Cold Falling White

by G. S. Prendergast

  Even in his silence, in his death, August indulges me. He listens. He doesn’t judge.

  “I guess you know how that feels, don’t you? To not fit in anywhere?”

  I close my eyes, and the image of him nodding, agreeing with some silly thing that I said, appears in my mind as clearly as if he were standing alive in front of me. But when I open my eyes he hasn’t moved. I wonder for a moment whether I should take his mask off but decide I’d rather remember him like this, armored and regal, along with the brief glimpse I got of his living face the last time I saw him alive.

  As I reach for him, the blanket slips off my shoulders and onto the floor. I lift it and drape it over his back like a cape. It’s a Hudson’s Bay blanket, so it makes him look a bit like a Canadian superhero, which makes me smile.

  “I think we have to go back to the dunes,” I say. “I don’t know where else to look for Topher. Maybe I’ll just have to hope that he made it out somehow. Maybe… maybe he followed Xander’s map? I hope he did.” I pause before I say the next words, because I don’t want them to be true. “We might be able to stop whatever is coming. Stop it from hurting anyone else. Maybe that’s my destiny.”

  In August’s signs, the word “maybe” is a combination of the word “almost” and the word “hope.” The word “almost” is very obvious. In fact, it’s exactly the way a human would mime “almost,” by holding a thumb and forefinger close together. But “hope” resembles “flying dream” or something like that, a fluttering hand drawn up the forehead. I was never sure my signing was accurate, but I try it now. It feels… respectful to speak to August in his own language, with his own unique grammar.

  I hope not pain you, I sign. “I hope it wasn’t painful, whatever happened to you.”

  I hope you weren’t sad.

  My hands make shadows in the pink light seeping in from the hallway.

  I hope you know you walk in my dreams. You fly in my dreams.

  Then I can’t resist him anymore. I slide down to kneel between him and the bed and wrap my arms around him, laying my head on his chest, his arms draped over my shoulders. Every time I’ve done this before his armor has been nearly too hot to touch, but this time it’s icy cold.

  “Raven?” Mandy stands silhouetted in the doorway.

  “I know he’s dead,” I say. “I’m not crazy.”

  “Okay.” Her voice is gentle. “Tucker came back. He’s sulking on the couch.”

  “Oh.” I’m actually relieved. “Good.”

  I turn my head away from her to lay my other cheek on the cold metal. Morning light is peeking around the edges of the heavy velvet curtains.

  “We could move him, if you want. Make a grave or something.”

  “No. I think a forty-story building is quite good as a tomb, don’t you?”

  Mandy huffs a little laugh. “Sure. Like a pharaoh.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Do you want to go somewhere else? We could go to your house.”

  I shake my head. I don’t want to be reminded of everything else I lost. Not now.

  There’s a noise from the main room, and Tucker’s voice.

  “Raven?”

  I slide out from under August’s arms and back up onto the bed.

  “Uh, Raven?”

  Suddenly Blue zips down the hallway so fast they leave a streak of light behind them like a slipstream.

  “Raven… shit!”

  Three Nahx appear at the end of the hallway, marching toward us with Tucker stumbling behind them.

  “Weapons! Weapons!” I hiss.

  “They’re in the other room,” Mandy says.

  I reach for the closest thing at hand, a broken lamp from the bedside table, and wield it over my head like a battle-ax, ready to smash my way out of here.

  Two of the Nahx stay in the hallway, their weapons hanging loosely at their sides, while the middle one steps through the door.

  Mandy has armed herself with a small desk chair. We stand on either side of August’s immobile form, as though he needs protecting.

  “What do you want? Go away,” I say.

  The Nahx, a stocky male, tilts his head to the side with a low growl. His weapon is hanging over his back. He raises his hands slowly, palms out, holding them there for a moment, before making a familiar sign.

  Help?

  “We don’t need any help. Leave us alone.”

  Blue zips around the room, bouncing on the curtains like a fly trying to escape. The Nahx watches them, his head flicking back and forth.

