That was a mistake. The moment she let her inane train of thought stop, she felt the tears coming.
It burned.
Burned. Look at that damned urn. Why do people cremate? Is it spite? If the body can’t serve to be the vessel for the beloved, do you destroy it utterly out of spite? It beat thinking of Cheryl rotting in the ground.
Nothing can harm her now.
Cassidy felt envy.
Cheryl’s parents were here of course, though everyone spent so much time looking down, or at the speaker, that she hadn’t made eye contact with them, thankfully.
She looked at the urn, and felt the trembling creeping up on her again. She wanted to be with her. She imagined herself being ash, poured into Cheryl’s urn.
It was sick, and she knew it, but she couldn’t help but feel comfort at the idea of being so close to her forever. Literally unable to tell where Cheryl ended, and she began.
Of course, Cassidy would be dead, but that’s one of those unimportant details. The thought was comforting, and it eased her shaking.
How much longer was this?
Cassidy renewed her efforts to think of random meaningless things, waiting for things to wind down.
Finally, it was over. People shuffled away, passing by the minister and Cheryl’s parents, offering condolences which all sounded the same after a while.
Cassidy barely entertained the idea of moving from where she stood. Why leave? Cheryl wasn’t truly here, but she wasn’t anywhere else, either. The shaking was returning. Cassidy decided to surrender to gravity peacefully before she fell. She knelt down on her knees and sat.
The grass was pleasant. Perfect even. She leaned forward enough to press her hands against the ground. The perfect grass slid between her fingers. Such vibrant, perfect life struggling up from the soil that held hundreds of dead.
Cassidy’s mind spiraled slowly down through the soil’s darkness. She closed her eyes and let the thought embrace her. It was cold, but welcoming. It made her trembles melt away as her breathing slowed.
A burning tear forced its way onto her cheek, as if to grant licence for the thoughts she fostered. Time began to lose meaning, and that suited Cassidy just fine.
Reality politely snapped her out of her daze as a gentle hand rested on her shoulder.
“Cassie?” Sandy Lowe’s voice. Cassidy quickly wiped her eyes, and turned to face Cheryl’s mom, who had knelt beside her.
Cassidy sniffled, and found her own voice to be less than eager. “She called me that. ‘Cassie’. Nobody else did.”
“Oh.” Sandy put her arm around Cassidy’s shoulders and hugged her. “I’m sorry. That’s just how she referred to you. If you don’t want me to use that…”
“No, no. I think you qualify well enough.” She slumped over onto Sandy and sighed. “I feel pretty fucking selfish, Mrs. Lowe.”
“What do you mean, hon?”
“She was your friggin daughter, and here I am, the one breaking apart at the service.”
Sandy put her other arm around Cassidy. “Well, it sounded like you and she had some pretty long term plans brewing.”
Cassidy held out her hand and showed off the ‘promise ring’. “I wish now that we’d rushed a bit more. To be official. Too late now.” Cassidy squeezed Sandy back and struggled to force back her resurfacing trembles. Sandy could only squeeze back. As terrible as it was to lose Cheryl, a part of Sandy felt proud to have raised a child that could earn such ferocious love.
“Are you going to the wake?” Sandy asked when Cassidy’s shaking quieted somewhat.
Cassidy sighed with a deep tremble, and took a moment to think about meeting all those people up close, who may or may not have been a big part of Cheryl’s life, but were strangers to her. Answering the same questions over and over, assuming she didn’t just breakdown in front of them. Cassidy shook her head slowly.
“I… I don’t think I can, Mrs. Lowe. But I guess I should try. You kind of have to, after all. It’s not quite fair.”
“Oh, no, hon. I didn’t mean to pressure you. I just wanted to know. If you don’t feel up to it, I don’t think anyone would take offense. I just wanted to know if I should give you this now.” Sandy let go of Cassidy, and pulled a pendant from her pocket. It was silver, chain and all. The pendant itself was a cylinder, just under two centimetres. “Look close.” She twisted the end of it just a little, and a hairline seam appeared. She resealed it, and put it in Cassidy’s hand.
