The Drowned Cities sb-2

by Paolo Bacigalupi

  It was Ocho, sitting up straighter than Mahlia would have thought he could, his voice full of command. “Van! You pick up that rice. You serve us all off the top, and you eat what touched the ground. Soa, get out and get some fresh water. I won’t have you fighting in this unit. We ain’t Army of God.” He made a dismissing motion with his hand. “Go on. Get to it.”

  “Trouble, Sergeant?”

  Lieutenant Sayle’s voice floated down from the squat above, where he had ensconced himself. A voice full of threat. Everyone seemed to freeze. “Anything I need to know about?”

  “No, sir,” Ocho responded. “Just a little kitchen mess, right, boys?”

  They all said, “Yes, sir,” and then Van was scooping up rice and putting it onto palm leaves and handing it out to the other soldier boys as they shuffled up and took rice and goat, and then went back to their various posts. Only when everyone else was served did Van squat down and scoop up the last rice for himself.

  Mahlia watched as everything got cleaned, trying to figure out what felt odd about it all. It felt wrong. She kept trying to put her finger on it, and then it dawned on her… They were afraid.

  They were all staring out at the black rustling jungle and casting nervous glances toward their dead, and every one of them was afraid. They’d had four of theirs torn to pieces in seconds. Despite all their bravado and threats of violence, these soldier boys were little puppies in comparison to the creature they were hunting in the jungle, and they knew it.

  Mahlia wished fervently that there was some way to sic the half-man on them. She went back to her cleaning, imagining the half-man mowing through them. Wishing that the jungle’s teeth would just swallow them up.

  Teeth. Mahlia paused. She studied the nervous warboys again. The jungle had teeth, and it made them afraid. Mahlia started to smile.

  I’ll give you teeth.

  She straightened and wrung out her rag.

  “Where you going?” Ocho asked. “You ain’t done here.”

  “You need better meds. I got something for you.”

  “Thought you already gave everything.”

  “Maybe if you act decent toward me instead of treating me like an animal, you get treated better, too.”

  “That’s peacekeeper talk.” But the almost-smile flickered again as Ocho said it, and the soldier boy waved her off.

  In the squat above, Mahlia found the lieutenant seated at Doctor Mahfouz’s rough-cut table, studying an old book of the doctor’s, while the doctor sat quietly and answered the man’s questions about the jungles in his steady voice.

  The lieutenant looked up as she climbed through the hatch. “What you want, girl?”

  “I need to fix your sergeant’s bandages. And I remember where we had some other meds,” she said.

  “Other meds?” the lieutenant asked. “You holding out on us, doctor?”

  Doctor Mahfouz looked surprised, but he covered well enough. “Mahlia manages our medicines.” He touched his glasses. “Because of my sight.” He nodded to her. “Go on, then.”

  Mahlia looked at the lieutenant. “You want me to get the meds or not?”

  He waved her on. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  Mahlia went over and crouched in a shadowy corner. Started pulling half-moldy books off a lower shelf. She hated giving away the doctor’s hiding place, but she suspected that the soldiers would have found it eventually, or else forced the information from her or the doctor at knifepoint.

  Behind the first row of books, more books were tucked away. These, Mahlia pulled out and started opening, revealing the doctor’s medicine supply. She extracted blister packs of pills from within the hollowed-out volumes while the lieutenant watched.

  “And you said you only had a few,” the man said.

  The doctor gave a quiet sigh. “It’s all we will ever have. They are very difficult to acquire, and we have little to trade. The sort of men who have black market pills aren’t the sort who care about what we have to offer.”

  Mahlia ignored the hungry interest as she went through the pills. She couldn’t read much of the text on the labels, because it was all more complicated than the Chinese she had learned as a child, but the instruction diagrams were made by the peacekeepers for illiterates in the Drowned Cities, so you could mostly tell how many you were supposed to take and what it was for.

  She wanted to take them all, but there was no way she could carry everything. She fingered through the blister packs. Black market meds. Old meds that had been hoarded, and new ones the doctor had paid for with great risk and expense by going to the smugglers in Moss Landing.