  Not you. Him. He points to August.

  “He’s beyond help. He’s dead.”

  Blue comes to rest on the top of August’s head, like a tiny crown. Their color softens as they make a vibration on the metal of August’s helmet.

  Not dead, the stocky Nahx says.

  A shiver goes up my spine so fast, I nearly drop the lamp.

  “What?”

  Help him. Yes?

  I toss the lamp on the bed and step back as the other Nahx enter. One of them strides smartly over to the curtains, tearing them open, letting the dawn light stream in. The other puts his hands over August’s body as though feeling for life signs.

  “He’s d-dead,” I stammer. “He’s cold. He’s not breathing.”

  Stupid Snowflakes, one of the Nahx says. The other two actually laugh, flicking their heads back with amused little hisses.

  Then they start to talk to each other, quickly, and I can make out only a few words as their hands fly.

  Awake

  Sun

  Eat

  Move

  Broken

  Two of them take an arm each and hoist August up, dragging him away from the bed. I stand dumbly in their way. How could I have been so stupid? There’s no evidence of what I know of Nahx death, no puddle of gray blood—no sign of blood at all. I don’t think he’s…

  Up, the third one says as they push past me.

  “What’s happening?” Tucker follows us as the Nahx drag August out into the communal hallway and toward the stairs.

  “Where are you taking him?” They ignore me, letting August’s knees clatter against the concrete stairs as they climb up to the roof exit, one flight up. As Mandy, Tucker, and I emerge onto the rooftop behind them, the bright sky is rent with the screeching of a Nahx transport’s engines. Mandy and Tucker have armed themselves somehow. They raise their rifles, protectively turning their backs to us.

  “Where is it?” The blue sky is clear and innocent-looking.

  A dark shape rises from behind the other side of the building and hovers there, its engines blowing snow in every direction as it lands and powers down. The door hisses open and a ramp inches out to the roof surface.

  More Nahx appear in the doorway.

  “Don’t let them take him!” I clutch August’s arm. “Blue! Do something!”

  Blue hovers between us, their light pulsing. One of the Nahx signs, too quickly for me to understand anything but a few words.

  Lost

  Broken

  Dark

  Blue bobs up and down. Yes.

  “No! We’re not going with them. They’ll take him back to that cold storage place.”

  The Nahx ignore me, one of them shoving me out of the way so hard, I go sliding across the roof. Tucker leaps on her and somehow has a Nahx knife in his hand before I have time to stand.

  “Tucker, no!” Mandy yanks him back, twisting his arm until the knife drops into a snowdrift and disappears. The fallen Nahx jumps to her feet, hissing, while the other two raise their weapons, and it looks like we might be about to have a brawl right here until Blue pops up between us, flickering angrily.

  In the silence that follows we all hear August take a strained breath.

  It’s sudden and small and barely audible, but his chest pushes out fractionally, and a second later he exhales.

  “Did he just breathe?”

  The stocky Nahx signs at me slowly and sharply. Yes, stupid human Snowflake. The sun woke h
im up.

  “The sun?”

  Yes, mud head. The armor eats the sun. He needs to eat and go to the mountains.

  “Mountains? Where he can breathe better?” Mandy seems to be the only one who can think rationally at the moment.

  Yes. Mountains. Where he can breathe.

  “Can I… can we come with you?” I’m not leaving August. Not now.

  Yes. He points at Tucker. No fighting.

  “I’m not going with them. I—”

  Blue flicks him in the forehead, making him yelp, but beyond that he holds his tongue.

  The female Nahx drags August up the ramp by one arm, letting him fall in a heap on the floor of the cargo bay. The rest of us follow. I sit cross-legged next to August and pull his head into my lap as Mandy shoves Tucker down to sit against the opposite wall. I know neither of them is happy to be back on board a Nahx ship, but we’ve formed an unbreakable team. If we’re going to figure this out and survive whatever battles are coming, we need to stick together. Trust each other. I cradle August’s head, stroking his mask as the transport lifts off, making his armor rattle on the metal floor. Maybe he moves, or his shallow, barely there breathing changes somehow. I’m able to process and measure so much detail now about my surroundings that I’m still getting used to it. It takes a moment to interpret the change, to figure out exactly what is different.

