by Eric Thomson
But as he walked off his rage, reason once more gained the upper hand. It wouldn’t be long before the recruiters showed up and he could leave without raising suspicions.
Besides, he needed to see this through if he wanted to let the galaxy know what exile was really like.
Splashing sounds pursued him through the gate and along Valla’s main street as Larys had the remaining raiders tossed into the lagoon, pouring more oil on the feeding frenzy’s fire.
When Delia Ward saw him in the dim light of her oil lamp after he’d signed off with Mikkels at the guardhouse, she didn’t need her talent to read his feelings.
“Over thirty dead, I hear,” she said in a soft voice. “None of them ours.”
“Something like that.” He sat heavily on a wooden chair, making it squeak in protest.
“I also heard about your outburst on the wharf. You’re a man of many surprises, Zack Decker. But then I’ve known from the moment I touched your mind you were no cold-blooded killer.”
“Aye, and this was butchery. If the Correctional Service hadn’t washed its hands of those people to save money and spare themselves the trouble of keeping them incarcerated, they’d still be alive. Stuck behind four walls, but alive nonetheless.”
“And yet, they would have consumed you, if you hadn’t escaped.”
“This lot was starving,” he replied with unexpected savagery. “If their numbers have been increasing lately, then perhaps they ran out of whatever was available in the highlands that has enough nutrients. Without agriculture and animal husbandry to supplement the native flora and fauna, they have few alternatives.”
Ward cupped his face in her rough hands, a palm on each cheek and locked eyes with him.
“Your compassion does you credit, Zack. But on Desolation Island, life has once again reverted to the nasty and brutish sort our ancestors left behind. It’s part of the punishment for our crimes. Living hell instead of purgatory.”
He shrugged her off with a jerk of the head.
“I need to wash and change clothes. Then I need a drink. The stiffer, the better. Oh and never try to serve me any of that carnivorous fish. After tonight, every single one of them in the lagoon is fat with human flesh, and I don’t want to eat it second hand.”
“No need to worry on that account. No one eats that species. It’s just plain nasty.”
*
Dawn was creeping up on Desolation Island when Decker finally slipped into the bed he shared with Delia Ward. The flush of the rough liquor distilled in Valla still heated his cheeks. It made a pleasant contrast to the sting of the cold water, harsh soap, and stiff brush he’d used to scrub himself clean.
“You’re a walking contradiction,” Delia whispered in his ear as she snuggled up to his naked body. “And I’m now more convinced than ever you don’t belong here, among the exiles. There’s a fundamental decency beneath that tough exterior, something the rest of us lack.”
“Yet Valla seems to function as a civilized if primitive society.”
Delia chuckled.
“That’s because failure to conform carries the closest thing to a death sentence around here, exile from the exiles. We’re not fundamentally good human beings. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here, but we have excellent survival instincts.” When he didn’t respond, she laughed again. “I don’t even need to touch your mind to realize you desperately want to know what the woman you’re sleeping with did to earn this punishment.”
“You know why I’m here. Why shouldn’t we trade stories?”
“Ah.” Ward ran her hand over his scarred chest. “But that’s the thing. I don’t believe you actually told us the truth when you first arrived, darling.”
“Because you think I don’t belong here.”
“I know you don’t. It doesn’t take an empath to figure it out.” Before he could protest, she laid a finger on his lips. “No matter. If you’d rather stick with your story, then so be it. As to me? Knowing I have the talent without being locked up in a Void Sisterhood’s convent should give you a few clues.”
“Should it?”
“You’re trying to make me confess, aren’t you?”
“They say it’s good for the soul.”
A bitter laugh escaped Ward’s throat.
“Perhaps I don’t have one. Few of us exiles do.”
“I’ve known people without souls. Truly evil fucks. Trust me, you have a soul. I’ve seen you in action, working your healer magic, not least on me.”
“You’re a special case, Zack. From the moment I touched your mind after they brought you to me, I felt a connection between us.”
“Which explains why we tumbled into bed together once I was convalescing. Well, that and my incurable appetites.” He turned his head and gave her a grim smile. “Although you have a soul, I can’t guarantee it’s a general condition in Valla. A few of your fellow exiles are one bad night away from joining the wild ones.”
“Your fellow exiles?” She parroted. “Are you admitting you don’t belong here?”
“I admit nothing.”
After a moment of silence, Delia said, “I used to be an emergency doctor in Hadley, on Pacifica.”
“You have my sympathies. That place holds nothing but bad memories for me.”
“Shush, big boy. I’m trying to tell you my story.”
“You have my most abject apologies, sweetie.”
“As I said, I used to be an emergency doctor. One night, when I was in my late twenties, the ambulance brought three severely burned children from the welfare slums into my emergency room. It was the worst thing I’d ever seen, and somehow, the shock of dealing with small, innocent humans in excruciating pain triggered my empathic abilities. At first, I didn’t understand what was happening. Feeling another’s emotions and torments threatened to send me into psychosis. My work suffered to the point where I was one misstep from seeing my license to practice revoked. In desperation, I left the hospital to take a general practitioner’s job. However, with my record, the only clinic that would take me catered to the most destitute, desperate and often violent.”
