Nelson grabbed Carter’s arm. “Where’s Lizzie?”
“Dead,” whispered Carter. “Shot in the face.”
“We can’t leave her!”
Carter wobbled away from Robb and collapsed in the leaves. His left side and back were damp with blood.
Nelson used his strength-trick to carry the wounded man closer to Station. When they made it over the next ridge Robb bandaged the injuries as well as he could. He stayed behind for a few minutes to watch for pursuit, then used the running-trick to catch up with Nelson and Carter at Station’s perimeter.
SIX
The wall display beeped three times. Three squares crept across a gray-tinted, overhead view of Station and the surrounding mountains.
Wilson stood from Reed’s desk. He circled the symbols with one hand and spread his fingers. Highlighted boxes appeared with detailed information, including vital signs. The square labeled “Barbra A. Carter” flashed with an exclamation point. Wilson studied the respiration and heart rates and touched the square for additional details. He glanced at the data and sprinted out of the office.
Badger turned away from the light of the open doorway and pushed her face deeper into the quilt.
“A patrol’s coming back,” said Wilson. “Carter’s hurt and Lizzie is missing.”
Badger threw off the quilt and slid out of bed. Completely naked, she padded across the floor to a small wooden cabinet and slid open a drawer.
Wilson stared at the dozens of round scars up and down her body. Most were pink or white, but others were deeply flushed. Wilson had a sudden, fanciful thought that these fiery marks were closer to the center of Badger’s anger.
She turned, a bundle of clothes in her arms. “What are you looking at?”
“I didn’t know you slept like that.”
She smiled. “I wasn’t planning on sleeping but someone fell in love with a book.”
While she dressed Wilson ran through the tunnels to the Barracks workshop and gave Hausen the news. He met Badger in the plaza and they jogged toward the pass.
“Run ahead with your magical powers and let me go back to sleep,” she said.
“What would be the fun in that? I like having you around.”
“My bad luck.”
The serpentine trail wound through the sheer rock of the pass and into the thick trees of the foothills. A pair of hunters on guard duty met them inside the forest. Wilson spoke a few words to the men and they followed him and Badger along the dark trail.
Wilson found Carter outside a perimeter hideout, covered with a blanket but still breathing. Robb and Nelson squatted nearby, sweating and exhausted, while two other hunters constructed a litter with saplings and a blanket.
“What happened?”
Nelson drained the last of a water skin and pointed east. “Big group of Circle that way, maybe one or two klicks off the perimeter.”
“They shot Carter and Lizzie,” said Robb.
“Where is she?”
Nelson closed his eyes. “Dead.”
“Where’s the body?”
“Back there, across the ridge.”
Wilson grabbed the front of Nelson’s jacket. “You left her there?”
“They had a demonic cannon! It blinded us and ripped the trees apart with bullets!”
“Yeah. We heard it even from this far away,” said Zhang, one of the hunters.
Wilson knelt beside Carter and held two fingers on the hunter’s pale neck for a moment.
“We need to get him back to Station and operate.” He pointed at two of the Duty hunters. “Stay here at your post.”
“I’ll do it,” said Badger.
“Fine.” Wilson took a deep breath. “I’ll send extra men when I get back. But Kira, if the Circle approaches, you need to fall back. We don’t know anything about this new machine they’ve got.”
Badger shrugged. “Sure.”
“Robb, help me get him on the stretcher. Let’s see if you remember how to run.”
Wilson and Robb closed their eyes and chanted the sight-trick then the running-trick. Their feet threw grit and small stones as they ran with Carter’s stretcher back to Station.
Outside the hideout, Nelson hid his face with his hands.
LIZZIE WOKE IN THE DARK. She licked the dryness on her lips and felt a thick lack of feeling in her cheeks and mouth. When she tried to touch her face she discovered that her arms and legs were stretched and tied fast to something heavy. From the soft material under her legs and back, she guessed it was a bed.