  Tension. Muscle tension. Where previously August’s body has been loose and pliable, now there’s a growing tautness, as though he is slowly coiling up, preparing to flee. It’s happening at a glacial pace, but my new perceptual acuity detects it, interprets it, files it away.

  He’s frightened.

  “Don’t be scared,” I whisper, making his signs as I speak. “I’m staying with you.”

  And saying this seems to awaken something in me. It’s as though the human girl inside this cold, hard facade, the tiny wisp of softness that I hid away even before all this started, finally escapes, peeking out and taking its own shaky breath. And the next thing I know is only my own tears and sobbing; the rest of this catastrophe disappears. It’s just me and August and tears.

  Dimly I hear Tucker murmur something and Mandy hiss a curt reply. Maybe she recognizes that I need this moment. I need to wash away the metal and fire and find the flesh underneath. But as my tears drip onto August’s armor and my dress, I see that they are metallic, like molten silver, and that just makes me cry even more. How can I go on like this? Can I ever go back? If my parents are alive somewhere, how can I face them like this, as a monster?

  A hissing sound distracts me, and I feel the air pressure in the transport rapidly change, making my ears pop. August takes another weak breath. Bending to lay my head on his chest, I listen for his pulse. It’s there but barely, just a low ticking under the noise of the transport, and slow, probably no more than fifteen or twenty beats per minute.

  The first time I heard August’s heartbeat was a shocking, almost frightening change of perspective. Before that, despite his kindness, I had persisted in thinking of him as a machine, soulless and insensible. Companionship with him was a means to an end, but when I heard his heart…

  Does it matter? Animals have beating hearts, even insects. Maybe there is something in a human heartbeat that feels familiar, or familial, something another human heart recognizes without even knowing why. I suppose this is why August didn’t kill me when he could have multiple times. The human in him recognized the human in me. And maybe why I dreamed of killing him for far longer than was reasonable. My heart hadn’t recognized his.

  It doesn’t seem that much time has passed, me watching August’s breathing improve, his body seeming to awaken inch by inch, before the transport begins to descend. I slide out from under August’s head, standing so I can see into the cockpit and through the window.

  Outside, everything is white, and as the transport slows I see that we are flying through a heavy snowstorm, seemingly only a few hundred meters over the top of the mountains. The Nahx at the controls is clearly a good pilot, but I’m still dubious about landing in these conditions. I sit back down, pulling August’s head and shoulders into my lap and wrapping one arm around his chest. With my other hand I cling to one of the metal rings on the cargo bay wall.

  “Hold on to something,” I tell Mandy and Tucker. Even Blue seems a bit nervous as the transport begins to jostle. They float down and slip into the front pocket of Mandy’s coat.

  “Are you okay?” she asks me, her brows knitted.

  “Yes.” I let go of the handhold long enough to wipe the last silver tears from my eyes. “I just needed to let it out.”

  “I know what that’s like.”

  There’s a sudden loud noise and the transport banks sharply, wrenching my arm as I cling to the ring. After another loud bang, I lean over and see the pilot struggling with the controls as two other Nahx stumble back into the hold. They take positions on either side of the hatch, weapons raised. There’s another, louder noise, which makes the metal of the transport ring.

  “Someone is shooting at us,” Tucker says, so offhandedly that I have to bite my lip to keep from snapping at him.

  “Humans?” Mandy says over the increasing noise. “Who else would shoot at us?”

  The transport lands hard, and despite my best efforts I lose grip of the handhold and go sliding across the metal floor. One of the Nahx by the hatch shoves me away with her foot as the hatch hisses open.

  The glare of the landing lights on the heavy snow blinds me for a moment as I clamber to my feet. Mandy and Tucker join me and we take positions behind the Nahx in the open hatch, August still splayed out on the floor at our feet.

