She wasn’t going to throw herself to the Creatures and she wasn’t climbing back into their trap. Grinding her teeth, she rose into a Runner’s starting position and flexed her arms. She was in agony. She wasn’t even certain that she was going to be able to fling out her arms, let alone fight the wind.
“Stay with me,” she ordered Raw. Then she started to run.
Wren had barely taken three steps when the screaming wind billowed into her wings and lifted her from the rooftop. She hadn’t even opened them. With a moan, she forced her arms wide and gave the flick of her wrist that would lock the struts. Instantly she was lifted so fast that the factory was gone, vanished in a blur of ground and dust and sky.
Was Raw behind her? There was no way to know. She was tossed and buffeted in the leading edge of the storm, debris clattering against her legs and torso. She twisted, trying to see Vaikuntha, but the dust blurred everything and she had no idea which way she should be fighting to go.
Suddenly it was no longer about getting to Vaikuntha, but about survival. She faced forward, where the sand was curling into waves to meet the wind. She had to get further ahead. Forcing herself to streamline, she pushed faster, racing the dust, a tiny figure in the vast desert.
Her eyes and ears strained as she listened for Raw, but all she could hear was the gale that raged at her foolishness like an un-caged beast.
She pitched and yawed almost uncontrollably until she gave up the struggle to remain level and, with a feeling of terrifying elation, let the wind take her.
There was no longer anything to see but a churning orange mist all around her. Wren’s goggles clogged until she was blind, her senses shut down. She focused instead on the feel of the wind beneath her, tossing her like a rudderless kite, wondering at what moment she would crash into a cliff, or the ground.
Inside her mask, she laughed. With all the Creatures at the CFC factory she would likely be buried in sand before they could get to her. She had chosen her death and it was a Runner’s death; glorious and in full flight.
Buffeted up and down, Wren soon began to feel nauseated, her stomach rolling with every sudden jolt. Then the real storm caught her and she was tossed into a somersault. She felt her feet go over her head, her wings collapsed and refilled and she had no idea whether she had come back level. She was as helpless as a leaf in the storm, and just as fragile.
She fought against nausea; if she threw up, the hose to her canister would block and there would be no air. Already she could feel her breath shortening as dust clogged the filters. She wished she had some sense of time; she might have been in the sky for moments, or hours. The storms usually lasted between thirty and sixty minutes, she could only pray to the skies that this was a short one.
Where was Raw - was he with her? Behind? Ahead? Already dead?
It seemed impossible that they could both survive: ridiculous odds. And yet she hoped. It made it seem less terrible if Raw was somewhere near, being hurled across the desert with her.
Time stretched and ballooned and the wind’s screech grew louder. The skin on her fingers and face had long gone numb, not with cold, but with the pain of constant abrasion.
And then, with a strange abruptness, the wind, as though out of breath, began to drop. A lessening of the darkness that covered her vision told Wren that the sand had fallen away from her, but she had no way to clean her goggles to find out for sure.
Still she pitched side to side, wobbling, not even certain which way up she was flying. Her head was spinning, her gut clinging to her throat. There was no way to regain any kind of control, not only was she blind, but she had gone beyond exhaustion, she didn’t think she could make her body move; her shoulders were pure agony, wrenched, as they had been, by the gale. Gusts warmed around her, gentler now, and she could feel the wind, exhausted as she, losing all its strength.
Some instinct, some sound, or change in the atmosphere around Wren, made her brace. She tensed just as she slammed into the desert.
The breath was, finally, knocked out of her, and her mask ripped from her face. She rolled, spitting sand, and her wings unlocked as she scrabbled for the O2 canister, blindly seeking the hose that should end in her mask.
Gasping like a fish, feeling her throat already burning from the chemical atmosphere, she fumbled until her fingers closed around her mask. She shook it to empty the sand, then shoved it against her face, inhaling with grateful desperation as the oxygen hissed from the bacteria in her tank.