The meditation of the calming-trick made her feel better and removed a fraction of the numbness in her body. She imagined staring into the sun and whispered a poem.
Eyes made of light
Eyes made of sun
Eyes made of moon
Restore my sight
She opened her eyes to the grey walls of a large tent. A thick woolen blanket covered her. When she tried to look to the left, pain like a jagged, rusty knife stabbed the side of her head.
Outside the tent a young robin warbled his song: ‘mountain and valleys, mountain and valleys.’
Lizzie pushed and pulled one wrist until it slipped free of the ropes, then untied her other arm and ankles. She stood on the rough carpet and abruptly collapsed as the world spun in circles. Her fingers touched a thick bandage above her left ear, secured with thin fabric wound tightly around her head. She realized with a shock that she wore the same muddy trousers but a strange, olive-green jacket and new undershirt.
A water-skin lay on a nearby table. Lizzie waited until the dizziness faded, then leaned forward and took it.
Apart from the warbling robin and the calm shouts of men in the distance, few sounds entered the tent. Lizzie knelt and pulled up the back edge of the canvas.
The forest outside was bright with early morning and the leaves were white with frost. As quietly as she could, Lizzie slid under the edge and began to run through the straight white trunks of the aspens.
DARIUS CLICKED HIS METAL TALONS and watched a tiny spider creep along the green canvas. Before it reached the far side of the tent he stood and smeared the spider into a streak of red.
A hand-bell rang outside.
“Ready, sir,” said the orderly.
Darius stepped outside the tent and into the soft morning light. A packed rectangle of two hundred troops lined the bank of the stream: three platoons of Circle regulars and one from the tribes. All stood at attention, arms and legs straight, right hand properly supporting the rifle on the shoulder. Darius pulled his shoulders back and walked along the line, giving each man a good stare.
The soldiers were taller than most tribals and obviously exercised and well-fed on the Consul’s land. Like all lower-class members of the Circle, a tattoo of three black, interlocking rings marked the left cheek of each man. It was quite appropriate, thought Darius, that before the war that symbol had been slapped on dangerous materials.
Each of the regulars wore a brown knit cap and a uniform patterned in dappled shades of green and brown. A shield with a flying crow––the Consul’s family mark––was sewn on the front of each cap and on the left shoulder. Canvas pouches around the waist held extra ammunition, water, a long knife, bandages, and the hated “iron rations.”
For arms, the soldiers carried a black, short-barreled rifle with a rectangular magazine––the newest design from Albu City. As he walked down the line of green uniforms, Darius regretted not having any of these weapons before.
After the three platoons of regular Circle troops were a dozen “bear” soldiers. Dogs with massive heads and black fur sat at attention beside each handler, who gripped a thick chain in both hands. Each large and rough-looking man was like a human version of the savage animal beside him. Because of their respected status in the army they were allowed to grow beards, and wore tall bearskin hats.
The conscripted tribal platoon stood next to the bear soldiers. Most shifted their feet or caused their equipment to jangle slightly. These men
wore solid-green uniforms and knit caps, and carried single-shot rifles along with belts full of equipment.
The line of troops ended before the soaring mouth of the cave. The granite roof sparkled with moisture and stretched into the darkness. A golden leaf fluttered from a tree at the lip, fifty meters above.
On the pebbled floor of the cavern sat an eight-wheeled monster. With a steep prow, sloped metal sides, and a small turret the olive-green, black-striped vehicle was no more elegant than a brick. At each corner of the prow were large eyes––electrical lamps protected by glass. A thin, straw-like barrel extended from the armored turret along with a cluster of silver lamps. The door for loading troops was armored and in the rear. Parked to the left of the vehicle were several four-wheeled fuel transports.
Darius stood beside the green monster and waited as the Consul and her surgeon walked along the line of troops. She looked cold even under her long, fur-lined overcoat. Darius removed his cap and bowed as they approached.
