Addy thought for a moment, chewing her lip. Then she pointed at Marco with her chopsticks. "You need to get laid."
Marco snorted and rolled his eyes. "Addy, I just spilled my heart out. And that's your reply?"
"I mean it! You need to get laid. Writing isn't enough for you. Your Le Kill book is too scary anyway. You need some wild, crazy sex, and you need a girl to love you. To look after you. To treat you good. To bring back the old Marco."
Marco gave her a sidelong glance. "You're not saying that . . . That you . . ."
"Not me! For fuck's sake, Marco." It was her turn to roll her eyes. "You wish it were me. And I don't mean those ladies who hang out outside our apartment either. You need a proper girl. A girlfriend."
He slapped cash down onto the table. "Well, after these noodles, I'm too broke for breakfast tomorrow, let alone a girlfriend."
"Then you need a sugar mama!" Addy said. "From the burbs! Where the rich ladies live, looking for a young boy toy like you."
Boy toy? Marco didn't feel like a boy. He was only twenty-four, but he felt old. He felt like he had lived too many lifetimes. Like he had no business still being alive. If once he had been a boy, that had been another lifetime. He was twenty-four and ancient and dying inside.
Grant had given them his old computer a few months ago—a clunky tablet that hummed and clicked. Marco mostly used it to read; he could not afford to buy new books, but the tablet came loaded with the classics, good company for sleepless nights. Addy used the tablet to watch hockey games; not the new games from Earth, which cost money to watch, but old reruns from years ago. This Sunday, however, Addy sat cross-legged on the floor, tongue sticking out, typing away at the tablet.
"Ads, what are you doing?" Marco looked up from his notebook, where he was working on Le Kill. He had just finished revising the twelfth chapter, the one where Tomiko found her father, a missing scientist whose discoveries the corporation had stolen to mutate the spiders.
"Shh!" Addy said, typing vigorously with two fingers. "Almost done . . . there!" She hopped toward him and showed him the tablet. "Look. Nice, right?"
Marco stared in indignation.
"Addy! Not again!"
She grinned. "Hands off!" She pulled the tablet away before he could snatch it. "You need this, Marco."
He groaned. He managed to grab the tablet and yanked it toward him. He looked away, his stomach curdled, and his cheeks flushed.
The tablet was open to Colonial Love, a dating website for the colonists of Haven. Addy had created a profile—for him.
"This is the photo you chose?" Marco said. "The photo of me with half a cow in my mouth?"
"Girls appreciate a man who enjoys a good cheeseburger!" Addy said. "Shows you're not some refined dandy."
"Addy, I'm blinking in the photo!"
"Well, it was either this photo, or the one I snapped of you peeing in the field. Those are the only two I have."
Marco sighed. "Cheeseburger was better." He looked back at the tablet and cringed to see the profile name she had chosen. "Cuddles143? Really? Cuddles143? This is supposed to make me seem manly?"
"Girls love cuddles!" Addy said. "I'm a girl. I know. Cuddles are the way to a girl's heart." She grinned. "I'm having fun with this. I'll teach you. I'll turn you into a regular Casanova."
He read out loud the profile Addy had created for him, his incredulity increasing every moment. "Male, 24, seeking female. Successful author. War hero. Hardy colonist. I enjoy long walks on the beach. Never judge a book by its cover. I play hard and party harder. I love dogs, cuddles, and treating a woman like a princess. I enjoy both going out and staying indoors. Looking for my partner in crime. Is it you? Don't worry, we'll tell people we met at a bar!"
Addy grinned at him. "Good, huh?"
Marco groaned. "Addy, this is horrible. First of all, I'm not a successful author. I'm not even published. Second, I don't want to advertise to Haven what I did in the war; you saw how well that worked out on Earth. Third, you used a million cliches here, and cliches are the death of good writing."
"See? Successful author! You know all about using words. But I know about love. And trust me, this will find you love."
"I'm deleting this," Marco said.
