At his tone, she glanced sharply at him. “How did you know?”
He shrugged.
“Tell me.”
“Because Johnny was going to,” Collis said finally.
Kay stiffened. As their gazes locked, she realized Collis had guessed how vulnerable Johnny had made her feel…and that now she had to beat the memory of him at his own game, so that she could look at herself in the mirror without seeing fear.
She lifted her chin. “Do you agree? About Black Moon?”
“Does it matter?”
“No. But tell me.”
Collis sounded disturbed but resigned. “Well, it goes beyond Johnny now, doesn’t it? I guess it’s like you said when I told you about my nightmare. Some things aren’t pleasant. But you’ve got to do them if you want to survive.”
“Yes,” Kay murmured. Survive. If she showed the world she was afraid, they’d destroy her. They were already trying to.
Collis lay studying her, his mouth and jaw resolute. “I’m with you,” he said roughly. “Whatever you do.”
The sense of not being in control of herself bothered her. Yet Kay gave in to her impulse and stroked his arm – felt its firm warmth.
A silence grew.
He took her hand and played with her fingers. “I hope I don’t wake you up tonight.”
Kay felt her eyebrows rise. “I thought you were over the nightmare.”
Collis cleared his throat. “No. I’m still having it.” He glanced at her and gave a rueful smile. “You haven’t asked me if I missed you.”
For some reason the comment relaxed her. She smiled and stretched out on her side, propping her head on her hand. “Do you want me to ask?”
“You don’t have to. I’ll tell you.” Collis looked troubled as he touched her hair again, tracing a strand down its length.
“Yes,” he said. “I did.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The Western Seaboard’s locker room had been run-down around the edges and all its pilots had come from the same small country. The World United locker room was sleek and new and echoed with dozens of languages.
Somehow it felt just the same.
Early Wednesday morning – still the middle of the night – I got dressed in there for the sortie Tess had promised us. A few other pilots were around too, preparing for reconnaissance missions.
Just like back in the Western Seaboard, Vera and I had lockers close to each other. Harlan’s was across the aisle. The tattoo on his bicep flexed as he pulled on his shirt.
“Yep, looks like you’ve lost your touch, Vancour,” he said sadly. He winked at Vera. “Time was, you could out-bluff anyone.”
I rolled my eyes. I’d finally given in and joined his poker game earlier that night, to kill time. It hadn’t seemed worth going to bed for just a few hours.
“One hand,” I said with a grin. “You call my bluff for one lousy hand, and—”
All at once Vera nudged me. I looked up and tensed.
Ingo was heading towards me.
He had on only a pair of trousers. His skin and hair were damp, as if he’d just showered. His dark eyes stayed on me as he approached, and suddenly I was very conscious that I was standing there in my brassiere. I jerked my chin up, meeting his gaze.
Ingo came right up to me, ignoring Harlan and Vera, who’d gone silent. The good side of his angular face looked tired.
“Can I talk to you, please?” he said.
I wavered, and then nodded. We went to the end of the long row, where no one else was present. I was a lot more aware of his body than I wanted to be, and hated myself for it.
“It’s been a month,” said Ingo.
“Yes?” I said stiffly.
His expression turned bitter. “You’re not going to make it easy for me, are you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Of course you do. Just tell me, Amity. Are you pregnant?”
I stared at him, remembering my thought of only two days before: that if Ingo was the man I’d thought he was, he wouldn’t wait for me to tell him this. He’d ask me himself.
“No,” I said slowly. “I’m not.”
“You’re certain?”
I nodded, and he exhaled and closed his eyes briefly. “All right,” he said. He rubbed his forehead. “Thank you.”
“What would you have done if I was?” The words came from nowhere.
Ingo snorted and let his hand fall. Fleetingly, he seemed as vulnerable as Hal when I’d told him about Mac’s high regard for him.
“Do we really need to waste time on hypotheticals?” he said.
“I’m curious. Tell me.”
Anger and something else flashed in Ingo’s eyes. “Stop, Amity,” he said in an undertone. “We’ve been too much to each other to do this.”