“The soldiers continue to impress me, Your Grace.”
The Consul shrugged––or shivered, Darius could not tell which.
“I supposed you’re ready,” she said.
“Certainly. D Platoon will break up the camp while the rest of us advance.”
“A storm is coming,” said the surgeon blandly. He jerked a finger at the feathered clouds in the sky, emphasizing his point with a gesture rather than tone of voice.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Darius. “We’ll be inside the village before sundown.”
A scattering of shots cracked in the distance.
The Consul glanced toward the gunfire, then back to Darius. “Are we being attacked?”
“No, that’s the girl we captured.”
He gave a thumbs-up to a bear soldier wearing three yellow stripes on his sleeve. The dozen murderous-looking men led their black dogs to a tent on the far edge of the camp. They held the chains with tight fists as the dogs sniffed and slobbered.
“It seems to me, senator, that your prisoner has escaped,” said the Consul.
Darius ran the tip of his tongue along his lips. “That was the plan. Thanks to the fine doctor her wounds have been sewn up, and now the little deer leaves a strong-smelling trail as she gallops back home.”
He turned to the armored monster and climbed metal rungs to the flat roof. On top Darius faced the mass of soldiers and spread his arms.
“Men, our long march is almost over and the filthy nest these savages call home is near. Out of any people I know in this barbaric wilderness, they’re the most deserving of our pity. Why? The machinery of the old times is within their grasp, but wasted like pearls before swine. They’ve attacked and killed good men even before I can offer the hand of friendship. While you and I follow the sensible laws of modern man, they react from the basest of emotions. I expected the first meeting of our two peoples to be happy and peaceful. I planned to free them from their struggles and the chains of the past, but now you can see these are backwards, wolfish people who understand nothing but blood. If they only knew whom they have offended––Consul Nahid’s men and the finest soldiers north of Albu City! You will meet their savage anger on the field of battle today and crush it with your own! Burn their hovels. Capture the women. Kill everyone else!”
“Yes sir!” roared the soldiers.
“Bring me the girl called Badger,” shouted Darius, “And that filthy demon Wilson and be rewarded with a knighthood!”
He raised a fist and the armored monster screamed to life.
“What makes the Circle turn?”
Steam blew from the throats of the men.
“BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!”
“What does a soldier do?”
“KILL! KILL! KILL!”
REED LAY ON HIS BACK, exhausted from helping guide Wilson through Carter’s surgery. The sand was soft and the ocean water warm. Jack said it wasn’t like that in the real world, in the passed-away world. What was it like now?
Above the frothing churn of the waves, a woman’s voice spoke.
It is barren, a strand of death. A place of ghost-sickness.
Reed sat up. “Who’s that?”
A prisoner in the land of sleep like you.
“Are you––Dreamer?”
That would be one name for me.
“Can you help Jack? Can you teach me anything?”
A seagull landed clumsily, spraying clumps of moist sand on Reed. A high-pitched staccato squawked from the red-tipped, golden beak.
There’s no time. Your people are in danger.
Reed stretched out his hands and drew a wide rectangle in the sand. A map of Station and the surrounding area shimmered to life. Tiny spheres of light clustered at the center. Reed touched a flashing pinpoint on the far right side of the map. A name floated in the air––”Major Elizabeth Vasquez”––along with vital signs.
Reed swatted away the seagull. It flapped into the sky as he stood up from the sand.
“Open channel to the surface,” he said.
The seagull turned lazy circles above Reed’s head and watched him with black, shining eyes.
“Open channel!”
The bird glided into the thick fog.
The connection is open but your protege must be absent.
“I can see that, thank you.”
Can you?
Reed paced the fifty meters of sand, hands clasped behind his back.
“There has to be another way to reach him,” he said.
Send a message with the woman.
Reed shook his head. “Mary? She’s not talking to me.”
There could be other ways, unwise and dangerous. You will need to look within.
