Wants of the Silent

by McPartlin, Moira;

  And just as Kenneth had done, the bedding was animal skins. Pig skins.

  They now herded the pigs into what I guessed had once been a sentry house. Dried vegetation lay ready for their manger. Al explained how they collected poverty grass and weeds from the waysides and dried them for months. ‘Pigs will eat just about anything,’ he said. ‘But we want them to have dry bedding too. We can’t have them outside because the Military Transports might spot them.’

  Once the animals were settled into their new home Al led us up the cobbled ramparts, chipped and broken where someone, probably the Noiri, had tried to steal the stone. I smelt it first then saw a whisper of smoke curl up through the stone work and disappear into the vaporous sky. In the kitchen the woman was fussing over Harkin: drawing a cup of water from an urn that stood in a dank corner and holding it to her mouth as if she were a child. Harkin looked pale even with her dark skin. Her hand shook as she lifted it to the cup. Her fingers were filthy. The woman handed her a biscuit and she wolfed it down.

  ‘What you staring at?’ Harkin asked.

  ‘Wasn’t staring.’

  Her chocolate eyes flashed. When I saw her with Con in the reservation she was just another special, but I still couldn’t work out what was special about her. She seemed perfectly normal, just a little weird.

  I opened my mouth to ask why she came but my communicator buzzed.

  Con spun on me. ‘What are you doing leaving that on? The Military’ll pick up the wavelength.’

  ‘It’s Vanora’s wavelength, I thought they couldn’t get through that. Anyway I thought you guys disabled it.’ The signal was weak. ‘It’s Ishbel.’ Ishbel.

  ‘Who’s Ishbel?’

  I shook the comm as if that would help.

  ‘Come on, come on.’ But the signal died, along with my hope.

  Ishbel

  The spotlights went out.

  ‘What..?’ Reinya said.

  Dawdle drew his gun and stood in the corner facing the lift.

  ‘Over to the window, Ish,’ he hissed.

  Ishbel pulled her father’s relic gun from her belt.

  ‘Reinya, do you still have..?’ but Reinya already had her gun primed. She might blow her foot off, but one more gun could shorten the odds.

  The lift started to run with the heavy clank of the rusty mechanism. Ishbel took a knee, steadying her hand.

  The lift slowed. The door opened.

  ‘Nothing, nada,’ Dawdle called.

  A hot flash erupted around them.

  Ishbel was flung into Reinya. Glass showered like rain. Someone screamed.

  The world lifted, tilted. Black smoke poured from the lift shaft, sparks buzzed from the floor lighting. The whole tower screamed around them like a wounded dragon.

  ‘Get out quick!’ Ishbel shouted.

  She crawled to where Dawdle lay pushing debris off his legs. She helped him up, then turned to find Reinya.

  Fire whooshed from the shaft into the room. Ishbel’s face seared, she smelled her singed hair.

  ‘Stairs.’ Dawdle grabbed Reinya’s arm. ‘Help me, Ish.’

  Blood trickled down Reinya’s forehead. ‘Uh’m good,’ she gasped through coughs.

  Ishbel took her other arm and the trio stumbled toward a door, grabbing parts of the wall to stop them falling back on the listing floor and into the lift shaft.

  ‘What if there’s fire on the stairs?’ Reinya asked.

  ‘We have to risk it.’

  The tower listed to the jetty side. The stairs opposite led to the sea side. The screaming tower quietened as it settled on its broken leg.

  ‘We’ll need to swim for it,’ Ishbel shouted behind her as they clattered down the stairs.

  Near the bottom she heard Dawdle by her ear. ‘Ah cannae.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ah cannae swim.’

  ‘You’ve been a prisoner? Had the operation?’

  ‘Dinnae ask.’

  ‘OK. Later, though.’ More secrets but not now.

  Ishbel shot at the door lock, it flew open to the twisted foundations of the wrecked leg of the tower.

  ‘I’ll help you.’ She began to unbuckle her belt and thread it through his.

  ‘No, not strong enough. Yer shooder.’

  Ishbel had no need to reply. Smoke bellowed around them. As they stepped out of the tower a hunter light caught them in its beam.