Aren’t we still? I couldn’t say it. I gripped my elbows hard. After a pause, I said, “Harlan tells me you’ve been flying like a maniac.”
“Harlan’s been talking too much.” Ingo glanced behind me. “You’ve got a sortie to fly.” He hesitated, studying me. He beat a fist against his thigh, over and over.
“Be careful, please,” he said.
He turned and walked away.
Pain, I realized belatedly. That had been the other emotion in his eyes. An answering ache came from within me. I gazed after his retreating figure.
I started as Vera touched my arm.
“Hey. We’ve got to hurry,” she said.
I nodded and tried to shake it all away. “Yeah,” I murmured. “Yeah.”
We flew through the night. I kept my gaze locked on my control panel, watching the line of the artificial horizon – adjusting the Dove in relation to it. Looking out into darkness was too disorienting; you could be flying right towards the ground and not even know it.
Above and below me, cruising at different altitudes, were Harlan and Vera. Beneath us was the bomber we were protecting.
Just before sunrise, I banked west. The horizon tilted sideways. The others did the same, our wings all saluting in unison.
Out of the gloom it swam into view: a boxy grey factory in the middle of a patch of woods.
It made weapons, ammunition. I could see a couple of tanks on a flatbed truck, looking like toys of the ancients.
Our bomber opened its hatch. The dark, elliptical shapes tumbled downwards. Seconds later, the factory was exploding in a series of fireballs that touched something elemental in me, each more satisfying than the last.
“Soon, Dad,” I murmured, my fingers tense on the stick.
We were twenty miles outside of New Manhattan again when my radio crackled into life: “Scorps and bombers sighted, incoming! Repeat, Scorps and bombers…”
I swore. Glancing across at Harlan and Vera in their planes, we traded frustrated looks. When the city slid into view, there was a dark, shifting cloud of planes above it.
We got our bomber down safely, with other Doves coming to our aid. The fitters came racing to refuel our planes and we took off again.
It was one of the bad attacks. It went on and on, with new Scorps arriving regularly. The world spun and plunged around me, my engine screaming as I worked the firing button. I’d been up all night but was shuddering with adrenalin.
The third time I landed to refuel, I taxied to a stop just as the medics lifted a pilot from his plane. I winced automatically…and then saw that it was Harlan.
No. With suddenly clammy hands, I fumbled my straps undone. I shoved my hood back and scrambled down from my wing – raced across the asphalt.
The medics had him on a stretcher, hustling him towards the ambulance. Harlan lay motionless, his flight suit soggy with blood. My mind numbed at the sight of it.
“Will he be okay?” I gasped out, jogging along beside the medics.
“Don’t know how he even landed the damn thing,” said one of them in a rush. “He’s been hit through the chest and stomach – hang on, big fella, we’re getting you to the hospital!”
Th
ey loaded Harlan into the truck. I stood frozen. As its doors closed I glimpsed his large, prone form, his head turned limply to one side.
The doors slammed shut. The truck peeled away, sirens blasting. All around me were shouts, fitters clambering over planes, the roar of engines.
I realized my eyes were stinging and swiped my hand angrily over them.
“Don’t you dare die, Taylor,” I muttered.
A fitter appeared. “Wildcat! Your plane’s ready!” For a second I just stood there. Then I let out a shaky breath and glanced up at the ongoing battle.
I headed back to my plane.
When Tess finally told me I could stay down it was twilight. I went straight to the hospital and found Vera in the waiting room, sitting hunched over on one of the worn wooden chairs. She was still in her flying gear too, one hand pressed to her mouth.
As I sat down beside her, she started. Her face crumpled when she saw me.
“They’re not sure,” she whispered against her fingers. “He’s lost so much blood…they’re operating now, but they don’t know whether…” She didn’t finish.
My throat closed. I took her other hand.
“He’s strong,” I said, squeezing her fingers hard. “He’s a fighter.”
Two hours dragged past. Finally a doctor appeared. Jerome Washington, read his name tag.
