Raining Fire

by Rajan Khanna

  Holding this thing together is going to be tricky. We have the welder and bolts and some industrial-strength glue, and I intend to use all of it. But none of these pieces of metal were meant to be joined together, and who knows what stresses this is going to put on them. We’ll give it the night to set and then test it out in the morning.

  We all come together with our separate pieces. First I help Ellie and Sondra bring the helium-filled ballonets over to the frame, and we all lash the ballonets to it until it’s suspended in the air. That’s the easy part. Then we float the frame, complete with engines, over to the truck bed and join that together. In the end, we are left with a vehicular monstrosity: part truck, part airship, all ugly. We’ve stripped the truck down to essentials, the wheels, axles, body, steering wheel, seats, and flatbed in the back. If all goes according to plan, Coretta and Buzz will sit up front with the rest of us piled in the back. We even rigged up some sides to provide defense. And the front . . . It’s a mess of spikes and jagged metal, angled away to protect the drivers. It will slow us down, especially if Ferals get stuck on it, but it’s protection.

  Which we’ll need.

  For tonight, though, we’ll rest. Let the night play out. Make our start in the morning.

  We huddle around a small heater, more of a stove, really, but it’s hooked up to the solar cells and it’s putting out heat so that’s all that matters. We try to ignore the howls and barks and screams of the Ferals that continually come in through the crack in the wall.

  Buzz is sitting off to himself, playing with, or working on, a metal pipe. I think he’s going to use it as a weapon. I saw him wrapping one end in strips of something. Tomas was doing the same thing earlier, taking that wooden club that he carries, which might be a baseball bat, and hammering nails into the far end.

  I guess it’s weapon time, because Coretta is cleaning her pistol. Sondra, who seems unarmed, sits quietly with Ellie. But then Ellie comes over to me.

  “I think you should have your gun back,” she says.

  I stare at her face, so young and yet also so old at the same time. I shake my head. “Why don’t you hold onto it for a little longer?”

  “Will you . . .” She looks down at her worn boots. “Will you show me how to use it?”

  So I do. A little girl like that, stuck in the Sick, deserves to know how to use a gun. So I show her how to load it, how to clean it. How to treat the weapon with care and respect. Then I show her how to hold it, and how to aim. “You want to aim for the largest part of what you’re trying to hit,” I say. “It’s okay if you don’t kill it, as long as you slow it down or stop it. Don’t try to go for the head or the legs, or you’re asking for trouble. Your best bet is to hit something. Misses are just wasted ammunition.”

  “And always keep track of how many bullets you have.”

  “That’s not too hard,” she says. “There are only six.”

  I smile. “Maybe,” I say. “But when you’re in the middle of a fight, or when a pack of Ferals is chasing you, it’s easy to lose track. I like to picture the number in my head. I think it helps. Can you read? Do you know your numbers?”

  She nods. “Coretta taught me.”

  “That might help you. Just find something that works. Stick to that.”

  She nods again.

  Looking at her, I’m reminded of myself. She’s got more to deal with than I did. I at least had my father. But she’s got these people. There are worse places to be. Still, I recognize something in her. Some set of the jaw. Something in the way she stands. As if she feels the weight of the world on her, but she’s determined to stand up despite it. Memories flood into me. Standing nearby as my father negotiated a deal and the room suddenly grew tense. The feeling that they were going to kill him and I would be on my own and in their hands. The relief as he grabbed my hand and pulled me away, and then the return of that fear as we started moving faster and gunshots rang out behind us.

  The blind terror that time when someone snatched me, just grabbed me and held me tightly in their arms, and ran. The screams I let out. The sudden glimpse, as we turned a corner, of my father running after me. The fear that he wouldn’t get to me in time. The terrifying panic of thinking I would never see him again.

  A Feral on top of me when I was close to Ellie’s age. Knocked down and pounced upon. It reared its head back, roaring in triumph, and I knew it was going to kill me. Or else the Bug would get me, reach down to me despite all the coverings I wore. The fear was made all the worse when my father plowed into it, stabbing it with a piece of glass. Those horrific three days we waited to see if either of us were infected.

