Inside Man

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “Can you walk a dozen feet?” Cain asked her. He had his skis and poles tucked under his arm.

  She could manage a dozen. She nodded.

  “‘kay.” He held out his hand. “Come on.”

  The misery wouldn’t stop after a dozen feet. She knew that. Yet the illusion was enough to make her take his hand and move forward, her muscles shrieking at her as they trudged up the slope to the crest into the next valley.

  …then the one after that.

  And another.

  Agata lost track of time, of anything but the need to push on, no matter what. The snow isolated her, making it seem she was making no progress. Only Cain’s back, ahead of her, and his hand when they walked, kept her moving on.

  The day grew dimmer and colder.

  She almost bumped into Cain when he stopped. He was looking around, at the iron gray sky, the few trees around them, the thick curtain of snow. Even sound was muffled, except for her panting breath.

  “Here is good enough,” he decided.

  “To stop?”

  “Yes, to stop.”

  She would have dropped where she stood, except her ankles were frozen and her feet attached to the skis. She almost wept with relief as she shrugged off the pack, then bent to detach the skis.

  To snuggle into the sleeping bag and be truly warm and still. She couldn’t wait.

  Only, the snow was still falling.

  “What’s the temperature?” she asked Cain, as she pulled the goggles off and rolled up the ski mask so it was just a cap protecting her sweaty head.

  “Last time I looked, minus eleven.” He considered her. “Thought you’d be sitting by now.”

  She shook her head. “We’ll freeze if we don’t find shelter.”

  “Snow is insulating. Once we’re buried in it, we’ll be warm. Warmer,” he amended.

  Agata shook her head. “Nope. We can do better than that.”

  “We can?”

  “We can build an igloo.”

  Cain actually laughed. He pulled off his mask and ruffled his hair, which was as damp as hers. “I won’t ask if you’re joking. You have to be.”

  “Engineer. Hello.” She gave him a tight smile. “I know the principals. It can be ugly as hell and tiny, but it will work. It will keep us a shit ton warmer than being out in the open. If I stop now, I’ll never get moving again. So help me.”

  He cocked his head. “Do what?”

  “Pack the snow into big bricks. Stack the bricks, make a door, light a fire, done.”

  “A fire will be seen for miles,” he protested.

  “It’ll be hidden by the walls.”

  “Light a fire inside the igloo?”

  Agata propped her hands on her hips because they ached too much to just hang. “You’re in my world now. Trust me.”

  The igloo was ugly, as promised. They wouldn’t be able to stand inside it, and they would have to keep their heads low, even sitting. The walls were wobbly and the crawl-tunnel into it would repulse anyone with the slightest touch of claustrophobia. Yet it took only an hour to make and it remained standing when they were finished.

  “I’m truly amazed,” Cain admitted, as they stood back to admire it.

  “It gets better,” Agata promised him. “Shove my pack in after me, then yours.” She crawled through the entrance and hauled the packs in after her. There really wasn’t a lot of room, but it left less air to warm. While Cain wiggled his way into the structure, she carefully punched a small hole out of the center of the dome, then dug a trench along the front of the igloo.

  “What’s that for?” Cain asked, sitting patiently with his legs crossed.

  “Smoke rises. That’s a chimney.”

  “That, I got. The trench, though?”

  “Warm air rises, cold air settles. The trench is lower than us, so the cold air will settle in the trench and leave warmer air around us.” Already, with the two of them inside, the air was warmer. “You’ll need your ground sheet tonight. All this snow we’re sitting on will melt.” There wasn’t a lot of it left, for they had used the snow on the inside of the igloo to build the walls.

  He raised a brow.

  Agata pulled her key ring out of the pocket of her pack. “We’ll need wood for the fire,” she told him. “You’re the high energy athlete. Go get some wood.”

  “While you sleep?” he asked, taking the ring.

  “While I make dinner.” Her belly grumbled loudly.

  Cain grinned and wriggled out of the igloo once more.