“He’s alive,” he said without preamble.
Vera gasped in relief, clutching my hand – and then seemed to notice, as I had, the gravity of the doctor’s expression.
“Go on,” I whispered.
Dr Washington sat on the coffee table in front of us.
“I’m afraid it’s still touch and go,” he said gently. “The next few days are crucial. On its own, he’d survive the chest wound. It’s the stomach wound that…” He grimaced and looked down, tapping his fingers together.
“If septicaemia sets in, we’ll do whatever we can,” he said.
Tess gave Vera a few days’ compassionate leave. She barely left Harlan’s side. Three days later, he was still feverish and unconscious…but alive.
I went whenever I could between the air raids that still hammered the island. I hated feeling so helpless, waiting there with Vera as she sat stroking his forehead with a damp cloth.
“I’m here,” she kept murmuring. “I’m right here.”
In the quiet of the hospital, there was too much time to think. As I gazed at Harlan’s flushed face, I couldn’t stop remembering my locker room encounter with Ingo – the pain in his dark eyes.
Other memories were coming back too.
The night of the battle, before we’d ended up in the abandoned cottage, that same look had been in Ingo’s eyes. In fact, now that I thought of it, he’d been off-kilter ever since he returned through the tunnels to the Garden.
Confusion and unease stirred. The way Ingo had clutched me to him so tightly after we made love, as if he was drowning and I was a life raft. And then the next morning…
I can’t do this right now, he’d said.
Why “right now”? What had been going on?
Recalling what else he’d said – I’ve been awake for hours wishing I could forget it ever happened – the familiar hurt stabbed. I locked away thoughts of Ingo and brought Vera endless cups of terrible hospital coffee.
The afternoon of the third day, Harlan regained consciousness. I’d just pulled a chair beside Vera’s at his bedside; I caught my breath as his blue eyes came blearily open.
“Vera?” he whispered.
She was smiling through her tears. “Hello, you big lug.” She caressed his hair back.
“Feel awful,” Harlan mumbled. His gaze fell woozily on me. He squinted. “Vancour? What the hell…? Is this a party?”
“His fever breaking is a very good sign,” Dr Washington said, relief clear in his voice as he, Vera and I stood in the hospital corridor. “Mr Taylor’s still got a long recovery ahead…but we can be hopeful now that he won’t die of blood poisoning.”
After the doctor left a few minutes later, Vera sagged against the wall, briefly covering her face.
“I thought I’d lost him,” she murmured. She gave me a shaky grin. “He’s going to be a terrible patient, you know. He’ll hate being bedridden.”
Dr Washington had explained that Harlan would be sent to a World United convalescence home in Nova Scotia. He might be there for some time.
I squeezed her arm. “Tell him it wouldn’t have happened in a MK9,” I said after a pause, and to my relief she laughed.
“I will not,” she said. “He’d bust his sutures.”
That night I somehow found myself standing in front of Ingo’s room at the Grand.
I started to knock and then stopped. I wavered, torn. Finally I grimaced and let my hand fall.
As I turned away, the next door down opened and another pilot came out. “You looking for Manfred? He’s not there.”
“Oh.” I glanced back at Ingo’s door and hesitated. “Do you know where he is?”
The pilot headed past me towards the elevator. “Walking, probably,” he said over his shoulder. “That guy’s like a ghost – spends more time walking the streets than sleeping.”
Through the window at the end of the hallway, New Manhattan lay spread out for as far as I could see. Since when had Ingo been restless, unable to sleep? The sense of trepidation that had begun in the hospital room grew.
“Thanks,” I said softly, though the pilot was already gone.
Ingo’s an adult. If something’s wrong, he can tell me. Irritated with myself, I went down to the hotel bar. It was thick with cigarette smoke and blue uniforms. A woman sang on the stage as a small band played. “When the swallows…come back…to Capistrano…”
Hal and Percy were there. It was the first time I’d encountered them out together since Hal had told me they were seeing each other. Hal saw me and waved me over.