She was on her knees. With trembling fingers, Wren pulled her goggles from her eyes, blinked and swallowed. Dust settled around her as a gentle breeze caressed her hair, almost apologetically. She turned to see a long furrow where she had ploughed into the ground and rolled. Martian bugs were already fighting inside, a miniature world at war, their armoured backs and sharp pincers ripping into those exposed by her landing. She shaded her eyes, staring around her with growing panic. She had landed in the middle of the desert, so the Creatures would be coming. It was stupid to think that the whole population of the delta had congregated at the CFC factories.
Wren tried to stand so that she could see further and immediately fell back to her hands and knees. She pulled her mask from her mouth just in time. She vomited a heavy, warm stream of purple fruit gel onto the desert floor and watched through sticky eyes as green grey bugs swarmed around her knees, seeking the sustenance.
Then, still shuddering as if she was in flight, she managed to refit her mask, and rise up again. Removing herself from the pain of her limbs she stared out across the desert. A short distance to her right there was a rock formation. If she could make it there she could at least climb off the sand and there was a chance she might be able to work out the way to the nearest settlement. She wrapped her arms around her chest, her wings dragging and airless. She doubted she was anywhere near Vaikuntha. Wren hung her head. She was likely hundreds of kilometres off course; she could be anywhere … anywhere at all.
Barely able to keep her feet Wren staggered, with her head hanging low and her feet dragging through the sand; great weights on the ends of legs that felt like twigs. Her wings slid along behind her, wiping out her footsteps as she walked. Every so often she looked up to check that the rock remained ahead, then she looked back down again, her ears straining all the time for the wail of a hunting Creature, the skin of her spine already tingling in anticipation of an attack.
When she looked up again the rock was right in front of her. If she lifted her arm she would be able to touch it. She blinked and swayed; then she stroked its smooth surface. It was real, it was smooth and it was too high for her to climb. A giggle forced its way through her lips, then another.
She trudged along the rock looking, with increasing hopelessness, for some kind of hand or foothold in a formation that millennia of storms had sanded to polished smoothness. The rock itself, striated with black obsidian, sloped slowly until it entered the delta at the height of her waist. She flung her arms over the end of it and kicked her legs, trying to gain any friction, seeking to lift her body from the sand. She dangled uselessly; then dropped. As if the thud of her feet wakened something she felt, rather than saw, a Creature stir and its attention rise towards her.
Terror gave her speed. She ran backwards, out into the desert; then she turned, flicked out her aching arms until her wings locked and raced back towards the rock.
Her heart pounded and the dust dragged at her feet, making her slip and slide, but at the very last moment she leaped. Her jump forced wind into her wings and made it lift her, not far, but far enough. This time Wren managed to get her whole chest onto the rock; her stomach, her thighs. She wriggled forward like a sand snake, until she lay flat on the sun-warm stone, her breath coming in small rasps.
She lay with her face pressed against a seam of quartz, arms splayed out, hugging the rock. She lay still and quiet for what felt like an age until she felt the pressure of the presence vanish once more into depths. Then she lay longer, all
owing the stone’s heat to soothe her quivering muscles and throbbing bruises. By the way the warmth moved across her back, Wren could feel the sun tracing its way across the sky and knew that she had hours to find some kind of shelter before the desert grew cold once more.
Her thoughts turned to Raw. By forcing her to fly he had saved her life, but for how long and to what end? She thought again of her mother, dying alone in Avalon, and of her missing brothers. She had no right to be lying here on a rock, wasting all of their time.
With a moan she dragged herself to her hands and knees. Careful on the slippery stone she crawled to its highest point. Only then did she raise her head.
To her right and left there was nothing; only desert stretching out as far as the eye could see. A bump in the distance could be Elysium Mons, or not.
She turned to look behind her. She rubbed her eyes and then she rubbed them again, just to be certain.