  In another hour, they had a small fire crackling between them, and water boiling for hot chocolate and instant curry. There were two croissants from breakfast, and another pack of ice cream, which even Cain unbent enough to sample.

  By the time the meal was ready, it was warm enough that their breath no longer fogged the air. “You’ll be able to take your coat off once you’re in your sleeping bag,” Agata told Cain.

  He examined the uneven walls of the igloo. “The last few days have been the stuff of fantasy. This, though, is the pinnacle of unexpectedness. Do you have Inuit blood, Kelsey?”

  Agata ate another mouthful of ice cream. “My father is from Norway. My Mom’s parents were Danish. My folks settled in California before I was born.”

  “It explains your coloring. The languages, too, I guess.”

  “I spoke Danish, French, Norwegian and German before I spoke English. It was easy to keep adding more through school.”

  He poured water for the second round of hot chocolate. “Is your father the engineer?”

  “He was a lawyer. My mom worked in his office, which was this tiny store front in San Bernardino. They took a lot of pro bono cases.”

  “How on earth did you end up in engineering, then?”

  Agata shrugged. “I could tell you my dad bought me my first set of Lego when I was three, then I graduated to Mechano after that, but that’s only part of it.”

  His dark gaze was steady. “Helping people,” he said softly. “Right?”

  She nodded.

  “Social workers help people,” he replied. “Your father doing pro bono. Foreign aid volunteers. Nurses. Even teachers. Engineering isn’t…obvious.”

  She lowered the ice cream. “Wanna know what single thing is helping bring AIDS under control in Africa?”

  “Medication?” he hazarded.

  “Roads,” she replied. “Roads let trucks deliver stuff, carry water, bring food and shelter. Roads make the biggest difference.”

  “And roads are built by engineers,” he finished.

  “So are things like portable stoves for cooking food, and pipelines to deliver clean water. The water filtration units. The mobile shelters.”

  He smiled. “Careful, your inner geek is showing.”

  Agata laughed. “That’s nothing, Cain. I’ve driven to the edge of the Aeolis Palus plain on Mars and looked over the horizon. I’ve seen where man will live in the next generation.”

  He considered her. “It’s amazing you’re even here, Kelsey. I can see why you want out of this job.”

  Agata shrugged. “This job is an aberration. I actually liked what I was doing before.”

  “Before the bullets started flying?”

  “That, too,” she admitted. She yawned. “I really gotta lie down.” She eyed the pile of wood sitting to one side of the fire. “It should last until morning, if we’re conservative.”

  “Thanks to your igloo, we can be.”

  They were already sitting in their sleeping bags, with them folded around their hips. Agata dropped her coat over the foot of the bag and eased the top of the bag up around her shoulders as she stretched out, every muscle shrieking in agony. She wondered how difficult it would be to get moving in the morning, then dismissed the thought. She had no choice, so the degree of difficulty didn’t matter.

  She laid down with a deep sigh.

  “You’re a walking bundle of contradictions, aren’t you, Kelsey?” Cain asked softly.

  She lowered
the edge of the bag enough to meet his eyes. “Because I’m a woman?” she asked warily, ready to take offense if he answered in the affirmative.

  He shook his head. “Your efficiency awes me. You know what you want out of life, only you don’t take the obvious path. Yet you make things happen.”

  Agata considered. “I’ve been in reaction mode since Zima showed up.”

  Cain’s gaze lifted to the roof of the igloo. “I dispute that. Strenuously.”

  “You’ve done more to get us out of this, than any civilian could be expected to do.”

  He looked back at her, his brow lifting.

  “There’s something in you which doesn’t give up, Cain. That thing…in the car.”

  His expression clouded over.

  “Lots of people would have given up after that. Hell, most people wouldn’t have picked themselves up after the Olympics thing. You did. Twice. And you’re doing it again now.”

  “That’s not giving up,” he said softly. “That’s being too stubborn to let anyone else win.”