  ‘Drop your weapons,’ a voice roared.

  Ishbel arched her face from the light and saw two military Transports bobbing in the bay. A RIB sat below them. There was no way out. Ishbel took a deep breath and got ready to bite her pill but before she had a chance Dawdle yanked open her mouth and stuck his fingers in. She bit him hard but he fought harder. He had it, threw it in the sea. Her communicator followed.

  ‘I’ll kill you for that,’ she said as two men jumped onto the founds and grabbed her.

  ‘Had tae be done, Ish.’

  A man with a tree-trunk neck held out his hand to Ishbel and helped her into the RIB.

  Two other crew manoeuvred Dawdle and Reinya.

  ‘Snaf’s going on, Zane?’ Dawdle asked neck man.

  ‘Sorry, Dawd. Orders, see.’

  Dawdle pointed to the tower. ‘Jacques’ll no be happy.’

  ‘Jacques’ gone.’

  ‘Gone where?’

  ‘That’s what we want to know.’

  Ishbel dug her tooth into her tongue and hated Dawdle even more.

  ‘Who told ye we were here?’ Dawdle said, too familiar with this group.

  ‘A tip-off.’

  Dawdle didn’t react. ‘Look, Zane, let’s call this quits. Give us a break an’ yous keep the scrap.’ Dawdle swept a hand towards the tower and it obliged with a shift and scream, giving another notch to its demise.

  ‘No can do, mate.’

  ‘Mate!’ Ishbel couldn’t believe she had trusted Dawdle.

  ‘What dae ye want wi a Noiri Don and his mare?’ Dawdle asked. Ishbel fought to freeze her expression at this description of her.

  Zane smirked. ‘Your mare? Aye? No bad son,’ he said, letching Ishbel up and down as if ogling a pile of porn cards. His teeth almost watered with greed.

  Another man stepped behind Ishbel and dragged her to her feet.

  ‘Watch it, pal,’ Dawdle said.

  Ishbel, used to such treatment being a native, had a face for every occasion and if needed she could take whatever came her way. Zane swiped a hand at her, she didn’t flinch. Amateurs. He jabbed at her uniform and ripped the badge off her lapel.

  ‘What’s this tat? Part of the revolutionary army, are we?’

  ‘Got it at a jumble,’ she almost sang. They didn’t know who she was. This was the first time she spoke out and all the men turned at her words.

  ‘Ooh, an island native. Not had one of those for a while, have we boys?’

  Dawdle moved beside Ishbel as the boat began to swing landward. He still had one hand on Reinya who was huddled into his back trying to be invisible.

  ‘Step back, Dawd,’ Zane bellowed.

  From this angle the explosion damage to the tower was more obvious. A hole the size of a Jeep was blown from one leg causing it to list dangerously.

  The Transports stayed well out in the bay. On the causeway behind the pontoon an army of white vans strung out in unregimented chaos.

  ‘Looks like you have a welcome committee,’ Zane said.

  ‘They’re never far away,’ Dawdle said.

  ‘Tell them to get back, we’re heavily armed and armoured. There’s nothing they can do.’ He slapped Dawdle on the shoulder, chummy. ‘In fact, my boys might fancy a little shooting practice. You don’t want them picked off like rusty tin cans on a fence, do you?’

  Ishbel could see Dawdle chew his anger in his cheek. H
e signalled the vans back with a semaphore arm wave.

  Zane spun round to his men who looked equally puzzled. ‘What did you say to them?’ He snarled at Dawdle.

  ‘Whit? Call yersel a Military man. D’ye no ken?’

  ‘Don’t get smart,’ he said, hooking his gun from his holster. Ishbel’s head spun as the butt hit her cheek. She thought she heard Dawdle swear, but it might have been her ear ringing.

  ‘OK, OK,’ she heard him say through the buzz. ‘I telt thum tae move back.’

  ‘So why aren’t they?’

  ‘Mebbes they’re disobeying orders.’

  The gun slammed into Ishbel’s stomach, she sank to her knees and she retched.

  ‘Stop it,’ she heard Reinya’s voice. ‘Dawdle, stop them!’

  From where Ishbel knelt she saw him signal again, this time the van lights sparked and they reversed back a few hundred metres.