Right before her the sun glittered from the distinctive shape of a solar panelled biosphere. It was difficult to judge distance in the delta, but it looked like half an hour’s hike through the dustbowl. Wren giggled at the ridiculousness of her situation.
Again her choices were limited. She could sit on the rock until she froze to death in the desert night and in sight of shelter, or she could set off across the sand, hoping that she could outrace the Creatures, most of which would have to come from the CFC factories to reach her.
She locked down the sob that threatened to constrict her chest and held her head up high. She’d come this far hadn’t she?
Wren stood up. She flung out her arms with a wince, heard the click as her wings locked; then she started to run.
The rock was smooth, she had gone barely three paces before her left foot slipped. Instead of allowing herself to slide, she pushed off as hard as she could with her right, turning the fall into a leap. The wind caught under her wings and lifted her.
It was a light wind. Wren had been hoping for a thermal, thinking that one might have developed above the warm rock, but she was carried almost straight forward and gained no height.
The desert raced below her feet. The longer she could remain in the sky, the better. She angled her body upwards, rolling slightly into the wind, trying for more elevation. The faster she moved, the higher she flew. She looked ahead, the sphere was getting closer.
With a whoop, Wren twisted towards another rock, once more hoping for a thermal, but again the wind remained low and steady and she was already dropping.
From this height she could see the different colours in the sand; reds, oranges, yellows, browns and small patches of burned looking green that were still iced with dust from the storm. It was strangely beautiful and far less colourless and uniform than she had imagined when looking down from Elysium.
Bug colonies swarmed in and out of giant cone shaped nests, fighting endless wars. Carapaces glimmered in the sun like the dust-polished stones that were piled in odd little cairns.
But now she was dropping again, her wings fluttering as the wind died inside them, curling up and away from her, ignoring her desperate lurches to catch it.
She looked ahead: the biosphere was closer, perhaps a ten minute walk. Not so frightening.
She dropped her legs. This time she would alight gently, less likely to waken a Creature from its sleep. As soon as Wren’s toes touched the sand, she began to run, the wind still giving her a little lift, sufficient to make her light. So instead of landing properly she continued to bound along, half running, half carried. It was almost fun. Each footstep took her twice the normal distance. She would be at the sphere in no time.
Then she saw the wake in the sand: at least one Creature had found her. And it would only take one.
Now it was a simple race, could she make it to the biosphere before the Creature reached her?
Chapter ten
Wren put down her head and ran, pumping her legs to make each jump count. She panted, her breath rasped in and out of her struggling mask and her heart pounded. She dared not look to her left, where the Creature arrowed towards her.
There was a thud so loud that even she felt it through her boots. Wren looked up, towards the biosphere. A figure stood at the edge of the ‘sphere, just outside an airlock. He had just hurled what looked like a stove into the sand.
“Move it, Wren,” he yelled and he pointed towards another airlock that was cycled green and standing open for her.
When the Creature started to turn back her way, Raw threw something else. It landed and rolled within the shards of light that burst from its metallic casing.
The wake turned again, heading towards the noise Raw was making and Wren sprinted, as fast as she could.
She skidded into the airlock without closing her wings. They scraped against the wall with a hissing sound, like claws. Wren gasped, suddenly terrified that she had broken or bent the struts. She pulled in her arms, hearing the click as the wings unlocked and turned to slam her hand on the palm reader, closing the door behind her.
Then she sank into a crouch, shuddering as some thing slammed against the biosphere just outside, making it shake.
A slithering sound, a wail that spoke of hunger, frustration, perhaps even fury, and the Creature was gone.
Wren did not know how long she sat inside the airlock as her heart slowed to a steady beat. Eventually though, the door was opened from the other side and she fell backwards into the Dome.
She stared up at Raw, his scarred face upside down to her. His eyes were red and swollen, the skin around them bleeding. He had gone through the storm with no goggles. And he was no longer wearing the wings.