"No!" She snatched the tablet away. "You are not. Marco, you're a dude. And dudes have dicks. And dicks need to stick into places. If you don't get laid soon, you're going to just become a huge, whiny pain in the ass." She touched his knee. "Marco, you need to get laid. And if possible, you need somebody to love you. To look after you in ways I can't. To make you happy again. So please. Do this."
He flopped down onto his back. "I'm going to regret this."
Addy whooped with joy. "All right! Now let's browse for your future wife!"
"Addy!"
"All right, all right, just a date at first." She bit her lip. "And I get to choose your date clothes."
"I'll just wear the work clothes you bought me."
She sighed. "Dear oh dear. I've got a lot of work to do with you."
* * * * *
The message popped onto his tablet.
Meet me tonite, bitch.
Marco sat in his bedroom, door closed. He stared at the girl's profile.
Katya. 19 years old. A pretty girl with long brown hair.
He glanced up at his bedroom door. He wondered if he should show Katya to Addy, ask her opinion, discuss the prospect of meeting the girl. But Marco suddenly felt embarrassed. Somehow this felt private, awkward, not something he wanted to share with Addy. Not yet.
Yo, bitch, you there? ;)
Her message popped up. Marco answered. Yeah.
10 pm. These coords. L8r, bitch. Haha.
Her profile went offline.
Marco put down the tablet. He sat still for long moments. He had only contacted Katya because she listed creative writing on her profile. He had introduced himself as a fellow writer. They had exchanged ten, maybe fifteen messages, and she had shared some of her poems with him, before she invited him to meet.
I shouldn't go, Marco thought. This is stupid.
He should stay home. Of course he should stay home. What kind of girl sent such messages? She looked sweet in her photo. Smooth hair, big brown eyes, pale skin. A beautiful girl. But . . . No. He didn't know her. He should stay here. He had his foam mattress, newly acquired, and he had saved for months to buy it. He could lie down, reread chapters from David Copperfield on his tablet. He could work on Le Kill; he was almost done writing it, almost ready to submit it to publishers. Of course he should stay home.
He picked up the tablet. He looked at Katya again. She looked shy in her photo, her hair hiding her cheeks, her eyes peering out, a nervous smile on her lips. She sat in a shadowy room, vulnerable. A fellow author, scribbling in the shadows.
Addy would tell him to go. Addy would tell him he needed this.
He stood up. He stared around his bedroom. A small room. A cell. A single mattress on the floor. A tablet with a few old movies. A few notebooks in the corner. A window facing a brick wall.
He got dressed quickly before he could lose his resolve. A pair of black jeans. A gray hoodie. Sneakers.
He stepped into the living room, saw that Addy's door was closed. He sneaked outside without saying goodbye.
He trudged for two kilometers. After several months of work, he had bought the mattress, bought a new atmosuit, but still the journey to the subway station was hellish. The atmosphere of Haven lashed him, sludge rose to his knees, and his breath rattled as he sucked on his oxygen bag.
He rode the subway, traveling farther than he ever had. An old man sat across from him, wearing short shorts and a tank top, revealing a wrinkled belly. A woman lay on a bench nearby, covered in newspapers. A group of teenagers were laughing, poking a dead rat with a stick. After an hour, the train rolled into its last stop. Marco stepped out. He stood on the southern edge of Haven.
He checked his tablet. There was no mistaking it. The coordinates Katya had given him lay
beyond the city. She waited in the wilderness of New Earth, this stormy planet orbiting a strange star.
He stood at the subway stop, staring into the storm. Gray, deep purple, and indigo clouds rose toward white mist, and acidic rain swayed in sheets. The planet's moon was a faded smudge of yellow through the roiling gases. A highway stretched ahead, vanishing into the clouds of ash, soil, and storm.
I should never have come here, Marco thought, throat tight. Not to this last station. Not to this planet.
He pulled out his wallet. He had a few bills. If he worked hard, saved every last coin, it would be five years before he could afford a flight back to Earth. But he could still go back to his apartment here. He could work on his book, and—
No.
He tightened his lips.
His nightmares had been growing worse. Many nights he only slept an hour, maybe two, arrived at work bleary-eyed. Feeling dead. He would not survive another five months of that, let alone five years. He needed someone. He missed holding Kemi, laughing with her, feeling safe, feeling strong. He missed Lailani, kissing her, blessed with her love. Those two lights had always guided him through darkness, but now he had no beacon. Now he was truly lost.
