Ghosts of Koa, The First Book of Ezekiel

by Colby R Rice

  A soft feminine voice rolled back the silence. Movement, under the console. Zeika. She was speaking to the little one, and Caleb could finally see them through what was now a jungle-gym of scorched steel. She was stroking the little one's puffy hair as they uncurled from each other.

  "Na'am..." The little one replied, wiping her eyes. She sniffled. "Kanaa khaa-ifa, Zeeky."

  "I know. I was scared too, sweetie," Zeika whispered. "It's okay now."

  Caleb flinched, and Zeika stiffened, finally seeing him from between the twisted metal. For a moment, her eyes bloomed fear. Then they settled. She turned to him and began to pick her way out the twisted jaws of the console. When she met metal too contorted to push through, though, she looked to the little one.

  "Saa'ideeni," she whispered.

  "Mm."

  Zeika pushed through once more, this time succeeding. Caleb wasn't sure, but he swore that as she crawled through, the metal lifted, just enough for her and the little one to squeeze out. When they got into the open, she scurried up next to him while Manja hung back, a thumb in her mouth. Tears were still on the little one's cheeks. Zeika, on the other hand, had already gotten her bearings and was looking him over.

  "Backward subluxation," she murmured to herself, touching his left shoulder blade.

  Even while on his stomach, Caleb could see that his shoulder had left its socket in the impact, the bone clearly detached beneath the skin.

  She gripped his bicep and wrenched it, at the same time slamming her palm into his shoulder. Caleb winced, but immediately the pain in his shoulder began to subside.

  She actually did it...

  "Help me," Zeika commanded.

  Now calmer, Manja stood to her feet. Together, they grabbed Caleb's left shoulder and rolled him over onto his back. He wheezed, blood foaming at his lips. Hurt so bad...

  "Prep," Zeika said, taking off her robes and laying them on the floor. She was wearing a thermal bodysuit, one he was sure had come from her forge. Now, she was using her robes as a sort of prep table, emptying the side pocket of her bag onto it. She laid out rolls of fabric, different sizes, along with some medical needles.

  Manja also went to work. She found a reasonably flat rock in the rubble, wrapped it in a fold of cloth, and pushed it under his head. She moved with a swift delicacy and a furrowed brow, and she plunged her hands into her backpack, one that looked just like the commando bear he'd given her. They had turned the poor bastard into a knapsack, and now Manja was emptying his insides: a bottle of water, a medical pack, and another gun--

  Christ--

  --which Zeika took with nary a second thought.

  "You are badly damaged," she said. Her voice was calm. "We're going to issue emergency aid. Stay very still." Zeika opened the medical pack, listening as Manja tittered and pointed various points on his chest. Zeika asked a question, and after a bit of thought, the girl responded, nodding.

  He couldn't be sure, but it sounded like they were speaking some kind of Semitic language. Arabic, maybe. It was too hard to understand it through the pain and pulsing waves of nausea and darkness that swept over him. Zeika then said something that made Manja freeze.

  "Mithla-al kalb, hebiibetii."

  Manja's eyes filled with horror. "Mithla-al kalb?"

  "Kalb" meant "dog" in Arabic, he knew that much. But it also sounded a lot like "Caleb", so he couldn't be sure. But he definitely noticed the very nervous way in which Manja bit her lip, as though the word put fear in her.

  "It's okay, baby," Zeika cooed. "You can do it. Okay? I'm right here."

  Manja took a breath and then nodded. She closed her eyes and hovered her hands over his chest. Then, Zeika spoke, issuing some sort of command.

  What happened next he couldn't understand, but suddenly the wound in his chest was writhing, as though the muscles themselves were ripping apart. He screamed, and next he was sitting up, obeying all his instincts to get away from the pain.

  The cold muzzle of the 9 mm Glock jammed into his forehead, right in between his eyes. He followed the grip holding the gun, and when his travels ended, his gaze caught Zeika's cool and calm stare.

  "Lay down, and take the pain like a man," she said. "Or I'll anesthetize you the old-fashioned way. Got it?"

  He clenched his jaw, and seeming to see something in his expression that she didn't like, Zeika pulled back the gun hammer and slowly cocked her head. She never broke her gaze, and suddenly his priorities shifted. Whatever he didn't know about her, he knew that she was giving him a look that meant business. If he posed any threat, she would pull the trigger. He could feel it.