  “Same difference.” Her eyes wanted to close. She fought to keep them open. “Despite everything you’ve gone through, you’re alive, sober and sane…if we’re not counting the fact that you hide your tea stash in a lock box with a key and a combination lock.”

  “You mean, I should be a sociopathic serial murderer by now? I avoid people, Kelsey. You must have noticed by now. I’m not well adjusted at all.”

  She was so tired, the irony of it hit her sideways. She giggled. “Explains why you’re with me.” She realized her eyes were closed and opened them once more.

  “Men firing guns is why I’m with you.”

  “Thank god,” she breathed. “I’m just ballast right now.” Her eyes closed again.

  “Kelsey.”

  “Mm?”

  “The reason I keep the tea locked up?”

  She listened, although she didn’t have the energy to open her eyes again. “Mm?” she repeated.

  “It’s Tieguanyin Tea. It’s three thousand dollars a kilogram.”

  Startled, she snapped her eyes open.

  Cain shrugged under the downy bag. “Someone was drinking it when I wasn’t looking.” His gaze met hers.

  “Harry,” they said together.

  Long after Agata had fallen asleep, with the solidness of the truly exhausted, Cain laid awake, watching the drift of snow visible in the chimney hole, while his thoughts raced. Sometimes, snow fell through the hole itself to spit in the coals, while beyond the walls of the shelter, the wind gave soft sighing sounds.

  Without the igloo, he would not be warm, dry and relatively comfortable.

  There’s something in you which doesn’t give up, Cain.

  She had said that once before, using different words. This time he had heard it.

  He’d always considered not giving up a negative thing. The sorry state of most of his adult life meant giving up would have been doing the human race a favor. Only, he’d never had the guts to pull the pin. He’d watch the sun rise on one more day and call himself a coward.

  She thought it was a good thing. She thought well of him.

  It was such a staggering notion. He couldn’t think of too many people who thought kindly about him, let alone admired any of his qualities.

  For the first time in too many long, dark years, the thought occurred to him; could he, maybe, have a chance somewhere in this mess to find a way out? To be a different person? A third chance?

  I hope you find a way to me, Cain.

  He hadn’t given that wish much thought, either. Men like him didn’t change. Hadn’t he proved it, over and over?

  Only, maybe he could change. Not just a steel mask suppressing his bad nature so he could glide through the world unnoticed, but real change. Change enough to be worthy of her. To be really worthy, that is—not just in her eyes, but in his, too.

  It was a genuinely novel idea. A frightening one. The stakes would be higher than anything he’d ever tackled, for if he could summon the courage to try and he failed, then he would lose more than the beautiful girl. He would lose everything, for there would be no further chances for him if he did prove to be beyond redemption, after all.

  [19]

  …and on to Méaudre.

  When Agata woke, it took long minutes to find the will to move. She stared at the pale blue sky visible in the rough chimney hole, blinking, while her body ached from the simple act of breathing. Even her toenails hurt where the sleeping bag pressed against the ends.

  “There’s breakfast, when you’re ready,” Cain said.

  “I don’t think I can move.”

  “The more you move, the less it will hurt. I speak from experience.”

  She heard the sizzle of something cooking and caught a whiff of coffee. For coffee, she would sit. With deep groans and whimpers, she made herself move. By the time she was sitting—carefully—Cain had one of the collapsible cups filled and held it out to her.

  “Morning.”

  “I know.” She winced. Even talking hurt. She reached for the cup with a slow movement, gasping. She looked up at the roof once more, her neck protesting. A wire ran up through the hole and down to the burner phone.

  “You put the solar charger on the roof?”

  “The phone was getting low and it’s bright out there this morning.”

  “Our tracks won’t be covered by fresh snow.”

  “I don’t think it matters. We made better time yesterday than I thought. I’ve been looking at our position on the map.” He tapped the phone. “I think we might make Méaudre by early afternoon, today.”