“Where are they?” She rolled and leaped up, fright bearing her in its updraft.
"They're safe." Raw rolled his shoulders. “I just wanted them off for a bit.”
“Off for a bit!” Wren shrieked. “You don’t even know where we are, anyone could take them. Runners never remove their wings unless they’re in a Runner station.” She hesitated then and looked around, realising what was missing. No-one had come to see who had entered the ‘sphere: no curious child, no Councilman seeking news. No-one. “Where is everybody?”
Raw didn’t answer.
“And how did you get here?” she hissed, and placed her hands on her hips, forgetting for a moment the absence of the colonists.
Raw pointed upwards. Wren followed his gaze. At the apex of the sphere there was a long jagged line through one of the solar panels. Her eyes widened.
Raw nodded at her understanding. “That’s where I landed.”
“Skies, you’ve cracked the sphere.”
“It’ll hold.” Raw did not meet her eyes.
“They’ll throw us to the Creatures.” Wren wrung her hands. She frowned. “If everyone’s in a meeting, we can look for the Runner station, wherever it is. We’ll hide out there until we can fly again. What did you do with your wings?”
Raw shuffled his feet. “The wings are fine and we don’t need to hide.”
“What do you mean we don’t need to hide? Do they already know – what did they say? Where are we?”
She strode towards the nearest buildings. They were arranged like those of Elysium, low to the ground, built in diagonals. But the colours were different. These colonists had favoured stone that shone and glowed and preferred decals of dazzling minerals. Each home was built from an array of gem laden rocks that gleamed in the afternoon light, like a treasure box recently opened. When the Dome was removed the colony would glow.
Abruptly Wren stopped. “I know where we are.” She turned, grinning. “I always wanted to see it - the twinkling colony - Tir Na Nog.” She turned and walked faster. “We should find the council building, my brothers said it’s amazing.” She sped ahead, her fear of punishment all but abandoned. Then she halted. “My mask is all clogged up, but …” she inhaled, her nose wrinkling. “I shouldn’t be smelling ...” slowly she lifted her mask from her nose. She was inside the biosphere and wou
ld be able to breathe, but she struggled to convince herself.
“Don’t.” Raw reached for her but she shook him off. Carefully she took a tiny breath, her eyes watered and she pressed her mask back against her face. She stared at Raw. He too was still wearing his mask.
“What is it? What’s the smell?”
Raw had tears in his eyes. “You don’t want to know.”
Wren stepped up to him. “Tell me.”
Raw shook his head.
“Where are all the people?”
“Listen, this place is pretty, isn’t it? It’s safe from storms and Creatures. There’s plenty of food and water, we can rest here as long as we need to, then we’ll fly on. Just keep your mask on and don’t ask me that question again.” Wren’s toes were touching Raw’s, she curled her fists at her sides. The look on his face was almost pleading. “Let me make you something to eat. I can rub your aches.” He reached for her and she jumped out of his grasp.
“Why won’t you tell me? I’m not a child.”
Raw’s green eyes flicked towards the far side of the ‘sphere. It was enough for Wren. She began to run.
“No!” Raw strode after her, his long legs eating up the distance between them. He grabbed her arm. “Why can’t you trust me? You don’t want to know.”
“I have to know.” A horrible premonition had wrapped Wren’s heart with icy fingers. Cold was spreading to her fingertips and down her spine.
She no longer saw the jewel-crusted houses and almost missed the giant council building that sloped into the earth, gold plated, engraved with pictures of earth fruits and flowers, fantasies of a long-dead home. She ran past it with barely a second look.
Raw followed a step behind, no longer trying to stop her. Whenever she looked back, his face screwed up to reveal his concern.
Then they were there.
Wren stopped, her heart shrinking in her chest as if it was hiding from the scene in front of her. Although she had nothing in her stomach, Wren vomited. She heaved until nothing came out but bile. Raw’s hand was warm on her back where he was making small circular movements beneath her wings.
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