“Hey,” he said when I reached their table. “How’s Harlan?”
I smiled, remembering. “It looks like he’s going to be all right.”
“Well, I’d say that calls for a celebratory round,” said Percy with a grin. He stood up. “What’ll you have?”
I suspected they’d chosen the tucked-away table for privacy. “That’s okay. I’ll leave you two alone.”
“Don’t be daft. Wine? Champagne? Come on, let me treat Hal’s sister.”
I laughed. “All right, you’ve talked me into it. Red wine, thanks.”
“Same again?” Percy said to Hal, touching his shoulder.
“Yeah, thanks.” Hal’s eyes followed Percy as he went to the bar.
“He’s nice,” I said, sitting down. “You’ve got good taste.”
Hal looked shy and buoyant at the same time. “Well, of course.”
Percy laughed a lot. He turned out to be one of those naturally ebullient people who genuinely enjoy life. He asked lots of questions, though tactfully stayed away from my infamy as Wildcat.
“So you always wanted to be a pilot?” he asked cheerfully.
“Yes, though not necessarily a Peacefighter,” I said. “But flying – yes, always.”
“Like Hal then,” said Percy. “He’s put in for training.”
I glanced at my brother. “Really?”
He looked amused. “Thanks, big mouth,” he said to Percy, who winked at him. “I can’t start until I’m sixteen,” he added to me, “but yeah.”
I sighed, thinking of Harlan. “Why am I not surprised?”
“It does have the flavour of the inevitable,” said Percy. He touched his beer glass to Hal’s. “You’ll be bloody brilliant,” he said. “But I’ll hate to lose a good fitter.”
“‘Bloody’,” said Hal, shaking his head with a grin.
“Damned. Extremely. Extraordinarily. Any better? You knew what I meant,” Percy added to me.
I laughed, liking him – liking both of them together. “Hal’s just being contrary.”
Hal raised an eyebrow. “You’re accusing me of con
trariness?”
“You have your moments,” I told him. “Do I really need to start dragging out childhood memories?”
“That’s okay,” said Hal hastily. “Percy believes you. Don’t you, Percy?”
“No, Percy would very much like to hear them, actually.” Percy leaned forward.
“Vancour code of silence,” said Hal to me.
I had another sip of wine and took pity on my brother. “All right, he’s invoked the Vancour code. Just take my word for it.”
“Forewarned is forearmed,” said Percy. He raised his glass. “To contrary Vancours!”
We clinked glasses. The music soared. All around us, pilots who’d been in battle hours previously were dancing, drinking…grabbing every second of life they could.
I told myself that I wasn’t thinking of Ingo at all.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The sirens wrenched me from bed at dawn. This time it was just a quick bombing raid. When I landed it was barely seven a.m. and the skies were already clearing of planes.
Coffee and breakfast, I thought, climbing down from my wing – though I hardly needed caffeine, with the adrenalin still pulsing through me.
As I headed towards the cafe, I saw Ingo standing near the office doors, his helmet under one arm. He was looking down at something.
My steps slowed. I studied him, as torn as the night before. I still hadn’t decided whether to go over when Ingo abruptly wheeled away with a piece of paper clenched in one hand.
He headed for the hangars.
I glimpsed his tormented expression and my heart clenched. I stared after him as he disappeared into the hangar’s darkness, almost running.
Suddenly it felt as if I were waking up.
I hadn’t been mistaken about the kind of man Ingo was – he’d asked me straight out if I were pregnant. I didn’t really think I’d been mistaken about his feelings for me, either.
And for the man I knew to have acted the way Ingo had that morning in Little France…
“Oh, holy hell, I’m an idiot,” I whispered.
I dropped my helmet and sprinted across the tarmac. When I reached the hangar, I ducked inside its large, shadowy space. It was empty of planes now, empty of people.
Except for one. Ingo sat against a corrugated wall, his elbows propped on his knees. His hands clutched his head, raking his curls back. His shoulders were heaving. I could hear his sobs.
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