And so in the abyss, he sought a new light. He spent his last few dollars. He rented a car. He had not driven a car in years, not since high school. But he had fought from starships; what was driving a car? He drove that car along the highway, leaving Haven behind, heading into the storm.
Clouds rose around him, taking the forms of beasts, great leviathans and behemoths and creatures of ancient myth. Rain slammed against the roof of his car. A gust of wind nearly shoved him off-road, and ash pelted the windshield. He could barely see more than a few meters ahead, but he drove faster, climbing up to a hundred kilometers per hour, two hundred, racing forward.
The highway was empty. The colors swirled around him. Above, he saw shadows swooping—great birds, larger than the screaming pests in the city, large as his car, alien life diving through the roiling atmosphere.
I have to turn back, he thought. This was a prank, that was all. Just a damn prank! There was no girl here. She had given him fake coordinates.
"You're an idiot, Marco Emery," he told himself. "You're a fucking idiot. What are you doing here?"
He tightened his hands on his steering wheel. He kept driving. Because he could not turn back. His friends were in the darkness ahead. Trapped in the mines. Kemi was there. She needed him. So he drove the train onward, ferrying the soldiers through the tunnel, and they were everywhere. The scum emerged from the walls, the ceiling, rose along the tracks, and gunfire blazed, and he couldn't turn back. He couldn't. And Corporal Diaz died. And Beast died. And Singh died. And Elvis died. They all died around him, but he couldn't go back. He couldn't go back. He had to find the azoth crystal. He had to find light. He kept driving.
He drove for an hour, maybe more. The highway split in several places. He tried to choose the right route, to seek the coordinates the girl had given him, but soon he was lost. He must have taken a wrong turn. He was a hundred kilometers away from Haven now, deep in the wilderness, a single car lost in a storm the size of a world. He didn't know if he'd find his way back. He was lost in the mines. He was lost in his nightmares. This had to just be a nightmare. He would soon wake up. He would soon die here. A fool. A fool. A—
He slammed down on the brakes.
Fuck!
The car skidded. He yanked the steering wheel. The tires screeched. The car spun a full one-eighty degrees. Marco winced and finally managed to face forward again and roll to a stop.
His heart pounded and sweat trickled down his back.
A metal wall loomed before him, only meters away. He had nearly hit it. The wall soared so tall it split the storm; he could not see its top. The clouds lashed against it like ghostly hosts trying to break it down. A gate rose in the wall, closed tight.
Marco pulled out his tablet. A message was waiting for him.
Yo, bitch, where r u?
He typed his reply. Gate.
He waited.
A minute passed. Five minutes. Nothing. He wanted to turn around, to drive home, when the gate creaked open.
He drove through.
The storm was weaker behind the wall. Only a few swirls of dust danced alongside the road. The sky gurgled above, a watercolor painting all in umber and deep angry black. A few low buildings rose here, filling a compound. Marco stopped his car, looking around, seeing nobody. What was this place? He gripped the steering wheel. A clang sounded behind him, and he spun around to see the gate slam shut. His heartbeat increased.
Where are you? he typed.
No reply came. Marco looked from side to side, but it was so dark here. A few scattered lanterns lit the compound. And there, in the mist . . .
His heart pounded against his ribs. It was her. The girl in the kabuki mask! The girl with claws! She swept closer. She reached for the car door. She pulled the door open, and Marco needed a weapon, and—
A girl slipped into the seat beside him. Her brown hair dangled across her face. He could see only the tip of her nose and a peering eye. No kabuki mask. No claws. She wore a long coat, and she giggled.
"Katya?" Marco said, voice shaky.
She nodded. Then she burst out laughing. "Katya, Katya. Yes!" She giggled. "Yes. I'm Kat. I'm a cat. Meow! Now drive. Go on!" She punched his arm, laughing uncontrollably. "Drive!"
He drove. The road was gravelly. He looked around him, seeing greenhouses. Just barely visible through their windows, he saw plants growing in darkness. He smelled livestock. Fertilizer.
