted ledge, catching our breath, and my throat stings. The coldness spreads into my lungs, freezing my whole chest as white flakes swirl in the wind. I need my breathing to settle so the pain stops.
BOOM! CRASH! The shard trembles and lurches a few inches to the side. 'Jump, before it falls!' I say and we leap into the deep snow.
BOOM! CRASH! My ears are ringing. My bones are shaking. It sounds like buildings are collapsing all around, and this building is vibrating like crazy, meaning it could be next.
'Get as far from the shard as you can!' I yell.
We wade through the snow, desperately trying to sprint, but unable to move faster than a snail's pace. The resistance seems to increase with my effort and my leg muscles are burning intensely. As we near the huts, a creaking becomes unbearably loud, and I glance back to see the shard shift about ten feet. I can hear the cracking, crumbling of masonry as snow slips from the roof-ledge, and I can feel the shockwaves beneath my feet. This place is no longer stable and one more explosion could trigger major collapse.
'Guys, the shard is moving. We need to get to the other side of the rooftop,' Sirah yells and the others nervously emerge from their huts, apart from Kezan. We wade through snow to the far end of the roof, which is about seventy yards from the shard. Even this distance does not seem far enough.
'They must be fighting nearby. Those explosions probably mean tanks or mechs. It sounded like buildings were collapsing. We need to get out of here,' Sirah says.
'We'll need to figure out where the fighting is taking place. It seemed like it was coming from that direction.' I point behind us and to our right, and everyone walks to the corner of the building for a better view, but the snow is still coming down hard. The neighbouring buildings are semi-visible, and seem fully intact which is reassuring, but then I hear a loud rumbling. Not the rumbling of collapse, but a smoother kind of rumbling which seems to be coming from ground level, and growing louder. A shadow appears in the blizzard and then a cannon and then the full body of a tank.
'We cannot go down there, just yet. It's too dangerous. Let's squeeze into Jim's hut. It's the one farthest from the shard. We'll have to wait out the fighting before we make our escape,' Sirah says and we walk away from the ledge.
Our half of the group squeeze into Jim's hut, and the rest go to the next hut because there simply is not enough room. Six of us sit on one mattress, uncomfortably close to one another, but our shared body warmth helps. The two largest – Sirah and a man whose name I forget – sit on the floor, beside the draught-proofed door, sharing two blankets. The structure is doing an impressive job of keeping out the wind, but it continuously rattles, and I cannot imagine tolerating this night after night. Perhaps you learn to tune it out. One wall has a shelf containing clutter and below sits a chest and two rucksacks. Other than that, the place is pretty much empty. Talk about minimalism.
'Cali attacked us. Turned out to be a crazy,' Sirah says and the others gawp, unsure how to respond.
'It's weird, she seemed normal at first, but she got triggered when Sirah mentioned her dead husband,' Bex says.
'I stunned her and we took some of the stuff we collected, left it under the fire escape. We'll have to get it when the coast is clear. Wait until the tanks leave the area,' I say.
'I dunno how they can be fighting in these conditions,' Bex says. 'How do they even see their targets?'
'Infra-red,' Jim says. He is the oldest-looking group member, sporting a wild grey beard. 'The sensors on the tanks will cut straight through the blizzard, and they can easily drive through deep snow. These are the perfect conditions for them.'
'Seems to me like they're not seeing their targets too clearly. I'm pretty sure I heard buildings collapsing,' I say.
'Just because the military have the tools to do a proper job, doesn't stop them being reckless. Collateral damage has no meaning to them,' Jim says.
'Ain't that the truth,' I pause, looking at the weary faces opposite, then glancing to the ones sharing my blanket. 'Where's Kezan, anyways?'
'Alone in his hut. He was strangely moody earlier. Took a huff when Oscar beat him at chess and locked himself away,' Jim says.
'Shall we not get him?' I say.
'Nah, his hut's pretty close by. He'll be just as safe in there,' Jim says.
'As long as his roof's strong enough to support the weight of the snow. It doesn't seem as robust as this one,' I say.
'These huts are more robust than you'd think. They've been battered by strong winds many times. I'm pretty sure they can withstand snow,' Jim says.
Explosions interrupt our talking as the hours pass, and occasionally the apartment building trembles, but I am reassured by the lack of movement. The roofs above and below appear to be holding, and the shard seems to be steady in its new position. For now.
After a while without an explosion, we dare to venture outside to discover the blizzard has stopped and the air is calm. We wade through thigh-deep snow to the roof-ledge, peering for any sign of a military presence, but we do not even see collapsed buildings, let alone tanks. The fighting must have taken place farther away than it sounded, which is just as well.