Reed crossed his legs in the soft sand above the waves. He slowed his breathing and whispered a poem.
“GETTING YOURSELF KILLED won’t change anything,” said Wilson. “The Circle didn’t attack last night, so there’s a chance they don’t know where we are. The important thing is, Lizzie could still be alive.”
He stood near Hausen at the end of a workman’s table. Rifles had been removed from the armory’s secure room and were being dismantled and cleaned by Mast and five machinery assistants. Hausen stood at the end of the line and inspected each rifle before moving them to another table.
Hausen shook his head. “Stop talking––I’m her father, you idiot! I don’t want to think about my daughter around those animals.”
“They’ll be waiting for you.”
“The Circle can’t wait for us and come after us at the same time. Which one is it, genius?”
“I’m just trying to look at the best options. Reed and I spent hours patching together Carter and I don’t want to do that again. Listen–”
“No, you ‘listen,’” said Hausen. He pulled back the bolt-action on a rifle, eyeballed it, and slammed it forward. “I’m in charge of the defense. That’s from Reed. Stop trying to keep me from doing that.”
“I’m not.”
“You made Carter bring what was left of your father all the way from Springs.” Hausen aimed the rifle at the wall and dry-fired it with a snap. “My daughter is only a klick or two outside the line. I want her back, even if it’s just to bury her in the Tombs.”
“But they have a tank. Don’t you know what that means?”
“A tank is a machine. All machines are run by men, and all men are flesh and blood.” Hausen set the rifle on the other table.
Wilson frowned. “All right. I’ll wake my trainees.”
“Don’t let these ‘Nighthawks’ or whatever you’ve called them use any fancy tricks,” said Hausen. “That stuff you taught her didn’t help my daughter and it won’t help them.”
INSIDE HIS ROOM Wilson slid the ancient revolver into his belt holster. The wedding bracelet chafed the skin on his left wrist. He still wasn’t used to wearing it all the time.
A high-pitched chirp echoed from the corridor. Wilson ran to Reed’s office––his office now––and touched a triangle on the smal
ler display.
“I’m here!”
“Finally,” said Reed. “I’ve been trying to raise you for ages.”
“Sorry. I was busy trying to keep Hausen from barreling down the mountain on a rescue mission.”
“Lizzie doesn’t need to be rescued, Wilson. She’s back on the map.”
Wilson looked up at the wall display. In the eastern section of the map a single square flashed.
“I’m leaving. She’ll need medical treatment.”
“Wait! Leave a few Runners here. That’s the only way I can reach you.”
“Got it.”
Seconds after Wilson dashed out of the rectory, a triangle with an exclamation point flashed on the eastern edge of the map. A swarm of triangles joined it and grew into a mass of flashing, angry bees.
HOARSE BARKING DROVE LIZZIE through the forest. The muscles in her arms and legs trembled from blood loss or something deeper but she ran despite that, like a fox before the hunt. She was long past the regret over passing on Runner training and choosing Medic. Her outstretched arms kept branches from whipping into her face. Stumbling forward on feet numb from the frost-covered ground, she fell painfully and often.
The aspens rose in waves over two ridges, sunflower-bright in the morning. Lizzie recognized the route from the night before. The perimeter was near.
The barking of the dogs was a sharpened stick that prodded her forward. Lizzie might have wondered why someone held the dogs back, if she’d had the time. But she didn’t, and so she ran.
A field of tall grass lay ahead, the blades heavy with frost. Beyond lay the forest and pass into the valley. The granite pyramid of Old Man rose above it all, backed by orange clouds of dawn.
Lizzie made it halfway through the field and collapsed.
INSIDE THE EASTERNMOST DUGOUT Badger squinted against the light of the rising sun. She nudged Zhang with an elbow and pointed to the field.
“That’s her. Down there.”
Zhang shaded his eyes. “Where? Oh, I see it.”
The Dream Widow Page 9