“Having seen the Hadley slums in person, I can imagine the kind of patients you treated,” Decker said in a gentle tone.
“Many would have fit in with the wild ones. But most were people who’d never had a chance in life and knew they never would. Their emotions were just as disturbing if less intense and eventually, I learned to cope. I reached the point where I could wall myself off from another’s mental emanations, touching minds only when I wanted to. But not before one of the Sisters of the Void ministering to the poorest of them all became suspicious of me. That’s how I learned they were an order of empaths, created specifically to remove women like me from the mainstream. To train us, so we keep our sanity and don’t prey on others.”
“That’s when the Sisterhood made you an invitation you couldn’t refuse.”
“They did. And I declined. My work was more important, and by then, I had developed enough self-control to avoid harming myself or anyone else. The head Sister on Pacifica took exception to my refusal, so she had me anonymously denounced as a member of the banned Pacifican Justice League, something that led to my arrest. Once I was in the hands of the secret police, she planned to coax the cops into handing me to the Sisterhood.”
A bitter smile briefly tugged at her lips.
“I suspect the Sisters must have been meddling with police minds, to use your term. When the arresting officer gave me the choice of facing trumped-up charges with a guaranteed guilty verdict or a lifetime in a convent, I’m afraid I went off on a tear. I denounced the entire Pacifican political and legal edifice, said rant ending with a suggestion he engage in unspeakable acts with the Hadley convent. Somehow, I must have mentally projected something by accident that triggered such anger in him that he withdrew the offer to join the Sisters and made my life a complete misery. I was charged and found guilty of high treason. The court took the unusual step of condemning me to a federal sent
ence, which for political crimes meant exile on Desolation Island. I suspect the verdict was instigated by the Sisterhood as well.”
“So you’re not really a criminal, are you?”
“I’m not finished. The head Sister came to gloat at me in prison shortly before my departure from Pacifica. She was nasty about it. I understood that her cozy relationship with the secret police had become strained to the point of snapping, thanks to me. She reached into my mind to deliver a punishment of sorts, or perhaps even to screw with my talent.”
Decker mentally shivered as he remembered the rogue Sister who had tried to do the same to him.
“I fought her, and the combination of our energies created a feedback loop that gained in intensity to a point where both of us seemed on the verge of a psychic explosion. I finally broke the loop and turned the stream back on her. She was much older than I was, and the shock proved to be fatal. She died of a massive cardiac infarction there and then. So you see, I have killed another human being, and I’ve never felt a shred of remorse.”
“It was self-defense.”
“The Sister was merely the first, Zack. I won’t go through my entire history, but I belong here. If I was to rejoin society, chances are good I would succumb to the lure of using my abilities for personal gain, including using them to kill.”
“You mean you can murder with your thoughts.”
An ugly laugh escaped her throat.
“Of course not. But I can distract, confuse, and otherwise meddle while my knife slips between someone’s ribs.”
“Remind me to never piss you off.”
“You’re immune to my charms, darling. It’s what makes you so irresistible.”
She reached down to underscore her statement when the alarm gong sounded.
“Crap.” Decker sat up. “Don’t tell me another bunch of cannibals is knocking on the door.”
“No.” Ward climbed out of bed and got dressed with unusual alacrity. “That was the storm warning signal. Now that dawn’s here, the watch must have spotted a bad one approaching and since this is hurricane season...”
“How bad are they?”
“Every so often we get one powerful enough we’re better off heading for the interior and taking our chances with the wild ones.”
Twenty
A solid wall of black cloud filled the eastern horizon, looming over Desolation Island’s central plateau. Blustery wind had replaced the night’s gentle offshore breeze, and whitecaps covered a lagoon that had witnessed death a few hours earlier.
“What’s the drill?” Decker asked as they made their way to the central square.
“Move the boats out of the water and onto high ground; nail windows and doors shut; triple the bars on the wharf gate and call out the entire militia. Except this time it’s to be ready for rescue and emergency repairs rather than for a fight.”
“If I were one of the bad guys, I’d consider using the storm as cover for an attack,” he replied.
“It hasn’t happened yet.”
“Doesn’t mean it won’t one day.”
They entered a village square rapidly filling with people. Hikaru and Mikkels stood on the log platform that regularly served as a stage for live performances, Valla’s sole source of mass entertainment. The militia chief spotted Zack and Delia and waved them over.
“How are you doing?” Mikkels asked when they were within earshot.
Decker gave a half shrug. “Apart from us not sleeping much, I’m good?”
“Did fighting put you in the mood?” When he saw a distinct lack of amusement in both Delia and Decker’s eyes, Mikkels shrugged. “Or not. There’s a dangerous storm coming, so it’s all hands on deck again.”
Ward grimaced.
“Exactly as I thought. Last time I saw a sky like that, we took a good beating.”
“That’s why we’re moving the boats well inland. The storm surge will likely wash over the reef and pound us. We’ll need every pair of strong arms to haul.”