The warzone is now a deceptively peaceful wilderness with snow concealing the rubble and craters, as though the agony is not felt and the suffering is not real, but the suffering has been prolonged and the people are trapped. I gaze at the dispersing clouds as the sun sets, noticing a jet swoosh overhead, only to be consumed by a ball of fire. The pink clouds are illuminated; their edges shining red, and for a moment it looks as though the sky is bleeding.
Shit, the whole damn planet is bleeding.
'Well, it looks like the military…' I pause as the sound of the explosion arrives, '… has left the area for now, but evacuation is gonna be a struggle with the snow so deep. I'm struggling to remember the last time we had a storm like this. I'm struggling to remember the last time I even saw a snowflake…'
'Of all the times to have the mother of all blizzards… Perhaps we should head down the fire escape to coll…' Bex turns her head as she is interrupted by heavy breathing which almost sounds like snarling. 'Oh, hey, Kezan, I was wondering where you were. What's up?'
Kezan marches through a trench in the snow with his shoulders hunched, arms wide, fingers clenched, and I frown nervously. 'You did it! You did it!' he roars, jogging towards our group, and I reach for my phaser, unable to find it on my belt-line. It must have come off when I tumbled on the shard. Shit.
The jog becomes a sprint, and we shift sideways as Kezan comes close, but he tackles Scoop and the pair tumble off the roof, vanishing from sight. I scream
, shaking violently as I approach, but Scoop has miraculously clung to a frozen ledge, eighteen inches down. Kezan, however, is lying motionless in the snow, eight storeys below.
Tank Tracks
Bex and I grab Scoop's wrists, then a couple of others help us pull him onto the rooftop, saving him from an eight-storey drop. He scurries far from the ledge, shivering with teary eyes, his deep breaths steaming. The rest of the group are gawping; their eyes aimless, faces drawn, having lost a friend who became an adversary in his final moments. Assuming Kezan did not survive the fall…
We have well and truly outstayed our welcome and fate is now screaming for us to leave the rooftop village. It is clear we cannot hide from the many forms of danger, and our only realistic chance of survival is to keep moving, but we must move efficiently, turn invisible, utilise our resources, and locate the rest of the gang.
'We-we need to leave this place. We don't belong here. It's making everyone crazy. Who knows who could be next?' Bex says, shivering.
'Our best option, right now, is to head to the base, regroup with the rebels,' I say, attracting puzzled frowns. I assume the boys never mentioned our relationship with the Rebellion.
'Let's go. If we can reach a motorway, there's a good chance the snow's been cleared by the tanks. If we spot danger, we can simply hide in the snow at the roadside. No-one's gonna search through this,' Bex says.
'Sirah, you might wanna come down the fire escape to pull the ladder back up. We can give you supplies. Once we regroup with the rebels, we shouldn't need much,' I say.
'That's assuming we can regroup with them. They were preparing for a fight. Anything could've happened,' Bex says.
The boys each retrieve a rucksack from the junk shed, and we cross the rooftop which has elevated us from the warzone, kept us alive for at least a few days longer. We head down the fire escape without saying Goodbye to our traumatised friends, and Sirah drops the ladder. We climb down and dig through the snow for our bags which have been mostly buried. I leave the largest blankets and one rucksack with Sirah because we could not carry them anyways.
'I'm sorry things turned out this way. It's been nice knowing you,' I say and the others wave at the friend we might never see again.
We head into the road at a different side of the building from which Kezan fell, and I resist the urge to check whether he is okay. Unarmed, we follow tank tracks through old town as we search for the nearest motorway. One of the buildings we pass has partially-collapsed; the front-corner spilling onto the snow. This explains at least some of the rumbling last night.
'He saved our necks and then this happened…' Bex murmurs. 'Do you think he could've survived the fall?'
'With snow this deep, it's certainly possible, but eight storeys is quite a height, and he wasn't moving. Even if he did survive, what's he gonna do now? He can't go back up there. Maybe he can take shelter in the building. Maybe he and Cali can become friends. Crazies don't seem to attack their own,' I say.
'Wouldn't that be ironic, Cali befriending a man?' Bex says.
'She doesn't hate men. She's just traumatised by the loss of her husband, and has been driven crazy by whatever's driving everyone else crazy,' I say.
'But she seemed sane until she was provoked,' Bex says.
'Kezan seemed sane too, until he flipped. We dunno just how crazy these crazies become. Like, do they lose their minds completely? Or do they have short bursts of madness, then return to something resembling normal?' I say.
'I can only assume they do, otherwise there'd be nothing left of them by now,' Bex says. 'Plus, Kezan spoke about some of them snapping out of it and apologising…'
After an hour of trudging, we reach a motorway which, as expected, has tank tracks going in both directions, and the snow turns from a hazard into an asset, offering safe passage. We head inland, crossing the north of the city in the rough direction of the base. It lies on the west side of Medio which we are not too familiar with. There is no guarantee we can find our way, in which case we are screwed.