  I reach out and put a hand on her arm. My eyes blur for a moment. “Keep practicing,” I say.

  I curl up in an open space on the floor. I hope for sleep, but it doesn’t come. I toss and I turn, and I listen to the Ferals and the voice inside my head, not knowing which one is worse.

  At some point in this whirling storm of shit, there’s another wrenching, squealing sound and another crunch as the wall collapses inward. I jump to my feet and see arms reaching through the crack, and then a head and body wriggling through.

  “Everyone, get on board now!” I yell. “We have to get out!”

  They all get to their feet, reaching for weapons, for clothing, and scramble on board the junker that we decided to name “The Monster,” after Frankenstein’s creation, a similar construction of disparate parts. I hope our monster treats us better.

  The Ferals are pushing their way in as I reach up to two switches that start the engines. They’re not situated in the most convenient place, but we didn’t have a lot of time or materials to work with. As I’m reaching, Tomas comes up behind me and lifts me up where I can kick them both into gear.

  One of the problems with our plan was the need to get the doors open. If we had two people do it (and it would need two at a minimum), they would be torn apart by Ferals. And even if they weren’t, it would be hard to catch up to the Monster. So we had to come up with an alternate plan.

  When we tallied up what was left after building the Monster, we realized we still had a few tanks of gas. The thing about gas is that it is held under intense pressure. When that pressure is released, it can pack quite a force. I once saw a pressurized gas cylinder used as a torpedo. All you need to do is to shear off the regulator, and the cylinder will take off like a rocket. We lined up three of them, held in place by some extra metal. Another piece of metal, long and thin, had been rigged to fall down on the regulator ends.

  I turn to make sure that everyone is on board the Monster, and as I do a Feral wriggles through the crack and drops to the ground. Like a worm. Or something being born.

  I reach for the chain that’s rigged to the hanging metal and yank it. The metal falls down, straight and hard on the regulators. One of them stays attached, but the other two shear off, and two metal cylinders take off for the door as if fired from a gun. Both hit the door and tear it from the tracks that hold it in place. The door falls to the ground with a clatter, landing on many of the Ferals standing in front of it. Then I leap aboard the truck and hit the brake release. We shoot forward into the breach.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  FROM THE JOURNAL OF MIRANDA MEHRA

  I know I haven’t written for weeks. For a while there was nothing to write about. I worked on the vaccine and it was slow going. Maya came to me. “You could be doing better,” she said.

  “I’m doing the best I can,” I told her. “This is complicated work.”

  “It’s all complicated work,” she said. That evening, as she escorted me back to my cell, she took a detour. Back into the hallway that led to their conditioned Feral. She didn’t open the door, but as soon as I saw it, I couldn’t breathe. I felt lightheaded, and my heart pounded in my chest. I almost fell over. Maya had to help me get back to the cell. “We need results,” she said before closing and locking the door.

  So I redoubled my efforts. And it must have paid off, because a few weeks
later, Maya took me aside to say that the Helix was pleased with my progress. “What would help you move more quickly?” she asked.

  I had to think about it for a while. They didn’t often ask my opinion. “More eyes. More hands,” I said. The next day, there was a new face in the lab. He was an older man, gray-white hair on his head, gray-black hair in his beard, a scar on his forehead. He wore a few pens clipped to his shirt pocket. He seemed serious but had kind eyes. “This is Dimitri,” Maya said. “You tell him what to do.”

  He said hello and walked with me to my station. I couldn’t help but grasp his hand, hopefully where no one could see.

  I’m sure they know we’re friends, that we sleep in the cells next to one another. Still, I had to force myself to hold back. I was afraid that if I showed some enthusiasm, they would take him away from me.

  Now I have my extra set of hands and eyes, and it’s hard to not think that I have an ally now, alongside me. Someone whom I’ve shared things with for months now, who has shared with me. We talk about the vaccine in the lab, and at night, we talk about our fears.