  Something in the transport’s engine vents, releasing gusts of cold air that blow the falling snow away enough for me to see more clearly what’s outside. At first I think some very foolish humans have gathered to challenge us, but as the air clears more I realize it’s Nahx—twenty or thirty of them, armed, with weapons raised, in a defensive circle. Behind them I can see frost-covered trees and steep rock cliffs. We’ve landed on some kind of sheltered plateau.

  The pilot makes a few signs that I don’t catch, and one of the Nahx on the plateau nods curtly. The female Nahx turns and pushes past me, bending to grab August by the foot and dragging him down the ramp.

  The other two Nahx don’t stop us as we follow.

  The female leaves August in a heap and marches smartly back up the ramp, the hatch hissing closed before I even have a chance to say thank you. And what am I thanking them for, anyway? The armed Nahx around us creep forward warily, not lowering their weapons as the transport takes off. I kneel, rolling August over onto his back.

  “He’s sick,” I say. “He’s breathing, but really slowly, and he wasn’t breathing at all for… I don’t know how long. We found him—”

  I’m interrupted by two dark shapes bursting out of the trees in a cloud of snow and ice. They’re bundled up to the eyeballs but they appear to be human. Tucker, next to me, stands protectively, his fingers gripping his rifle as the humans skid to a stop a few meters away. One of them says something, but the words are muffled by his heavy scarf.

  “He’s sick. We need help,” I say. Part of me knows asking a human for help with a Nahx is probably futile, but I’m desperate. And I don’t understand what’s going on. My eyes are flicking around, gathering data, trying to process, but what I’m seeing doesn’t make sense.

  These Nahx don’t look like Nahx. Half of them are missing parts of their armor, and a couple of them aren’t wearing any armor at all but rather some kind of fitted jumpsuit. A few of them are wearing items of human clothes too, and they are armed with human weapons. Where are we?

  One of the humans pulls down his scarf.

  “Raven?” he says.

  His face is ruddy with cold, and more chiseled than I remember. And he has a wispy black beard. But apart from those changes I recognize his twinkly eyes and cheeky grin easily.

  “Xander?”

  “Oh m
y God, I was right.” He stares at me for a moment before looking down. “Is that August?”

  I’m about to answer, but the plateau, which was noisy with the roar of the departing transport, the crunch of fifty feet on the ice, the wind rustling the trees, suddenly falls silent. My eyes are drawn to the other human, who seems frozen in place. Tucker makes a small noise and tosses his weapon down. He takes a step toward the other human. Whoever it is, they move at last, taking a stumbling step backward.

  “You don’t need to be scared.”

  The human doesn’t reply, but I can see them tense up as Tucker reaches forward and tugs down their scarf.

  Oh… God.

  It’s Topher.

  Tucker touches his face gently, drawing his fingers over the familiar shape of his cheekbone and jaw.

  Topher speaks at last. “It can’t… it can’t be you. It isn’t you.” His eyes are wild, terrified and horrified and overjoyed and despondent all at once. “Tucker, you’re dead.”

  “Not quite,” Tucker says, and they throw their arms around each other.

  PART FOUR WATER

  “Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.”

  —MARY SHELLEY, FRANKENSTEIN

  AUGUST

  Sixth.

  Sixth?

  I look down, watching her feet kick up spring shoots and the snow-soaked leaves and damp earth.

  Where are we going?

  I don’t dare look back. Dandelion lies dead… or asleep or… something under the budding tree, her human boy, Tucker, dirt-crusted and stale, and cold and gray, next to her. Shackled to her. I couldn’t think of anything else to do.

  Sixth didn’t see them. She only saw me.

  Follow, she commanded, and I did, as though no time had passed at all. We’re not far from the place Tucker shot an arrow into her, the place where I darted him and left him where he lay, as instructed.

  Maybe everything else was a dream. Maybe Sixth got up after all.

  “Wake up, August.”

  That’s Dandelion’s voice. She was wearing the green dress, spread out under the tree, the turned earth all around.