Vow

by Annelie Wendeberg

  I point at two men and send them to fetch the guy with the radio. He comes over with a swagger. ‘I hope that helps your authenticity,’ I whisper.

  He produces a small nod, but his expression doesn’t show how he feels about me taking over his show, even if only for a minute.

  ‘I need to find Colonel Johansson and his brother. Johannson’s a tall, cold-looking guy with yellow hair, and the other’s a doctor with black skin. And there’s a woman named Maura, but I’m not sure if she’s stationed here.’

  ‘We have the men. Don’t know about the woman, though. You going to interrogate them?’

  I nod. ‘I suspect Colonel Johansson is part of the Sequencer’s Espionage Unit. He mentioned bioweapons. Whatever I can squeeze out of him will be useful. Anything you want me to ask him?’

  ‘Locations of other bases. Anything they know about BSA movements. Anything the Sequencers or the BSA have planned for our home territory.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ I answer. ‘Can I borrow four of your men? I need tough-looking guys to move my prisoners to the cell in the basement. Push them around a bit, draw a little blood. Nothing too dramatic, though.’

  He considers that for a while.

  Katvar stands silently by my side, his attention stuck on the prisoners being blindfolded one by one, some of them crying and terrified.

  I have no time to feel sorry for the women. Nothing is going to happen to them. Gang rape isn’t something I wish on anybody. Yet here I am, inflicting precisely that fear.

  Four men are called over to us. Tall, bulky guys with ragged beards and glittering eyes. They receive their instructions and move out. Doc and Ice Face are yanked to their feet and dragged out of the hall. Katvar and I begin to comb through the hostages in search of Maura.

  ‘Where are the soldiers?’ my fingers ask Katvar. ‘Most of these people here are staff. I’ve seen some of them in the lab wing.’

  ‘In the barracks.’ He tilts his head in the direction Doc and Ice Face were taken, lifts his hands to ask a question, but drops them when I shake my head no.

  We step over hogtied and blindfolded people, who jerk as we brush by them.

  Every once in a while, I stop my search to sign questions to Katvar. ‘How many troops did Alta send? Men to guard these hostages, the ones in the barracks, men to search the labs, to guard the soldiers, that must be…four, or five dozen at least.’

  ‘The soldiers here are all dead.’ Katvar’s gaze rests on mine, analysing my reaction. But I find I have none. This world is littered with corpses. One gets used to it. Or not.

  ‘Effective,’ I say, then sign, ‘I want you to stay in the mess hall when I interrogate Doc and Ice Face.’

  ‘No,’ he rasps.

  I walk faster, digging through blindfolds, but find no Maura. Shit. The woman knows stuff, and I need her in that cell. I want to see her face when she’s pushed into my concrete box.

  Katvar touches my elbow. ‘I am not leaving you alone with this.’

  I scrape my hands across my face, and sign, ‘This isn’t a romantic trip, Katvar. I’m going to torture at least one man. Both, most likely.’

  His nostrils flare as he puts his face close to mine, then draws back to sign, his fingers slashing the air with determination, ‘Do what you have to do. But I will not leave you alone.’

  I cut back at him, ‘I don’t want you to see this cell. It is… And I don’t want you to see me as…as a monster.’

  His gaze softens, his stance does not. ‘I see all of you, my love.’

  Twenty-Eight

  Someone’s offered me a sweaty shirt, pants that reach past my toes, and a pair of sturdy boots — all taken off some hostages. The boots are perfect, but I left the shirt and the pants with their owners. I’m glad I kept my ridiculous reindeer cardigan because the air is growing chilly on the way to the basement.

  One of the bulky men who brought the two prisoners to my cell leads Katvar and me down there. I couldn’t have found it on my own. I was blindfolded on the way in, and beaten unconscious on the way out.

  Making myself go back to the hospital room is one thing, but this… This lacks all comparison. Every single step down goes against my very nature. My survival instinct is kicking in, my legs want to run the other way. Acid fills my mouth and my heart is racing away from me.

  My skin is jittering on my bones.

  The stench of dried blood and excrement intensifies, making me gag when we reach a metal door at the end of a corridor. I throw a glance through a peephole. Ice Face and Doc sit at a table that’s been brought down from the mess hall. They are looking a bit battered around the nose.