  She took a fistful. It would have to be enough. With that done, she opened another book and found the bottle she wanted. Cloudy liquid corked inside a little green glass bottle, gleaming.

  Coywolv scent.

  The bottle felt like a grenade in her hand. After Mahlia’s first destructive experiment with the scent and Alejandro’s goats, Doctor Mahfouz had instructed her explicitly that she was always to ask him before using any of his medicines in the future. He’d never made a direct accusation, but he’d tucked away the scent, and the message had been clear.

  Now, Mahlia held up the bottle, showing it to the doctor. “I’m going to use this, right?”

  You understand? she wanted to say. You going to be ready?

  The doctor looked at her, shocked.

  For a second, Mahlia was afraid he would stop her, but really, he was stuck. If he told the lieutenant what was in the bottle, there was no telling what kind of punishment they’d get.

  “Are you sure, Mahlia? That’s quite strong.”

  “Lieutenant wants his soldier taken care of.”

  “That’s not a simple medicine.”

  “It’s what we got.”

  Lieutenant Sayle was looking between her and the doctor, not understanding that there were two conversations happening, right in front of him.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “Meds for your boy,” Mahlia said. Her eyes went to Doctor Mahfouz, daring him to rat her out.

  “Let me see.”

  Mahlia came over to the lieutenant, her heart pounding. Showed him the green glass bottle. He held it up to the light. “What’s in it?”

  “Antibacterial. We make it, because other stuff’s hard to buy,” she said. But the lieutenant wasn’t really paying attention. His eyes had gone to the other packages of meds in her hands.

  “And those?”

  “You want the best, right? Peacekeeper meds. Top grade. Only a year past expiration.”

  The lieutenant plucked them out of her grasp. He turned the packages over in his hands, studying the foreign script, then handed them back to her with a smile. “Very good.”

  “Yeah,” Mahlia said. “The best.”

  11

  SERGEANT OCHO LAY STILL, watching the burn of the fire and trying to keep his mind off the pain in his ribs. When the doctor girl had come back down, she’d given him something that cushioned the pain, and it made him a little hazy. It wasn’t as good as the opiates you could find in the Drowned Cities, but it helped a little.

  The watches had changed, and his boys were fed. From his sickbed, he studied them, considering them for combat-readiness.

  Some of them were still jumpy and on edge from their last run-in with the half-man, but more of them were settling down. Soa was just as crazy as he always was. Van was cracking jokes, which meant he was still afraid. Gutty was sleeping, easy as a baby, always. A few of them started passing a bottle. If they’d been closer to the war lines, Ocho might have shut it down, but soldiers couldn’t stand ready all the time, and at least they were out of the heart of the Drowned Cities.

  Ocho watched them pass the bottle, listening to their murmured banter and insults. The half-man had hurt them, all right, but Ocho thought their previous encounters had also made them stronger. If it came to another fight, they were ready. They knew what to expect this time.

  He lay back, trying to make hi
mself comfortable, knowing the pain in his ribs was too much to let him sleep. He wished there were more of those pink pills the doctor girl had given him, but he was damned if he was going to look like he was begging to get out of a little hurt.

  The fire burned lower and the liquor bottle went around again. Or was it a new bottle? Van had rousted more than one off the people in the town. He was good at that—finding the secret stashes.

  Soa was complaining again. “What’s that stink?” he asked. “Did Slim fart, or what?”

  Ocho sniffed. Soa was right. There was a strange nauseous reek of blood and musk in the air. Ocho sniffed again, puzzled. It seemed to be coming off the bodies lying right beside him.

  Was the smell something that the half-man had done? He’d never heard of a smell associated with half-men. Just that they were fast and strong and hard to kill. Whatever this was, it was nasty.

  Ocho looked away from his dead troops, feeling ill at the losses. Jones and Bugball and Allende. Dead and stinking.

  Of all the ways Ocho had expected to die, being torn apart by a dog-face had never been one of them. Bullet in the head, sure. Hands chopped off and him thrown into a canal to bleed out, maybe. Blown to pieces by some leftover land mine from when Tulane Company had occupied all their territory, for sure. He’d come to terms with all those options, long ago.