Cassidy stared at the pendant. “Ashes.”
Sandy showed an identical one that she was wearing. “I know, the body is just a vessel, it’s not her, and maybe it’s a tiny bit morbid, but you wanted her with you forever, and I figured you were on the road to becoming my daughter in law, and…. and I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
Cassidy smiled through a new flood of tears, and grabbed Sandy tight. “Thank you, I-” She then succumbed, and sobbed in her not-quite-mom’s arms uncontrollably. “I’m so sorry! I couldn’t stop him, I didn’t stop him, but I will get him!”
“You’ll get him?”
Of course. She wouldn’t have heard yet. Cassidy tried to contain herself. “It’s an Aguei thing. It’s become my right to be the one to get him.”
“But Cassie, aren’t there people trained to-“
“Yeah. And they work for me. Kind of. Don’t worry, all the best people are on it, and I’m going to keep ‘em motivated. I’m sure we’ll make the news soon.” She giggled through her soft sobs.
“I don’t quite get it. Don’t you think it’s a lot to ask of you right now?”
Cassidy shrugged. “By the way, the Grand Elder and the military send their official blah blah blah. Grand Elder Armil liked Cheryl a lot, but thought making an appearance today might kind of steal focus from the purpose of the service.”
Sandy sat upright. “Grand Elder Armil wanted to come!?”
“Yeah. He’s a really sweet man. I think he might be planning to pay you a private visit sometime soon.”
Sandy clutched her pendant. “The house is a mess!”
Cassidy couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Lowe! I really wished I could call you mom.”
“Pfft. Do it anyway. Or at least ‘Sandy’.”
Cassidy stood slowly, putting on the pendant. She held out her hand to help Sandy up as well. She looked over to where the urn had sat for the service and gave a deep sigh. “Alright mom, let’s go to that damned wake and get it over with.”
Sandy smiled as well as the day would allow, and they headed towards the parking lot. “Do you need a ride?” Sure enough, Peter Lowe was standing in the distance, waiting.
“No, I drove myself from the airport.”
They got closer to Peter, and he asked “You ladies alright?”
Cassidy nodded, and patted Sandy on the shoulder. “Mr. Lowe, you’re a lucky man.”
Sandy chortled. “Oh, hon, I think I’m going to ride with Cassie to the wake. For one thing, she doesn’t know her way around here, and-“
Sandy stopped short when Cassidy abruptly pulled her terminal out of her jacket. It had been on vibration mode, and had just rang.
“Stanton.” Cassidy said, holding the terminal like a handset phone. She stared into she sky while the caller spoke. Her expression went from her former mosaic of emotions, to professional stone. “Right. Yeah, I’m ready now. I’m still at the cemetery, I’ll drive right to the airp- Oh, alright, that works. West side’s empty. It’s probably enough. Got it. Over and out.”
Sandy tilted her head. “Cassie?”
“I guess I’m missing the wake after all. Remember when I said I was going to get him? Well, I’m going to go get him. Wish me luck.” Cassidy started running.
Sandy stammered, “Good luck!” Peter stood, confused.
Cassidy ran past the jeep she came in, and towards the empty west wing of the parking lot. The huge flying brick of an aircraft was now easily seen in the sky, to the awe of the Lowes, and everyone else in about a quarter kil
ometre.
The airlimb landed with very little spare room, with the bay door open, and Keith ready to help Cassidy up.
“How good is this informant?” she yelled over the engines as she stepped up.
“He managed to stay anonymous, but he knows stuff we never released.”
The airlimb began to rise again. Cassidy turned to wave at the Lowes. “Sounds like it's worth missing a wake for!”
Cassidy marched to her quarters as Keith followed.
“Alright Keith, Where are we going?” She asked sharply. It was time to suck it up, and get to work. Focus. Push out the funeral. This was endgame. Keep the mind going fast, keep it away from where it shouldn’t be.
“It’s an isolated dugout home on the southwest edge of the desert. No registered owner, the land doesn’t even legally belong to anyone. The dugout was built illegally. Satellite records show it to be over five years old though.”