  Slowly, he eased back down onto the makeshift pillow. She never moved the gun.

  "I hope... those books on your shelf... weren't bullshit, kid," he struggled, forcing a smile.

  "The shrapnel didn't get too deep. We don't have any anesthetics, but if we don't extract the metal now and patch you up, you'll bleed out. We'll take out as much as we can. She can guide it around your vital organs so you don't take more damage, but you've gotta take the pain."

  Mouth dry, forehead beading with sweat, Caleb nodded and locked his jaw. Zeika turned back to her sister, who was sitting back, watching the entire exchange.

  The unusual calm in Manja's eyes made Caleb wonder how often she'd seen a scene like this-- until again, Zeika issued the command: "Ieme-lii."

  Caleb heaved, holding back his screams as the younger one tore his chest from the inside out. Zeika never moved the gun. Schick! One piece, and then another, followed by more, uprooted themselves from his torso. Then Zeika grabbed his shoulder and gently turned him over onto his side.

  Fiery pellets ripped through the flesh of his back, and he writhed. He'd never wanted death so badly--

  Then, it was over. Blood oozed from his wounds, and his body felt like it'd been pierced with a hundred hot knives, but it was over. His eyelids felt heavy.

  "Halas?" Zeika asked.

  "Halaaaas!" The little one responded with a giggle. She dropped the shrapnel into a fold of fabric and wrapped it up.

  Caleb felt Zeika grab his chin. She was speaking to him again. "I'm going to strap you with a respirator that has an aerosol tissue restorative. It'll help speed up the healing, and it'll keep your lungs from bleeding if they were damaged. But you need to stay awake and breathe deep."

  He nodded absently. She waved her hand at Manja, and the child took some liquid-filled phials and an old-fashioned gas mask from her bear pack. Child-sized. There was a small receiver attached to the mask, seemingly to humidify the air breathed in by the wearer.

  "Heh... you two... magicians or what?" Caleb smiled weakly. "That's... alotta rabbits... kid..."

  Zeika smiled and shook the phials. "Something like that." And she poured the contents into the mask receiver, strapped the mask to his face, and turned it on.

  "Breathe. As deep and as much as you can. We're taking the mask with us when we're done." She turned to Manja. "Keep him awake. Make sure he breathes." Then she started to pack.

  Manja scooted over until she was kneeling down next to his head. She picked up his heavy wrist and wrapped both her hands around his. "Wanna sing a song?"

  Caleb coughed into the mask, the dryness of his throat nearly stealing his voice. "S-song...?"

  "Yeah! Let's sing the Itsy Bitsy Spider! Ready? The Itsy Bitsy Spider ran up the water spout-- sing with me, come on!"

  Her stark twinkling blue eyes were the strangest contrast to her dark skin. A rare genetic trait indeed. He was supposed to be analyzing her, taking in as much as he could in case he survived this. But as she smiled at him, urging him to sing, all of that fell away and he couldn't help but smile back.

  "Down... came the rain and..." Caleb whispered.

  "Washed the spider out! Yay! You did it! Next verse!"

  Caleb felt Zeika's fingers at his chest and back. Cool laps of a cleansing fluid. Sharp pinches of a needle and catgut going through his skin as she sewed
him closed. But it didn't hurt that much this time... in fact, he barely felt any pain at all.

  "You wanna sing the next verse with me?"

  Caleb nodded, but didn't quite know what he was agreeing to because things had gotten so dark. He closed his eyes, hummed to sleep by the sound of the respirator, no longer able to think.

  A rosy blush had settled onto Demesne Five by the time Zeika and Manja made it back to the Forge. Zeika's limbs ached, and each step dragged. They weren't getting any forging done tonight; they'd earned the day off. A hot tin bath and a few extra hours' sleep was barely a reward for surviving a day of pure hell, but she'd take it with gratitude.

  Collecting metal, dodging bombs, saving Azures-- I want my friggin' purple heart.

  She tossed their robes onto the coat pegs, and Manja automatically walked over to the radio, clearly not interested in discussing the day's events.

  "Can we listen to Jimmy at Eight tonight, Zeeky?"

  Zeika smiled. "You can listen to whatever you want, honey. You did great today. I'm very proud of you."