  ‘You’ve shackled their hands and feet to the chairs?’ I ask the guy behind me.

  ‘Eventually,’ he says with a smirk, and holds out a small key for their handcuffs.

  ‘You planning to stand guard?’

  He nods.

  ‘Thanks. There’ll be…noises, but don’t come rushing in without looking through the peephole.’

  ‘You think I’m an amateur?’

  ‘No, but you might think I am.’ I turn to Katvar and sign, ‘Are you sure?’

  He inclines his head.

  A knot forms in my throat. I touch his arm, and then sign, ‘Never approach the prisoners with your weapons on you. I’ll start with Ice Face. Observe the other guy. I need to know what he’s thinking. And if you can’t stand it, it’s okay to leave.’

  ‘I am not leaving you,’ he answers, jaw and shoulders set.

  I scan his face. Eyes the colour of pine bark. A severe mouth capable of the softest kisses. ‘When we are far away from here,’ I whisper, ‘Can we try the blueberries and the reindeer milk again?’

  Bewildered, he blinks. A moment later, understanding sinks in. His nostrils flare as his gaze flicks to the peephole. There’s murder in his eyes.

  Hardening myself, I turn away, throw the bolt aside and step back into hell.

  With a smile, I greet Ice Face. ‘And so we meet again.’

  His only answer is a small nod and a curling of his lips, as if to say, ‘See, I was right all along.’

  I tip my head at Katvar, ‘Hand me your weapons, then move the black guy away from the table.’ And to Doc, ‘I will get to you shortly.’

  Katvar moves like the hunter he is: flipping his weapons and handing them to me in one smooth move, grabbing Doc and his chair and sliding him to the back wall, where Doc can see everything but won’t be able to interfere even if he throws himself and his chair forward. He’d probably knock himself out on the edge of the table if he tried anything.

  Silently, Katvar asks for his knife and gun back, as though we know each other only as commander and soldier. His eyes betray how hard this is on him. He’s never witnessed or experienced torture, and now the ugly evidence is punching him in the gut: the clotted gore that covers the floor and splatters the walls. The rusty colours of a variety of dried bodily fluids. This is where the woman he loves was made to bleed and suffer. Where a bunch of men, who believed they were serving the greater good, stole her word-flavours.

  Maybe he thinks he won’t mind when I retaliate. But something tells me he has no clue what’s to come.

  Slowly, I pace around Ice Face, scanning the shackles on his ankles and wrists. He’s unable to shuffle his feet, but there’s enough chain length for him to move his palms up onto the table. Ice Face twists his neck to keep me in his line of sight. One of his eyes has caught a good punch; the lid hangs at half-mast.

  When I’m behind him, I switch my gun to my left hand, and my knife to the right. Doc cries out a warning. Moving fast, I hop up on the table, and stick my gun into Ice Face’s visage. ‘Open up.’

  He ogles me along the barrel, unsure what I want from him.

  Crouching low, I snarl, ‘I can open your mouth for you, or you do it all by yourself. Your choice.’

  His eyes flare in a confusion of rage and terror, but he snaps his mouth open. His chin trembles.

  I push the mu
zzle in deep, then in a bit farther until I hit the back of his throat. His face reddens as he gags on the gun.

  ‘Right hand on the table.’

  The chain clinks as he slides his palm onto the tabletop. In a flash, I ram my knife into the back of his hand, driving it through his flesh and into the wood below. His howl pushes around the gun and echoes through the cell. The guy outside scrapes the cover of the peephole aside and coughs, but otherwise remains quiet. Behind me, Katvar doesn’t move at all. Or if he does, he’s silent. I’m glad he can’t see my face and I can’t see his.

  ‘Problems breathing?’ I ask Ice Face.

  His watering eyes are answer enough, but I wait until he produces a tiny nod.

  ‘Would you like me to remove the gun from your mouth?’

  Another small nod.

  ‘As soon as you move your hand, the gun will be back, shoved a little farther down your throat. Can you manage not to move your hand?’

  He nods again.

