Snowdrop

by August Li

  “Yes,” the faerie said. Robin couldn’t see, but it seemed like Snow moved his arms. Robin would need to trust him.

  “What are you men waiting for?” Bunge cried frantically. “Shoot the damned thing!”

  “No,” Robin breathed. He’d forgotten the two men. Snow spun in their direction and started to say something, but their gunfire drowned his words. Blood rained over Robin’s prone form. The stink of gunpowder thickened the air, and Snow fell chest-down across Robin, his belly on Robin’s hip and his shocked face only a foot away. His lips parted as if to speak, but he only coughed up more blood. Afterward it trickled from the corner of his mouth, not something caused by being struck in the limbs. In their panic, the soldiers had hit something vital. Robin forced his arm to lift, and his hand dropped limply across the faerie’s face, his fingers leaving red smears across his pale cheek as they slid off. They would die here, and Robin couldn’t muster the strength to tell Snowdrop goodbye.

  The faerie’s wet, red lips forced a smile, and he tried again to talk.

  “Don’t,” Robin choked, his consciousness slipping away like a summer afternoon. He heard something happening behind him, near the door, but he couldn’t lift his head. He couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore. His body no longer hurt. All the pain had gone, and he felt so tired. It would be good to rest, to stop fighting. He couldn’t perceive Snow’s weight on his body.

  Something tapped against his cheek. “Robin?” a voice called from far away. “Robin, please wake up. Open your eyes.”

  He didn’t want to; he wanted to sleep, but the tapping against his face grew harder and more insistent, so he forced his lids back. He didn’t know what he expected to see, but it wasn’t Lila Walker crouched in front of him holding a crow bar. Snow lay perpendicular to his feet amidst a growing pool of blood.

  “Lila?” Robin croaked. “What—”

  “Remember when you told me that if you didn’t right the wrongs you knew about that they’d haunt you? Well, I couldn’t live the rest of my life knowing you was dead because of me. I had to try.”

  “But, how?” He forced himself to sit up, swallowing his rising nausea. Everything hurt. Both men who’d shot him lay facedown. The guard who’d protested his abuse stood between them, his weapon trained on Maxwell Bunge.

  “Snuck back on board the last car,” she said. “After they had you, they didn’t pay me no mind at all. Got that grate loose by the time the snow started.”

  “Snow!” Robin gasped, recalling what had happened. “We have to help him!”

  “Who now?” Lila wondered.

  Robin ignored her, dragging himself to the faerie’s still form, his injured left leg limp and useless. He rolled Snow to his back and tore his blood-soaked shirt open. Searching for the bullets, Robin whispered, “Hang on, Snow.”

  “Robin, get away from that thing,” Lila said nervously.

  He shook his head and continued looking for Snow’s wounds. Blood covered his torso, obscuring every inch of his skin beneath a sticky, red film. Robin found that one bullet had struck his waist and carved out a furrow of flesh. The other remained stuck just below his collarbone.

  Eyes flickering open, Snow hissed, “Get it out of me. The metal. Then I can—”

  Robin looked at the oozing hole at the base of the fey’s neck and fought his strong desire to be sick. “I need a knife!” he shouted. No one responded, so he turned to face Lila, Bunge, and the guard. “A knife, now!” he repeated.

  “You’re not thinking of helping it?” asked Lila, stunned.

  He turned his attention to the soldier. “I know you must have one,” he said. “Please.”

  Before the man could answer, several shots shattered the windows along the car’s sides. The conductor hurried to crouch beneath his control panel. Those who’d been standing dropped down and tried to shield their heads from the shards of glass. Robin flung his body across Snowdrop to protect him as glass bits sliced his bare back.

  “We have the car surrounded,” a voice yelled. “Send Mr. Bunge out unharmed, and we will spare you.”

  “Sure,” Lila said. “Just like last time.”

  “Stay down,” the soldier instructed.