“As long as you don’t expect me to wade into the water,” Decker replied.
Mikkels smirked.
“The carnivorous fish don’t come out in daylight, and the ones in our part of the lagoon won’t need to eat for a few weeks, so don’t worry.”
Hikaru saved Decker from making a pungent reply he might regret by raising both arms to attract the attention of the crowd. Once the buzz of conversation died away, Valla’s headman spoke in a measured tone.
“Folks, it’s another big one, probably as big as the storm that hit us five years ago, when we lost half of the boats. We’ll need to haul them up as high as we can and weatherproof both food stores and stock pens in that order of priority. I figure we have most of the day before the leading edge strikes the island. The militia will take care of the boats, but I need the rest of you to harden Valla and turn every building into a bunker. We must be ready to ride it out by nightfall. Make sure you have enough food and water in your houses. Herders, you’ll be riding it out with your animals. Remember, some of the beasts will panic when the storm sweeps right over us. Try to make sure they don’t injure themselves. Council members, you have your tasks. Take your people and get them done.”
Mikkels caught Zack’s eye and nodded towards the lagoon before jumping off the stage. Delia laid her hand on the Marine’s arm.
“I’m off to prepare the infirmary, and then check on the herds, since I also double as Valla’s animal doctor. When you’ve done everything Mikkels requires, come home. It’s easier to endure a big storm when you’re with someone.”
A sudden rain squall, driven by a gust of wind, descended upon Valla and cut visibility to almost nothing, drenching everything in sight.
Matt Hikaru, eyes half-closed against the stinging droplets, let out a grunt and said, “It’ll definitely be upon us before dark, and we probably lie right in its path.”
“Was our esteemed headman a meteorologist before his unfortunate legal problems?” Decker asked, his lips close to Delia’s ear.
Ward gave him an ironic smile and replied in a voice pitched loud enough to cut through the wind and the rain, “Funny you should ask. We have enough brains and talent here to start our own university. But who would we teach when there are no children?”
*
A sodden Decker slipped through the half-open infirmary door, chased by a rain-laden gust of wind, twin to the ones that had been rattling the roof for most of the morning. With the windows boarded over, it felt like stepping directly from a graying day into darkest of night.
“Boats are a hundred meters inland, and not a moment too soon,” he said in a booming voice to cut through the howl of the gale outside. “If there were any blood stains from last night left on the wharf, they’re long gone. The waves are about to kiss the back gate. It’s nasty out there. A flying branch almost brained me.”
Delia’s voice called out from the common room.
“Over here, Zack.”
She took one look at him when he stepped into the flickering candle light and said, “Strip. You’ll be of no use spending the next twenty-four hours as wet as the outdoors.”
“Is that a proposition?”
She gave him a coy smile.
“Would you like it to be? I’ve always wanted to make love during a hurricane, especially with someone who knows what I am and can reach out on more than just the physical plane.”
“We have a deal, Delia.”
“Let’s try to connect again, just this once, and pretend nature wants us to.” When he didn’t reply, she joined him by the door and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Don’t you sense the power in the atmosphere? Surely a man with your receptiveness can feel the same raw energy as I do.”
She gave him a smile that was half-seductive, half-sad.
“It might be the only time either of us could experience a joining of this magnitude.”
“How’s that?”
Decker put his hands on her hips and pulled her against him.
; “You’ll have left by the time Desolation Island experiences a hurricane’s direct wrath again,” she replied in a husky voice.
“Probably,” he admitted. “You’re right. I don’t belong here.”
“But you could belong to me for a few hours, Zack. We could belong to each other, mind, and body.”
His eyes met hers and a surge of desire like none he’d ever experienced before passed between them. He leaned over for a kiss, saying, “Since I have no other plans for the rest of the storm...”
*
Decker woke to an eerie silence with Delia Ward nestled in his arms. His last memory before falling asleep had been the world-ending scream of the hurricane’s destructive winds battering at Valla’s stone houses. But judging by the candle still flickering on the side table, two hours at most had passed since exhaustion had finally overcome them. Ward stirred, opening one eye. Then, she too noticed the silence.
“We must be in the eye of the storm,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “It’s a sight to behold if you’ve never been in one.”
“A breath of fresh air wouldn’t hurt either,” Decker replied, after a pointed sniff. “With the shutters closed, it’s kind of pungent in here. Do we need to dress?”
“This may be the last refuge for society’s outcasts, but we still keep a modicum of standards. Put your pants on at the very least.”
Ward rolled out of bed and pulled a knee-length woolen shift over her head.
The air outside was even denser and more humid than the atmosphere in their shared bedroom. Directly overhead, a circular section of star-speckled night sky shone on Valla. But roiling dark walls spinning around an invisible axis surrounded that window of calm.
Agitated surf still struck at the seawall, the stone wharf, and the base of the wooden palisade with an angry hiss.
Other hastily clad exiles, also attracted by the promise of a moment’s respite, emerged from cottages throughout the settlement to gawk at the spectacle. Decker leaned against the infirmary’s damp wall, arm around Ward’s waist, and tilted his head back so he could stare up.