  ‘Good boy,’ I say, pull back, and push myself up. Ice Face’s expression is that of utter relief until I lift my foot and drive the knife deep into the table with a stomp of my boot.

  His other hand comes up in an attempt to cradle the injured one, or maybe to rip out the knife.

  Holding my hand out to Katvar, I say, ‘Looks like I’ll need your knife, soldier.’

  All blood drains from Ice Face’s visage. Even his eyes are paling. His good hand drops under the table.

  ‘I thought so.’ I crouch back down, casually dangling the fresh knife and my gun between my knees. ‘You see, I’m one of the nice gals. I’m giving you choices. It’s all up to you what happens next. Don’t you agree?’

  He’s about to shake his head no, but pulls himself together fast enough and nods.

  ‘Good boy.’ I gift him a maniac smile. His skin is greying, and his temples are pebbling with sweat.

  ‘Are you in pain?’ I ask softly.

  ‘Y-yes.’

  ‘Do you want more of it, or do you want less?’

  ‘Less, pl—’ He bites his tongue before please can slip out.

  I smile. ‘So we understand each other.’

  He nods.

  ‘Tell me about the high-security labs.’

  He doesn’t want to, I see it in the flattening of his lips.

  I give him a moment to reconsider as I slowly place the mouth of my gun onto the tip of his perfectly manicured index finger. ‘Shall I solve your fingernail clipping problem for you?’

  ‘No!’ he gasps. ‘I’m not involved in the research—’

  ‘One…’

  ‘I’m telling you the truth! I’m not inv—’

  ‘Two…’

  His free hand creeps up on the table top. In a flash, I strike with Katvar’s knife, push myself up and slam my heel down on its handle.

  With a screech, he collapses and hits his forehead on the edge of the table. His chest is heaving. The scent of warm urine wafts through the cell, mingling with the stink of my dried blood and shit.

  I wait until he’s stopped heaving. ‘Are you calm now?’

  He nods, lifting his head in small increments. Blood and snot are smeared over his cheek and forehead. The arrogance is wiped clean off.

  ‘Tell me about the high-security labs,’ I repeat, keeping my voice gentle and soft. Erik has taught me that. The carrot and the stick work even under torture, or especially then. When your prisoner doesn’t give you what you demand of him, you strike hard, without delay, without mercy. But when he obeys, you reward him with kind words and some lessening of his pain. Or at least by not increasing it. Erik was fascinated by the way such treatment would always result in an attachment of the tortured to the torturer. I find it one of the most disgusting of human traits. And that’s why I drive my teeth into the inside of my cheek when Ice Face looks up at me with a glint of admiration in his eyes. There’s also revulsion. A lot of it.

  ‘As I said,’ he croaks. ‘I am not—’

  The mouth of my gun is back on his index finger. ‘One.’

  He squeezes his eyes shut. That fleeting bit of approval must have come from somewhere else. Maybe he was just acknowledging that when it comes to torture, he can learn from me. Or maybe he’s just the mad shithead he is.

  ‘Two.’

  The cell is silent except for Ice Face’s choppy breathing.

  ‘Three.’ The shot cuts through the stillness, bouncing off the concrete walls. Its echo drowns in Ice Face’s and Doc’s shouts of pain and shock.

  I throw a quick glance under the table to make sure I didn’t put a hole in his leg. Nicking a large artery would end this much too soon.

  Except for his wet crotch, Ice Face’s lower half looks fine.

  ‘He didn’t lie! He’s not involved in the research!’ Doc bellows. ‘We grow cell cultures to test our virotherapy agents. We are developing cures!’

  ‘Cut the noise!’ I bark.

  Ice Face hiccups like a child. Doc keeps insisting they have only humanity’s best interest in mind.

  ‘I said: Cut. The. Noise.’ When nothing happens, I press the muzzle on Ice Face’s middle finger and say, ‘One.’

  That shuts them up immediately.

  ‘Thank you. Now, help me understand this. Are you trying to convince me that only absolutely harmless experiments are conducted in your high-security labs? Is that it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ice Face says.