Strange to think we were meant to be seeking refuge with the Enclave. The rooftop village was quite a detour, and while I am unsure we truly bonded with the villagers, I cannot help worrying about where they will go, what they will do. Perhaps, we should have offered for them to follow, but the circumstances surrounding Kezan made it better to sever ties.
For all we seem vulnerable, at least we have an option, something to try, somewhere to go. I guess there are different levels of homelessness.
We follow the tank tracks for miles, passing the hubs of Medio, and a military convoy approaches. We scramble off-road and through the waist-deep snow, suddenly plunging head-deep. Crouching, I create room with my elbows, and snow falls on my back, helping with camouflage. I stay perfectly still, assuming the others are doing the same, letting the ditch work in our favour as the convoy growls past.
When the growling fades, we struggle from the ditch, and continue along the motorway, and although the air is calm, it feels even colder than during the blizzard. It is abnormally cold for a place which rarely experiences such extremes of temperature, probably fifteen degrees below what we would normally call a cold night. The clouds are breaking up, which is just as well because the light from the city is limited, with large portions still experiencing blackout. The stars and the moons are just bright enough to light the way.
We approach the part of the city where the base is located, but all we know is it lies somewhere roughly south of our current position. We are depending on being able to recognise the area upon approach, but that may only be possible in daylight. We leave the motorway, following regular roads; our route dictated by tank tracks which could be leading us off-course.
'L-let's find somewhere to rest, an abandoned building, anything. We need to light a bonfire. I've never felt so cold,' I say, and we explore old town, scanning for a refuge with limited visibility. Eventually I notice the crumbling shell of a building. Most of the brick walls have collapsed, but as we approach, I can see sections of the building are intact. We venture inside what is essentially a ruin, entering an enclosed area – a room which seems structurally sound, apart from our entrance hole which looks like a destroyed doorway.
The room has no windows, meaning darkness, but the glass would have surely broken anyways, and we need protection from the elements. Snow has spilled into the entrance area, but we step onto a bare concrete floor as we enter the shadow. We lay our bags down and return outside, searching the general area until we find garbage cans in a backstreet. We grab armfuls of junk, and I turn my face away, grimacing as some touches my cheek.
We return to the derelict building and make a junk pile, then I remove a lighter from a bag, and light a bonfire. The smoke stinks, but this does not stop me sitting as close as possible to the flames. We sit silently for a while, absorbing the heat which is reducing our hypothermia, then we eat some tinned food.
'With everything going on, it's easy to lose track of things. Our time at the base seems like a lifetime ago, and we've been so distracted,' I say.
'Yeah, last we heard, Dynah and Turbo had landed, and we were waiting for news on Arturo. He must surely be back in the city by now,' Bex says.
'When we were online at Cali's, we could've tried to contact him on Sonet. I didn't even think. That's stress for ya. It makes you go blank,' I say.
'And you didn't try to contact lover boy, either. I guess you've already forgotten him,' Bex says.
'Hardly, I've just been focused on our immediate threats. Anyways, I'll be in his arms tomorrow with any luck.' I swoon, visualising our reunion, the continuation of a romance which has barely started. The prospect seems magical, but I am unsure we can have a meaningful relationship unless I can persuade Nelson to go absent without leave. I guess I will find out where his loyalties lie.
'Let's hope everyone we know's okay, including Gary. Poor thing must be terrified, stuck on the farm with the animals,' Bex says.
'They'll have taken him when they
fled, surely,' I say.
'Those rebels were solely focused on themselves. I'm willing to bet they didn't give the talking dog a second thought,' Bex says.
'Well, Nelson would've done,' I say longingly. 'He loves that dog.'
'Nelson came in the transport with us, remember? He didn't even mention his beloved dog,' Bex says.
'Of course I remember. I just meant he'd have checked Gary was okay if he could. When we catch up, we'll find out what happened. If Gary really was left behind, we'll go back for him,' I say.
'Something tells me that's not gonna happen, Emmi. As much as I love Gary, we can only consider ourselves, right now,' Bex says.
'Well, let's just focus on finding this base and take it from there.' I sigh because aimless searching is not an appealing option and may well result in disappointment. 'Tomorrow's gonna be an exhausting day.'
'What if they try to make us fight?' Oscar says in a low voice, barely audible over the crackling bonfire. 'We've had the training.'
'We'll say no!' I say.
'Then why would they give us a roof?' Oscar says.
'When Arturo was shot, Jardine made a promise to me, to all of us, remember? It's time to see if he's a man of his word,' I say.
Return to the Base
In the morning, I wake to discover the bonfire is somehow still smouldering, and the sun has not quite risen. The others are sleeping so I throw junk onto the fire, warming the room to a comfortable level, and increasing the brightness. The nearby snow has turned to sludge and the air is barely breathable. I can feel the smoke residue clogging my throat and nostrils.