A farm, he realized. Just a farm.
A massive shadow swooped from above. A shrill cry pierced the air. Wings beat, scattering smoke, and he caught sight of burning red eyes, a beak lined with teeth, and—
Katya laughed hysterically. "Drive! Just a bird. Drive."
His heart wouldn't slow down. Cold sweat dampened his palms. He drove.
"Where do I go?"
She giggled. She fell over, hit the doorway, laughed again. She yanked her seat back and placed her feet on the dashboard. "I don't know! Silly!"
He tried to speak to her again, but he could coax out no more words. He drove. Finally she pointed.
"Stop. Stop!" She laughed, shouting. "Stop!" She rolled around on her seat, as if she had just told the world's funniest joke.
He stopped by a squat concrete building. Katya stepped out of the car. She danced toward the building, spinning, laughing. Marco followed. They stepped inside.
It was a barn. Along one wall, chickens sat stuffed into cages, squawking, laying eggs into tubes. Across the room, cows lazily flicked their tails. The place was hot, filled with the odor of animals. Katya pulled him between the cows and chickens, taking him to a back room. An old mattress lay on the floor. A television stood on a concrete slab, showing an old movie from the twentieth century, back from when the world had been good. Katya stared at the movie for a moment, laughing.
"So . . . you like to write too?" Marco asked.
She turned toward him. Her hair still dangled across her face. He could barely see her. She doffed her coat, letting it fall around her feet. She was naked beneath it. Her body was slender, pale, her hips narrow, her breasts small. She wore nothing but a dog collar around her neck, attached to a leash.
"Take me for a walk," she said. She handed him the leash, then got down on her hands and knees. She laughed.
Marco knelt before her. He tried to part the hair covering her eyes. She squealed, scurried back, and hissed at him.
"No," she whispered, then barked. She laughed hysterically, rolled on the ground. "Take me for a walk."
He saw the holes on her forearms. The telltale signs of her addiction.
"Katya," he said. Gently, he reached forward and detached the leash from her collar. "Sit down. Let's talk. Let's watch the movie."
She crawled onto the mattress, still on hands and knees. He sat beside her, and she rubbed hers
elf against him. She moaned.
"Take me," she whispered. "Now. Now. Don't wait." She closed her eyes. "I'm yours. Take me. I'm yours."
She took his hand and guided it between her legs, and he felt the wetness there, and she moaned, eyes still shut.
Gently, he pulled his hand back. "Katya, let's talk for a while first. I want to get to know you."
She glared at him. Her eyes filled with anger. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" She stood up. "Are you gay? Are you a chick?"
"No." He stood up too. "I just . . . I'm used to talking to girls before I sleep with them."
She stared at him for a moment longer, then burst out laughing. She laughed and laughed, laughed so hard she fell, rolled around. "You're so silly!"
The storm rattled the windows and the alien birds screamed. He lay down beside Katya. She tugged off his shirt, his pants, and he lay beside her in his boxers. And he held her, tried to speak to her, to hear about her stories, but she kept burying her face in the mattress, giggling, moaning, pushing herself against him. And Marco thought of Lailani, thought of how he had held her back at Fort Djemila, and he wanted that feeling here too. He wanted to make love to Katya, to love her, but this felt wrong. When he tried to kiss her, she turned her head away. And he felt trapped. He rose from the mattress and pulled on his clothes.
Katya lay, naked, looking up at him.
"I'll sing for you," she said. She rose to her feet, and she sang, a beautiful song of old Earth. And as she sang, her hair fell back, and he could see her pale face, her brown eyes. He sat, listening, until she giggled and fell silent.
"It's beautiful," Marco said.
"It's opera," she said. "Classical music. From Earth. Before my dad took us here, I was going to be a singer." She lowered her head, smiling, her hair covering her face again. "Drive me to the gate, silly. It's near my house."
They left the barn. He drove back to the gate. Katya hugged him, giggled, then ran off into the clouds of dust and vanished into the night. Marco drove back home.
Earth Fire (Earthrise Book 4) Page 21