  I nod, hop down from the table, and open the door. Burly Guy looks unimpressed by my interrogation skills. I shake my head imperceptibly at him, then shift my gaze away to talk to a guy who does not exist. ‘Go fetch a handful of prisoners — the ones in white coats — and take them to one of the high-security labs. Push them through both sealed glass doors, fire a few rounds at those funny revolving glass thingies, then lock the doors tight and watch what happens.’ I step back and shut the door.

  ‘Noooo! You can’t do that! Tens of thousands are going to die!’ Doc’s voice is raw from shouting. A ribbon of spit is stuck to his chin.

  I bark a laugh. ‘Dude, are you trying to convince the BSA’s second in command not to kill tens of thousands?’

  ‘Yes! You are a human being. You are a woman. Don’t you care about the fate—’

  ‘Oh shut the fuck up!’ I cover the short distance to Doc, grab his head and smash his face into the wall. ‘Do you know what this is? Do you? It’s my blood, my sweat, and the shit and piss your brother beat out of me.’

  ‘I didn’t approve,’ he croaks.

  Disgusted, I step away from him. ‘Actually, you did. You gave the approval of a coward. You watched it happen. You did nothing to stop it. And then you partook. It was your drug your brother and you gave me. You committed torture. I found no regret in your eyes when you did it.’

  ‘I’m not proud of what—’

  ‘And that is the only reason why you still have a chance, a very small one, to leave this cell alive. Don’t fuck it up, Doc.’

  He sags in his chair. His head hangs low between his shoulders as he stammers, ‘If you would, please, call back your man? So much depends on those cultures.’

  I cross my arms over my chest. ‘Say “please” again.’

  He looks up, eyes watery and pleading. ‘Please.’

  ‘I think I might be able to do that for you. But there’s a price to pay.’

  ‘Anything you want.’ As Doc blurts that out, Ice Face groans and shakes his head. He seems to have forgotten his pinned hands for a moment.

  I count my breaths. That’s all I can do not to shoot the two of them point blank. The fucks are creating bioweapons, and they still believe they are the good guys. ‘I want the specifics. Storage locations and volumes. Locations of all the labs and hospitals involved in your research and testing. And I want numbers on the mortality and morbidity of each agent.’ I almost whoop when I find the correct terms for this, sounding like an expert. But that’s Runner’s training. He taught me about the Great Pandemics, and how tuberculosis and antibi
otic resistance are still causing a lot of deaths. But the BSA is the much bigger problem. Until now, that is. Now we have the “good” Sequencers cooking up a deadly soup of bacteria to spread…uh…where precisely?

  ‘And I need to know your intended targets.’

  Doc looks at me like I’m not speaking English. ‘I don’t…I don’t know what…’

  A growl slips up my throat. I point my gun at Ice Face’s middle finger, and start counting. ‘One…’

  ‘I have no idea what you are talking about!’ Doc cries out.

  Behind me, Katvar clears his throat. I throw a glance over my shoulder to catch him sign one word at me, ‘Truth.’

  So Doc has no clue that his brother is dabbling in biowarfare? Interesting.

  ‘Call that man back. Please!’ Doc’s eyes are rolling with panic. ‘He’s going to destroy decades of research. We’ll never be able to start over. We don’t have the resources. These are the only copies. I’m begging you… I would beg on my knees, but…’

  ‘You’re begging me not to destroy your fucking bioweapons? Are you insane?’

  Doc’s mouth opens and snaps shut with a click. ‘W-what?’

  ‘Your brother blabbed about it during one of his torture sessions.’

  Doc throws a nonplussed stare at Ice Face. ‘Why the bloody hell would you say that?’

  Ice Face shrugs. ‘She mentioned it, and I played along. You know how it works.’

  ‘How what works?’ Doc asks.

  ‘How an interrogation works.’ He’s white as a sheet. The bleeding has slowed, but the pain must be exquisite.

  I flick my finger against one of the knife handles sticking out of his hand. He whinnies like a pony.

  ‘I never got the impression that you knew what you were doing,’ I tell Ice Face. ‘You were enjoying yourself too much to be productive.’

  I hop back up on the table; Ice Face retches as it shivers under my boots. ‘The problem is that I don’t believe a word. Why the high-security labs if all you are producing is a cure and not a weapon? Why would you want to protect yourself with whole body suits if the stuff you’re working on wasn’t deadly?’