“Uh huh.” Cassidy walked into her quarters, sliding the door shut, leaving Keith in the hall. “What do we know about our target?” she called out to him as she dumped her jacket and blouse on the floor.
“Our primary target and suspect on the temple assault is a man named ‘Horad’. The informant says he calls himself an Elder, and leads a handful of A.R.A., and that they're to blame for the grenade attack on the temple, and probably some urban attacks in the past.”
By now, Cassidy was already strapping into her boots. “Alright, so we have what, half a dozen goons in a hole in the ground? So what then, smoke ‘em out?”
“Close. The Colonel was planning to smoke ‘em, then rush in en masse with infra red and respirators.”
Sizing herself up in the mirror, she adjusted her hat, and nodded a small confident nod to herself. “I’m invited, I assume?”
“Yes Sir! I don’t recommend you take point if you’re not used to operating in smoke, though.”
Cassidy slammed open the door, her sidearm on her hip, spear in her hand. With great determination, she declared. “Alright! I’m all set to… wait until we get there.”
“Yes Sir,” Keith smirked, “Have you eaten?”
“Yeah, I’m good. And stop calling me Sir, we’ve been through that.” Cassidy wasn’t in any mood to sit still. She wished she was at Maxine’s exercise yard.
The thought of the temple base reached out warmly with a small wave of nostalgia. It hadn’t been that long since she had been there, but she missed it. Her mind wandered from Maxine’s exercise yard, across the ruins to the camp she made with Cheryl.
Vivid memories of those days brought an uncomfortable blend of fondness and pain. “Keith.” Her confidence shattered, her voice broke softly. “How long until we’re there?”
Keith paused, a little taken aback by Cassidy’s quick change in body language, leaning towards the door frame, grip on the spear loosening. He looked at his watch. He replied in a tone matching Cassidy’s. “A bit over twenty minutes.”
Cassidy put her free hand on the edge of the door. “Kay. If I’m not up in the bay when we’re five minutes out, buzz me.” She receded into her quarters, closing the door.
She turned off the light. She wanted to put the world on pause. She wanted a lot more than fifteen minutes. She wandered over to the bed and laid down, letting the spear slip from her grasp and rest on the floor. The droning hum of the airlimb engines seemed to want her to take a nap, but the other muted sounds of soldiers in the hall reminded her not to.
Cassidy rolled over, and felt her sidearm press against her hip, so she loosened the holster. The snap holding the gun in came loose, and somehow she found the handle of the gun securely in her hand.
Gun.
Cleaning.
Accident.
Was there even such a thing in reality, or were they all just polite, ‘honourable’ labels for people who just couldn’t take it anymore?
The metal was warmer on her cheek than she expected.
No, stop. Stop that, idiot. Focus. There was a job to do. She turned back over, and secured the gun and holster again.
She reached down to the floor and brushed her fingers along the shaft of the spear, and imagined herself wielding it in combat. In her mind, it was in poetic slow motion, like Maxine’s routine, as the spearhead passed through Cheryl’s murderer like butter. The bastard’s blood and body cast apart from itself. Her vengeful daydream had no sound, no suffering, just an end to the thing that took her love.
The pieces of the murderer’s remains floated on the air, and dissolved into smoke, then blackness. A blackness where there was still no Cheryl.
Cassidy squeezed herself tight, remembering Cheryl’s arms around her, remembering the intensity and gentle layers of her love.
And it was gone.
Oh, there will be sound, fury and pain.
~~~
“I.R.’s not being any help, Colonel.” The airlimb operator surveyed the top of the dugout as best he could. From the air, they could only get a rough idea of the interior layout.
Colonel Nafim stared at the display, and zoomed in on the entrance hatch. “Let’s hover fifteen or so meters above there, and drop a sniffer on it. If this guy is attached to any bombings, he might have a surprise for us.”
“Yes Sir.” The operator patched into the airlimb intercom. “Sergeant Dixon, drop a bomb sniffer on the hatch, copy?”
Keith’s voice replied through the intercom, “Copy that, ops, dropping sniffer.” On the display, a black breadbox sized object fell onto the hatch. “Sniffer dropped.”