  My latest is that because of our progress, I’m already looking forward to the next stage. The testing. We can use animal subjects, but, knowing the Helix, that won’t be good enough. What’s to stop them from using as test subjects any of the people that the Valhallans capture? What’s to stop them from using whole settlements as test cases?

  “Don’t think about that,” Dimitri tells me. “That day isn’t here yet. For now we just have to focus on getting through today. Tomorrow will be a new day, a new challenge. We just have to focus on what’s right in front of us.”

  So that’s what I’m trying to do.

  * * *

  Our progress also warranted another outing, escorted once again by Maya. This time, they allowed me to bring someone with me. So I chose Dimitri.

  Maya took us to one of Valhalla’s bars, a place called Utgard. Yet another mythological name that means something to the barbarians that run this city. The drink of choice again is mead, so Dimitri and I sat and sipped ours, surrounded by cutthroats and thugs.

  Surprisingly, Maya wandered about the bar, keeping an eye on us but not listening. Leaving Dimitri and me some privacy.

  “Thank you for bringing me,” he said.

  “You’ve been a big help to me,” I said. “And not just in the lab.”

  “I could say the same,” he said. Then he looked at my face, my expression. “What’s wrong?”

  I stared into the mead. “Things are proceeding so quickly. We keep getting closer to the vaccine.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “Is it?” I asked. “Once they have it, they’ll be practically unstoppable. And I can’t figure out a way to halt our progress.”

  I took a long gulp of the mead.

  “Unless I stop myself.”

  Dimitri leaned forward. “What?”

  “I seem to be the one making the progress for the vaccine. Maybe without me . . .”

  “Miranda,” he said. “You can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because—”

  But he never got to finish the sentence.

  Because Surtr and his elite security force walked in, sending a ripple through the room. The whole bar quieted and stilled. I instinctively moved closer to Dimitri. Maya returned to us a moment later.

  Surtr walked up to the bar and ordered a drink, and everyone in the bar relaxed a bit. But the atmosphere changed while he was there. He only had the one drink, and he talked quietly with his companions. Dimitri, Maya, and I barely spoke. I couldn’t take my eyes off of Surtr.

  Then, as he turned from the bar, he saw us. I considered running, but instead I stayed at my seat. He walked over to us.

  “You,” he said, staring at me. His voice carried the hint of a growl. “No longer hiding with the other fleas.”

  Maya stood up, but Surtr reached out and pushed her down in her chair.

  “Out here among my people.”

  My heart hammered in my chest, sending waves of pressure rippling out through my body.

  His lips curled back from his teeth. “This is my city.” He raised a hand and made a quick gesture, and all of the Valhallan guards in the bar drew their weapons. Stood at attention. All eyes were on me.

  Surtr turned, smiling, and grabbed a knife from one of his men. He turned it back to me. Began tracing the tip over my face, my neck, my chest.

  Everything in me screamed at me to run. But I knew that was what he wanted. So I put all of my effort into standing still, keeping my breathing as regular as I could, and not moving beyond the shaking I couldn’t suppress.

  He lifted the tip of the knife to my chin, gently pushing against it until the tip pierced the skin and I raised my head toward him under the pressure. I swallowed, trying to keep the movement small, still feeling the knife point in the soft flesh. He removed it.

  “You should smile more,” he said, lowering the knife.

  I just stared at him.

  His mirth disappeared. “Smile.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment, seeking some kind of centering. Then I opened my eyes and smiled. I tried to let it come naturally, imagined seeing my friends again. Seeing Ben again.

  His smile returned. “Good,” he said. It sounded like an engine rumbling. “You look so much better when you smile.”

  The knife returned too, the point scraping down the skin of my collarbone and to the top of my chest. “Maybe next time . . . next time we’ll get better acquainted.”

  Then he handed the knife back to its owner, did another hand gesture that had all of his men put their weapons away, and walked out of the bar.