  Manja blushed and took a moment to puff out her chest with pride before she switched on the radio. James Montgomery's talk radio show would be on in just a minute, but in the meanwhile, smooth jazz from the 1990s filled the little office. Almost to the rhythm, Manja and Zeika moved into their nightly routine.

  Zeika lowered a hammock and wiped it down. She threw a pile of blankets and pillows in, readying their bed. Then, she and Manja went down into the cellar to get dinner. When Manja opened the fridge, Zeika cringed. There wasn't much left, and most of the Forge's inventory had been sold off. Their current rations would have to do. Fruit and cereal for breakfast, soy milk and peanut butter sandwiches on unleavened bread for dinner. Lunch was optional. Between the money they had and the remaining supplies they could barter, they had about a month's worth of life left at the Forge before things got too desperate. They'd probably have to use some of the cash Caleb had given them before they'd meet their goal of three grand. They still had his tab at the diner, but after getting caught in the Koan hollow and yanking metal out of his collarbone, she doubted dude would want to swipe his credit card for the Lobon lunch special.

  Even he did want to continue helping them, she'd feel badly about it. He had once again put his life on the line to protect them, and he'd only gotten hurt because of it. She'd really screwed up. Better to make it on their own and use the Lobon sparingly, at least until she and Caleb got right again. Besides, they'd be leaving the Fifth soon anyway. No need to get too dependent on charity.

  They got dressed for bed, and Manja went upstairs, balancing the PB sandwiches on a tray. Zeika followed, carrying up Caleb's rifle, his Glocks, and her cleaning kits. She shut the cellar door beneath them with her foot.

  "Yum!" Manja dug in as soon as she set the tray down on the desk. Zeika flopped back into the hammock, and Manja sat on the floor with her food, taking out a large wad of blue bills from her trouser pocket.

  Zeika eyed the bills, sad. Caleb had owed them a balance for the gun work he wanted, and she'd made sure he'd settled up before they left the hollow. Five hundred more dollars, paid. She'd forced herself not to feel guilty about it, reminding herself that this wasn't personal. This was survival. They'd need every penny to get smuggled out the Fifth. Besides, she would drop his equipment off somewhere safe where he'd find it, maybe at the fountain entrance--

  "Good evening to you radio heads out there. You were just listening to smooth jazz off the silky not-so-golden Golden Days Collection available only here at WKAO31. This is James Montgomery reporting live from the Journalists' Desk, Guild 31 in Demesne 31, the only way to get your music and world news. Literally. If you've got a taste for fascist free press, then saddle up your intellectual pony, folks, and enjoy the heavy-handed ride!"

  "James!" The producer snapped from the background.

  Zeika snickered. Aside from Caleb, James Montgomery was probably the only Azure she would ever like.

  James cleared his voice and continued. "Welcome to our eight o'clock evening show, 'Daily Debunks'. Today's debunk centers on the Alchemic Order's most recent motion to repeal the Articles 37 through 39, a motion that came into issue just a month ago--"

  "Zeeky, what's Articles?" Manja interjected loudly. She was busy making long chains from the bunch of dollars she was holding.

  "Shh. He's telling us now. And hey, don't lose that money, kid."

  "--thirty-nine rules of engagement laid out by the Alchemic & Civic Orders to govern the codes of conduct in wartime. Remember that copies of the Articles39 are available at your local community centers, schools, police stations, and your demesne's Guild. Make copies, and read them to your kids at bedtime with cookies and milk, folks. Because from what I hear, it'll probably be the last you'll ever see of them."

  Zeika peered down the sight of the rifle, getting ready to clean.

  "Rumors, and even some confirmed sightings of teen Koan soldiers, have propelled the repeals of the Articles39 to the top of the Alchemic Order's priorities list. Recently, some minority groups of the Civic Order have also shown an outpouring of support for the repeals. Pro- and anti-repeal debates are heating up all over the world, and I'm here today with Councilman Ishmael Billings, a high official of the Fifty-Second Azure Demesne, who will give us further insight on this hotbed of political unrest. Welcome, Councilman, and thank you for joining us."

  "Quite. Thank you for having me, James."

  Ugh. Zeika made a face. Billings sounded like a pompous doughdick if she ever heard one.