  “Then my agony is not for nothing. Good.” She sipped the coffee, even though it burned her tongue. With one hand at a time, she slid into her coat and zipped it up.

  Cain was preoccupied and ate in silence. That was fine by Agata. She was also occupied with the difficulty of simple movements, like putting on her boots and rolling up her sleeping bag. Shaking out the damp ground mat and returning it to the waterproof bag.

  They moved their gear out into the open and for the first time, could stand without bending. It was a luxury, and Agata stretched and bent, hissing at the effort. She could already move with more freedom.

  She retrieved the Glock from the zip pocket on her coat, unloaded it and disassembled it, checking for moisture, or worse, rust. She made sure all the parts were clean and dry and reassembled the gun.

  Cain watched, his brows pushed together.

  “Sorry, but after a night in a moisture-rich enclosure, I have to check.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not bothering me watching you clean it. Broken down, it’s just a pile of junk metal. I was wondering why you even carry a gun, if you can’t fire it.”

  “I’m certified,” she said stiffly. “Not a crack shot like you, but I do okay.”

  “On the firing range.”

  “Ditto.” She scowled at him.

  He laughed. “Firing a gun in the middle of a biathlon is a replica of real life. The target is the only artificial element. Everything else is real conditions. Wind sheer, adrenaline shakes, lactic acid build up. There’s the prone firing stations, where you have to drop to your belly and fire a perfect round.”

  Agata stared at him.

  “You’ve never watched a biathlon?”

  She shook her head. “I grew up in California. Winter meant wearing a sweater.”

  “Biathlons were invented to help soldiers in Scandinavia prepare for war in winter conditions. Being able to fire a gun and shoot straight, no matter the circumstances, was highly valued.”

  Agata frowned. “I knew that.” She looked at the Glock in her hands. “I just never applied it to me.”

  “Figure you could drop to the ground and take an instant shot?” he asked, pulling off his gloves.

  “I can’t take a step without wincing.”

  “Yeah, you can. You’re letting your mind take control. Here, give me that. Let me show you.”

  “Thi
s?” She lifted the gun, surprise wiping out the discomfort the small movement created.

  He took the gun and paused, staring down at it. All the good humor was gone from his face. “Well, it’s not a rifle, is it?” He grimaced. “Same idea though. You kick off your skis—they’re always fast release, then—” He looked around, the gun hanging from his hand as if he wanted to drop it like smelly garbage. “There, that spindly little pine there, with the bent top.”

  She looked. The pine was twenty-five yards away. “That’s too far,” she protested. “Hand guns are for close quarters.”

  “Not for me.” He drew a line in the snow with the heel of his boot. “That’s the firing line.” He stepped back a few paces. “You’ll have to fake the adrenaline rush—”

  “No, I won’t,” Agata muttered. Her heart was pounding.

  “You won’t have to fake the lactic acid build up, either,” he added. He looked up at the tops of the trees. “Wind about three knots, from the east.” He eyed the firing line. “Skis off, then…”

  Agata saw the change come over him. He moved smoothly, gripping the gun properly, as he strode toward the firing line, threw himself forward in a long, shallow drive which ended with him on his belly, his arms extended, the gun up. It bellowed, making her jump.

  Twenty-five yards away, the bullet whined off the bark of the pine tree, between two layers of branches, leaving a white gouge of inner wood pulp.

  Agata drew in a shuddering breath. “You fired it…” she breathed.

  Cain rolled onto his back. He was breathing hard. He blew out his breath in a heavy exhalation. “I did.” His voice was strained.

  “You’re not throwing up.”

  “No.” He held out the gun to her. “Here, take it.”

  She plucked it from his fingers and held out her hand.

  He gripped her hand and hauled himself to his feet, only pulling on her bodyweight a little. His temples were damp. “I think…that was all biathlon. For a second, I was competing again. The stuff which makes me react badly, that’s a different life, and it didn’t kick in because I…don’t know.” He frowned at the line.