“Copy Dixon, standby.”
Keith knelt at the edge of the airlimb bay, looking down at the dugout, while Cassidy and seven other Storms stood at the ready.
“Bomb sniffer?” Cassidy asked.
“Detects bombs better than a dog, eats less, shits less, never barks.”
“You had a pet rock as a kid, didn’t you?”
“No, but it would have eaten less, shat less, and never barked.“
“Yeah, yeah. So now what?” Cassidy gripped the spear tighter with impatient anxiety, and glanced around at the other troops. They were cool as ice. For a unit that she thought was essentially a glorified honour guard for Armil, they sure looked ready to lay down some big hurt.
“Right now the sniffer is... sniffing, among other things, piping results to ops.”
“Hrm. Don’t dogs sniff out bombs pretty much instantly?”
Keith turned slowly to face Cassidy, and slowly replied. “It eats less, and s-“
The intercom spoke up with the Colonel’s voice. “Sniffer’s happy,” she said, “Stanton, Sir, I recommend we touchdown thirty metres to the side of the hatch, deploy from there, and rush in right after the smoke is in.”
Cassidy didn’t see the need to have that okayed by her, but whatever. “Alright, do it.” As the airlimb moved into position, her, Keith, and the ‘StormFront’ put on their IR/oxygen masks. She looked over at the seven intimidating soldiers, all in black, with faces obscured.
“If you told me a year ago that I’d be Snow White, and that the seven dwarves were actually a hit squad of faceless minions….” Well, it was hard to crack jokes in a mask.
The airlimb slowed to a halt with only the slightest bump on touchdown. “Alright folks, let’s do this.”
The ‘Storms’ lived up to the name. They, including Keith, flowed like an angry black cloud, and as Cassidy ran among them, she realized the only sounds she heard were ones she made. Her own footsteps, her own breathing, the throbbing of her pulse.
One of the Storms at the head of the pack began spewing smoke from the grenades in his hands. Through the infra red lenses of the mask, the smoke was barely visible.
The StormFront barely broke pace as the first one wrenched open the hatch, heaving the sniffer off with it. The second one threw the fuming smoke grenades in as he stepped out of the way for the rest.
The first Storm down the stairs was violently slammed against the wall by a spring loaded device. It pressed a dozen or so me
tal spikes against him, but his body armor resisted it. Still, he was pinned. The others stopped for a split second until the pinned Storm waved the others past him and yelled out “Go, go, go, I’m fine, go!”
Cassidy lagged behind the StormFront as they streamed in quietly and quickly. She grabbed onto the spiky trap, and leveraged her foot against the wall beside the pinned soldier.
“Sir! I’m fine!” he pointed down into the dugout. “Go ahead and get the target!”
“At ease, soldier.” She grunted as she tried to pull the trap back. “They’re not going to blow his head off without me. Hey, this thing’s a little strong, can you help me out a bit?”
The soldier obeyed, and between the two of them, the trap was pulled back enough for him to squirm out. “Uh, thanks, Sir.” He dashed in.
This didn’t feel like the day. It just didn’t. So she didn’t rush.
Cassidy held her breath and took her mask off for a moment, out of curiosity. She couldn’t see her own hand, but was surprised how dark the smoke made it, blocking the sun. She put the mask back on before taking her next breath. She got a bit of a taste of the smoke. She knew it wasn’t toxic, but it wasn’t delicious either.
Taking the time to save her comrade from certain inconvenience kind of sapped her haste.
She stood in the stairwell and braced the spear. So.. The man who pushed a sharp chunk of metal into her beloved was down there. huh? She tapped the back end of the spear against the step a couple times. Does he know she’s here? Does he know she has something sharp for him? Is the smoke filling his lungs as he struggles blindly in the grip of a Storm?
Would the Storms say anything to him? She hoped not. He didn’t say anything to her as he passed by her in the sandstorm. He should be made to wait in silence, not seeing.
Would she say something to him before dragging the blade of the spear across his throat? Or maybe driving it into his gut? The small side handle on the spear would provide great leverage for twisting the spearhead in his wound.
Watching Yute Page 25