  ‘Where ye taking us?’ Dawdle asked.

  ‘We’re not taking you or that rag tag anywhere.’ He hauled Ishbel up to her feet by the collar, giving it a deliberate choking twist on the way. ‘We’re after only one prize.’

  ‘Where’re ye taking her?’

  ‘Never you mind, we’re just dropping you off and following orders, see. Told not to harm you, we were. Know you can’t swim so you’re getting a lifeline.’ The man grinned at Dawdle. ‘Now isn’t that nice of us? You can pay me back later. Maybe a cut of that next grain consignment when we get back here next week?’

  The boat slowed. Ishbel’s gut throbbed. Her face stounded with pain. She knew they wouldn’t kill her right away but they could do other horrors before they handed her over. As the boat approached the shore they hobbled her hands and feet as if she were an addict, destined for Dead Man’s Ferry.

  ‘Don’t!’ Reinya rushed forward, but Dawdle stopped her and shoved her behind his back again. His men were out of Ishbel’s sight. The fact they were just after her made her feel more in control. If only Dawdle hadn’t taken her pill. She might betray the NFF. Vanora had never subjected her to extreme torture before.

  ‘Look after the girl and the old folk,’ was all she said before the gun butt smashed her face again. She hoped Dawdle understood.

  The boat berthed at the pontoon and Dawdle held out his hand for his gun.

  ‘Don’t be soft, run along to your white vans and don’t forget the extra grain.’

  As they swung the boat round and headed for the Transport, the tower gave an almighty groan as if in support of Ishbel’s plan.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ Zane said to the boatman. Ishbel looked over the side. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ he said.

  But she didn’t have to.

  The night behind them exploded in fireworks, not far from the tower. The hills above the pontoon erupted.

  ‘What the…?’ The lights of the Transports shifted.

  Ishbel threw herself off the speeding boat. She only just heard the roar of Zane’s voice above the whoosh of the water in her ears. The wake and water forced her under. Swirling and tumbling, lungs bursting, she touched something solid, the bottom, hard concrete. She somersaulted and brought her feet to touch. Above the pounding of her lungs she could hear the boat circling, the water was not too deep. Air. As a child she could stay under for over four minutes. The water was dark, grit scratched her eyes. Her stomach hit a bar, she grabbed it in her free fingers, a hand rail. Which way? Her instincts took her right. She shuffled along, the boat sound grew less, the water bubbled, another explosion. Her ancestors led her the right way, to a larger object. The rotting pier, she let go of the bar and floated up, surfacing to grab gulps of air. Fire replaced the boat. This time there was no Dawdle to help her. In the south stood a Trac, a rocket launcher trained at the Transports in the bay. Two rockets fired in quick succession, hitting one then the other Transport clean out of existence. They hadn’t stood a chance.

  Sorlie

  Vibrant reds lit up the sky far off to the south. Something was going down.

  ‘What the snaf...?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s the spirits of our ancestors come to save us,’ Harkin whispered.

  Con lifted his hand to strike her. I grabbed it.

  ‘Leave her alone, she’s not doing any harm.’

  ‘Needs to learn to stop talk like that.’

  Harkin was mesmerised at the lights in the sky.

  ‘I hope it isn’t what I think it is,’ Con said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The tower.’

  My stomach lurched. If the tower went, how would I find Vanora?

  ‘Who would attack the tower?’

  ‘Don’t know but it must be someone pretty powerful. It’s the symbol of Noiri dominance.’

  An alarm barked in the distance. ‘Is there a Base nearby?’

  ‘No, the sound’s moving. Let go.’

  ‘How long will it take us to get there?’

  ‘Many hours on foot. Maybe we could hitch a lift from the Noiri?’

  ‘What about the Military?’

  ‘We take a chance. We don’t want to arrive just in time to see the wreckers leaving with a heap of twisted metal, and the big old ocean the only thing left to answer your questions.’

  As we walked along the river southbank, I checked my communicator again. It had been Ishbel. Where was she? The bridge north had been taken down, all that was left was stumps like a junkie’s teeth, rotting where supports had once been. We joined a road at a junction where many tracks met. The alarm grew louder and had multiplied.