  Instead, he’d taken one impossibly fast and bloody swipe from a half-man and gone flying into a tree. No wonder the swanks who owned the scrap ships always used half-men. The bastards were deadly.

  Ocho ran an idle hand over his bandages and stitches. Lucky they’d run across the doctor and his castoff. Those two had done a better job than any of the butchers in the Drowned Cities. The so-called doctors there barely knew how to tie a tourniquet.

  He fingered the stitching. Tidy, perfectly even loops pulling torn flesh back together. Ocho’s eyes went to the doctor girl, now busily washing pots under Stork’s supervision. She’d been the one. The doc knew what to do, but she’d done the doing. Skills like that were good to have in a platoon, even if she was a castoff.

  Ocho watched her as she moved around the area, doing her chores. Despite her missing hand, she did pretty good. Not hard to look at, either. Strong cheekbones and dark brown skin and those peacekeeper eyes. As far as Ocho was concerned, she could have had her face burned off with acid and he would still have been interested in her. Not many people stitched skin as good as a machine stitched cloth.

  Ocho made a mental note to recommend her to the lieutenant. Maybe burn her in. He’d have to keep Soa off her, though. Soa had some kind of special beef with the peacekeepers. Keeping him off the girl would be full-time hassle.

  Even now, Soa was waving at the girl.

  “C’mere, castoff. Polish my boots.” Soa was grinning and holding them up. “Spit-shine, girl. Get to work. Kiss my boots.”

  Ocho watched, but didn’t interfere, curious to see how far Soa would push his authority. The soldier just didn’t let up. Undisciplined that way.

  The castoff straightened from her washing. “You want me to scrub your boots?” she asked.

  Ocho frowned at her tone, trying to focus through the swaddling blankets of his painkillers. Something about the doctor girl was wrong, and it made his skin prickle. And that weird ripe smell was getting stronger, too. It was all over. Not just coming from his dead soldier boys.

  What the hell was it?

  The doctor girl had started toward Soa. “You want me to do your boots right now?” she asked. “That what you want?”

  Everything about her body language was wrong. She was standing too tall, looking too direct.

  Ocho dragged himself upright, fighting the pain in his ribs. She’d lost her fear. The doctor girl had been terrified of Soa before, and now she wasn’t. She should have been a frightened little war maggot, quaking and begging, and instead, she was striding toward Soa, and she was smiling.

  Blood and rust, Ocho thought. What you up to, girl?

  Ocho had once seen a nailshed girl go after a trooper with a knife, and she’d looked just like the doctor girl now as she walked toward Soa.

  But the castoff was just carrying that bottle of antibiotic stuff she’d had with her all evening. No knife. Nothing dangerous. But she looked like she actually wanted to tangle with Soa.

  So where was the weapon?

  “Soa…” Ocho started.

  At Ocho’s words, the castoff glanced over. Something flashed on her face and her step faltered. Hesitation.

  Guilt? Fear?

  It was weird. It looked almost like she felt bad, like she was apologizing to him for something. And then her expression hardened and she went after Soa, full bore.

  Soa never saw it coming. All he saw was an amputated castoff, so he walked right into her trap, even as Ocho started to shout.

  The doctor girl swung her arm. An arc of gleaming liquid sprayed Soa, top to bottom. Soa flinched away.

  “What the hell?”

  For a second, Ocho was sure she’d thrown acid. She’d gotten hold of hydrochlor somehow, and wanted to burn Soa’s face off for his hassling. But Soa didn’t start screaming and clawing his eyes. Instead, the soldier was just standing there. Dripping. Looking nauseated.

  “What is this stuff?”

  A wave of stench rolled over Ocho, emanating from the drenched soldier.

  So that was where the smell was coming from.

  Soa was staring at the doctor girl incredulously. “This stinks!” He took a step toward her, glaring. “Get over here, maggot! Clean me up!”

  But the girl was shaking her head and backing away. Soa took another step after her.

  “I said—”

  A scream ripped the night, coming from the far side of the perimeter. Gunfire chattered, then opened up full. More screaming, joined by a snarling that made Ocho’s blood run cold.