  "Also joining us is Salvatore Morgan, recently elected Councilman of the Fifth Demesne. Though Azure-born, Morgan has spent years working in Civilian Demesnes as an ombudsman, representative, fiscal consultant, and cultural translator for both the Civic and Alchemic Orders. We look to him today to represent Civilian concerns over the Articles39 repeals. Welcome, Councilman Morgan."

  "Good evening, James. And what a lovely introduction, thank you."

  Zeika's grip tightened on the rifle. She wasn't sure when Sal Morgan had gone from resident IRS asshole to political powerhouse, but the only thing "Civic" he could give perspective on was the quality and variety of civvie coos in the Fifth. Everyone knew it, especially James. Why he even invited Sal on the show was lost on her.

  "So, tell us a bit more about how the Halls of Pact have brought the repeal of the Articles 39 into issue. Councilman Billings?"

  "Over the past three months, James, civilian and military casualties of the Koan insurgency have increased by 213 percent. We can't say how many have died on the Civic or Koan side, but for our part-- and 'our' meaning Azures-- we are losing twice as many soldiers and officers daily. It is becoming clearer that Koa's use of minors is contributing greatly to this problem. The Order believes that for the safety of all, the insurgency must be quelled as soon as possible. The repeal of the Articles will help to achieve that goal."

  "How do you know that?"

  "We can never tell the future, James, but our current intelligence has confirmed that Koan teen soldiers are the main sources of military reconnaissance for the rebellion. I don't suggest that we launch ourselves into a state of pedophobia. As the war continues to rage, however, I am less inclined to treat minors as innocent bystanders."

  "Meaning you don't discourage the practice of arresting children."

  "Dear boy, I think we have to prepare for the grim reality that Civilians can no longer be offered full protection under the Articles39. Koa uses Civilians as their safe havens, shields, and messengers. In order to make any headway with smoking Koa out, authorities have to be given latitude to treat Civilians and Koa as equals."

  "And even ghosts of war, Councilman?"

  "I'm afraid so. Children are becoming the most dangerous commodities of warfare. We can no longer afford to assume innocence."

  Zeika pulled back the charging handle of the rifle and checked the chamber. Empty. She pulled off the receiver pla
te.

  "And this is the reason that you're petitioning to repeal the Articles. You two are the main proponents of the repeals, are you not? The ringleaders of this Azure death circus?"

  Zeika smirked. James was getting warmed up and ready for take-off.

  "Eh... no, this is not a 'circus of death', man." Billings snapped. "Are you a journalist or a thriller novelist?"

  "James, if you would," Sal finally chimed in. "The Order is merely making adjustments for a brighter future, and yes, we are leading the charge on this issue. We both stand behind the repeals one hundred percent."

  "So I've heard. I've also heard that's not all you stand behind in the Fifth, Sally."

  "I'm not sure what you mean."

  "That's fine. I have a long list of Civilian women that can help me clarify my meaning for you."

  Sal chuckled, ever relaxed. "I've always admired your sense of thoroughness, James. It is true that many Civilians of the Fifth Demesne are displeased with the results of the last election, and they've launched quite a smear campaign on my reputation. But unless discussing that is going to shed light on the issue at hand, we should move on. The repeals of the Articles39 is a serious matter that deserves our due attention."

  "So let me get the facts straight. Basically, Azure soldiers are getting their asses kicked by Koan guerrilla warfare. So, you guys are turning up the heat by targeting the children of the enemy... and the children of the non-enemy, in fact. Is that right?"

  Councilman Billings let out a blurping grunt that sounded much like a deflating windbag. Zeika laughed as she pulled out the recoil spring. Then, she disentangled the bolt, gas piston, and the bolt carrier.

  "Getting our asses kicked, not so much," Billings snorted. "But turning up the heat, yes. I think we'd all just assume ending the insurgency is best for all involved."

  "Sure, but the war has also been pretty profitable for the Alchemic Order, hasn't it?"

  "Profitable? To my memory, the first bomb detonated eighteen years ago, and Koa pulled the trigger. It went off at our yearly Summit, killing dozens of Azures, including several members of the Azure Royal Families, and wounding several more. Hundreds of APs and soldiers and citizens have been murdered at the hands of Koa since. So when you say that the Alchemic Order has profited from this war, James, I'm not quite sure what you mean."