  ‘This is serious, hear those sirens.’

  It reminded me of the warnings before the Purist insurgent air raids on my home Base. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Noiri.’ Harkin volunteered.

  ‘She’s right. Some of the Noiri vehicles used to be used for something called ‘Emergency Services’, they sounded sirens to alert other road users to shift.’ He louped up a banking and scouted. ‘Maybe we could cadge a lift.’

  Con grabbed hold of Harkin and started to run. ‘Come on, Sorlie, I hear one coming.’

  Just then a white and orange van rounded the corner. Harkin shook Con free and made a dash across the road. Halfway across she halted with her arms held high as if in surrender.

  ‘Harkin!’ We both yelled but it was too late. The van veered towards Con and I. We jumped clear. The van bumped off the verge and shuddered to a stop with its nose in a ditch, siren killed.

  The female driver staggered out the cab, clinging to the side of the van as she made her way to the back door. Her male passenger held a palm to his bleeding forehead, but his spitting face showed more fury than hurt.

  Con had already sprinted after the driver and I found them both at the back of the van helping Harkin to her feet. She seemed unharmed other than grazed hands.

  ‘Can’t you keep your mutt under control?’ the woman shouted. ‘Look.’ She pointed back at the crashed van.

  ‘We’ll help you get out if you give us a lift,’ Con cheeked.

  ‘A lift?’ she spat.

  Con held his hand up. ‘How you going to get out of this then?’

  ‘Somebudy’ll come along.’ But sirens persisted to the south, all heading away from us.

  We turned towards the sounds. She shrugged. The wounded man appeared and moved to kick Harkin. I stepped in the way.

  ‘It was an accident,’ I shouted. ‘Let’s get this van moving before the Military stumble upon us.’

  The man growled and pointed. ‘Privileged!’

  ‘Yes, Privileged!’ I said with as much force as I could muster. And it worked. With a grumble they all reverted to type. I helped shoulder the van out the ditch despite their sudden aversion to my status. It was even easier than it at first looked.

  ‘What’s going on in the south anyway?’ Con asked as he rubbed his grubby
hands on the back of his overalls.

  ‘The tower, we got a signal. It’s under attack. We’ve all been summoned.’

  ‘All?’ I asked. ‘Isn’t that dangerous? What if it’s a trap?’

  The man looked at me as if I were stupid then the puzzlement passed. ‘Why would the Military trap us? They depend on us to keep vital supply lines open.’

  ‘Maybe we should be cautious,’ Con warned.

  ‘You don’t think it’s Military?’ the woman asked us as if we were in on the plan.

  The puzzle remained as the man studied my face. ‘I think they should come with us,’ he nodded my way. ‘Bargaining power.’

  Just as well they didn’t know I was Vanora’s grandson. As the siren fired Harkin sank to the roadside, hands over ears. She rocked back and forth.

  ‘Kill the siren,’ I roared.

  ‘Ooh, ever the gentleman,’ the woman sneered but she killed the siren just the same.

  We weren’t that far from the tower after all. We breached the brow of a small hill into the throes of chaos below.

  Two amphibious military Transports floated on the bay. The tower still stood but only just. One of its corners had been blown and it listed precariously towards the illuminated pontoon where lights sparkled in the dull daylight. It should have been pretty but slapped incongruous and grotesque amongst all the chaos that ranged, it was a bit like a jester performing at a wake.

  Con held his spyglass to his eye. The driver had one too.

  ‘Let me see,’ I asked, but they ignored me.

  ‘Looks like someone’s taken prisoner,’ Con said. ‘A native woman, strange uniform.’

  The driver let out a stifled cry. ‘Dawdle’s negotiating. Arguing.’

  ‘Dawdle?’ The name familiar. The sharp Noiri guy that hung about Base.

  I grabbed the spyglass from Con. ‘Let me see.’

  At first all I could see was the gaudy garish lights, then I focused on the group.

  ‘Ishbel.’ She squatted in the bow of a RIB. Her hands and feet were tied.

  ‘Who’s Ishbel?’ The woman asked.

  ‘My native, a revolutionary in Vanora’s army.’