  I sank to the stool, my legs no longer able to hold me. I raised my finger to my chin and felt the bead of blood there. Dimitri offered me another sip of my drink. “No,” I said. “Take me back.”

  Maya stared at me. “Take me back!”

  So she did. I couldn’t even speak to Dimitri on the return trip. I just collapsed into my cell, like I had so many times before, and huddled on my sleeping mat.

  Wondering when this nightmare was going to end.

  * * *

  For three nights, I barely slept. I lay awake, thinking about how I was helping the enemy and running my fingers over the scars on my wrist. I knew the tactics they could use. The thought of being tossed into the Feral cage still sent me into fits of shaking, and yet at least that would be an end. An end to the fear, to the pain. After that, they couldn’t use me anymore. Maybe they would find the vaccine on their own. But they wouldn’t do it with my help.

  The decision was easy in the end.

  So when they came to get me the next day, I didn’t get up. I didn’t walk to the door. I lay on my mat, like something broken. Something dead. Maya screamed at me. Then she ordered the guards to take me. They picked me up by my armpits and then dragged me to the lab, where they shoved me into my seat.

  I didn’t work, though. I didn’t flip open the lab book. I didn’t pick up my pen. I just sat there.

  The first hit by the guard knocked me out of the chair. I fell to the ground, writhing in pain. It’s only temporary, I told myself. Then a kick knocked all the air out of me. Then one of the guards picked me up by my hair. I remained limp. Uncooperative.

  “Stop!” Maya said.

  The guard looked at her like she had spoiled his fun. But he lowered me to the ground.

  Maya bent down to me, put her face in front of mine. “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked. “You know what the next step is. Do you really want to see Herbie again?”

  Even the name she had given the thing sent me into panic. I hadn’t been intending to respond, but I met her eyes. And smiled.

  That cage was actually my best bet. Even if the Feral didn’t attack me, it was still a Feral. I could still infect myself. I could still render myself useless to them.

  Maya searched my eyes, my face, and frowned.

  “Take her back to
her room,” she said to the guards.

  “No,” I said. “Take me to the Feral.” The guards came and lifted me up. “What are you afraid of?” I screamed at her. Because I had seen it there in her eyes. Fear.

  They dragged me back to my room, threw me roughly on the floor, and then locked the door. My face hurt, my ribs, too. But I felt like I had won the round.

  I was so stupid.

  Maya came to my door later. With the guards again. They came and dragged me out of my room. Only they didn’t take me far. They brought me to the door next to mine. Dimitri’s door.

  Maya gave me a hard look, then opened the door.

  Inside, a naked Dimitri hunched over himself, his left arm wrapped in a sling.

  “No!” I screamed. “What did you do?”

  Dimitri looked up. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and his skin looked waxy. I saw cuts on him. What looked like burns. And the nails on one of his hands were completely gone. Just angry red wounds where they used to be.

  I gasped, and my hand went to my mouth as tears filled my eyes.

  I tried to go to him, but the guards dragged me out, throwing me back into my room.

  “Do the work,” Maya said. “If you don’t, others will suffer. Maybe Dimitri again. Maybe even your dear Ben.”

  “You don’t have him,” I said.

  She gave me a grim smile. “Do you really want to take that chance?”

  The truth is, I don’t. I can gamble with my own life. But not with Dimitri’s. Not with yours, Ben. Not with anyone else’s.

  They’ve won. They do own me.

  I see no way out that isn’t covered in blood.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The Monster lurches forward into the night and hits the door, now lying on the ground. The impact jars the whole junker and throws me off my feet. I grip tightly to the railing I’ve been leaning on and only just manage to keep myself from flying off. The engines are kicking up speed now and with steady force we slam into the Ferals gathered beyond the fallen door . Several at the front go down in a spray of blood across the ballonet skin, and the wheels crush them beneath us. I hope that Sondra, up front in the steering position, is free of the spray. But the Ferals are all around us and we’re not going fast enough yet. They’re reaching for the edge, trying to pull themselves onto the platform.