  The half-man, he realized. It was coming for them. The gunfire and screaming suddenly cut short. Kilo and Riggs had been out there, and now there was nothing.

  Ocho tried to get up and toppled over in his haste. He was more drugged than he’d thought. His head was dizzy with the painkillers. He waved clumsily at his troops. “Get out there!” He waved at his boys. “Dog Squad! Back them up! Don’t leave your brothers out there! Help them!”

  More screaming and guns were going off, now from the North.

  Fates, Ocho thought. It’s back. The dog-face is going to finish us off.

  He cast about for his rifle, feeling suddenly vulnerable and alone. Where the hell was it? Where was his damn weapon?

  Soa was unslinging his own rifle, shouting at the doctor girl. He was pissed off, but at least he wasn’t hurt.

  “Soa!” Ocho ordered. “Get out there!” But Soa wasn’t listening. Or maybe Ocho just hadn’t said it loud enough. Either way, Soa was all about revenge on the castoff. The girl was backing away from Soa, but the weird thing was, she wasn’t panicking. Even as everyone else was shouting and grabbing for their guns and there was screaming and shooting all around the perimeter, the girl didn’t look surprised in the least.

  She wasn’t afraid at all.

  Alil’s squad dashed toward the sounds of fighting. “Light ’em up!” he shouted. More gunfire ripped the night. Muzzle flashes.

  Ocho fought his way to his feet, ribs burning, dizziness washing over him. Where the hell was his rifle? From the corner of his eye, Ocho caught a flicker of movement. A shadow beyond the perimeter, faster than firelight.

  “Incom—!”

  A whirl of gray fur and fangs exploded from the darkness. Soa stumbled and went down, a beast tearing at his back. Another flashed past, tearing right through the center of the building.

  Coywolv?

  Blood poured from Soa as more snarling monsters piled onto him. He was screaming and thrashing, trying to get the beasts off him.

  Why the hell were coywolv attacking a whole platoon of soldiers?

  The doctor girl dodged past Soa and slipped into the darkness
, even as more and more coywolv emerged to tear into Soa.

  Why not her?

  She was smaller. The coywolv should have been going for her. She was the easy bait. Coywolv always went after easy bait. It didn’t make any sense. It was like some kind of strange drug nightmare.

  “Get it off!” Soa was screaming. “Get it off!”

  Reyes had his shotgun up and was trying to get a clear shot on the coywolv, but they were all whirling motion, and the scatter would tear Soa as well.

  “Shoot it!” Soa howled. “Shoot! Shoot!”

  He sounded like an animal himself. Reyes sighted again, and then more coywolv piled in and Reyes had his hands full. The soldier boy opened up. One of the beasts’ heads whipped back at the blast, blood spraying. Coywolv snarled all around, tearing through the camp, dragging dead soldier bodies out into the darkness, going after the living soldiers as they tried to assemble.

  The LT piled down the ladder, shouting for a rally point, the doctor man coming down after. Out beyond the edge of the firelight, the jungle seethed with predatory shadows.

  Someone let off a burst of auto.

  “Save your shots, you maggots!” the LT shouted.

  It was out of control. More and more soldiers were screaming and down under piles of tearing coywolv. Ocho caught a glimpse of the doctor man disappearing into the darkness at the far side of the building, a medical bag in his hands.

  “We’re losing the doctor!”

  But no one was free to go after him. Ocho started hobbling after the man, ribs searing. He fell to his knees. As he struggled to stand, he caught sight of the girl again. Crouched right on the edge of the darkness, watching him.

  Why was she still there? Was he hallucinating now?

  Ocho again searched for a gun. Finally saw it leaning against a wall, on the other side of Jones’s body. He started crawling for it, but a coywolv leaped onto the soldier boy’s corpse, blocking Ocho’s path. Ocho froze. Another coywolv joined it. They both bared their teeth and snarled at Ocho.

  What was he supposed to do? Look them in the eye? Look away? Back off? Don’t back off? He couldn’t remember.

  His questions evaporated as the two coywolv seized Jones’s legs in their teeth and dragged the limp body away into the darkness.