  One of the men Lila had knocked out started to stir. Though she looked repulsed, she lifted his rifle and smacked the side of his head, putting him back out. Robin had an idea and seized the other unattended gun. Using his good leg, he pushed himself up, grabbed the back of Bunge’s collar and hoisted him off the floor. With the barrel of the rifle pressed against Bunge’s temple, he yelled, “Back up or he dies!” The dozen men in goggles and elaborate body armor, who stood in a semicircle, looked at one another. “Back! Or I blow his brains out! I’ve got nothing to lose.” They moved a few feet away from the car, though their rifles remained aimed at the broken windows on either side of them. Robin fought to keep his injured arm from shaking and dropping from the gun. “Anyone fires on us and he’s done for,” Robin told them. He looked at Lila and jerked his chin toward the other window. Understanding, she hurried to pull the lever on her rifle and watched the men on that side.

  “You can’t stay in there forever,” one of the men countered. “And when you come out, you’re fucking dead.”

  “I’m taking this whoreson with me, then,” Robin hollered back. He flung Bunge aside and he landed on the floor and skidded into the wall. “Stay down there, you bastard. Don’t move. Somebody give me a goddamn knife.”

  The guard took a small blade from his belt and unfolded it. He handed it to Robin, who dropped down beside Snow, unable to stand a moment longer. After a deep breath, he plunged the tip of the knife into the faerie’s wound. Snow’s eyes opened wide, and he screamed as Robin dug around for the bullet. Blood poured over his hand and down the fey’s chest, making it almost impossible for him to see. Gagging, Robin poked around and finally felt the metal slug. Unfortunately it had lodged behind the faerie’s bone and Robin couldn’t get it loose. Snow thrashed and choked as Robin cut deeper into his flesh. “I’m sorry,” Robin said.

  “Do it,” Snow panted, pale and sweating.

  Nodding weakly, Robin pushed the edge of the blade down alongside the bullet and behind the faerie’s collarbone. Poor Snow yelled his throat raw. Robin couldn’t imagine his agony. He angled the knife until he worked the tip beneath the lump of iron and pushed it out. As soon as he could, he pinched it between his fingers and wriggled it free. Then he dropped the knife and pressed his palm to the gaping wound to staunch the blood. When the flow slowed, Robin carefully lifted Snow’s head to rest against his good leg. He leaned against the wall. Snow drew a shuddering breath, and Robin draped his filthy hand across the fey’s forehead. Snow smiled weakly and passed out. Robin closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing and ebb his dizziness. He wondered if he’d ever use his leg properly again or if he’d be crippled permanently. He wondered if Snow would recover, and when. Would he be able to get them out of this mess, or would all of them die here?

  He just needed a minute to rest. His gut somersaulted and his hands wouldn’t stop trembling. More than anything, he wanted to sleep for a long time. Snow looked almost peaceful resting in his lap, but Robin knew he’d been badly hurt. His dry, cracked lips were parted and his skin cold and grayish. Robin stroked his hair, fouling it with the blood that covered his fingers.

  “What do we do now, Robin?” Lila asked, clutching both the crow bar and the rifle.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  “What say you let me go?” the conductor asked.

  “Yeah, alright,” Robin agreed. “Lila.” He indicated the door, and she hurried to release the innocent man, watching the unconscious guards closely as she opened the lock and flipped up the latch.

  “For what it’s worth,” the slight man told them, “I wish you all good luck.”

  “You’re out of a job, sir!” Bunge yelled as the man hurried out of the car and into the cold air.

  “You shut it,” Robin warned him.

&n
bsp; “Or what, boy? You’re half-dead. Even if you live to make it out of here, you won’t live a minute longer. None of you will. How do you propose to save yourself?”

  Robin couldn’t answer. He had no plan. He honestly couldn’t see any way for them to escape the men surrounding them. If these were his last minutes, he’d be glad to spend them with Snowdrop. As he watched, the faerie’s white lashes fluttered, and he opened his eyes.

  “Robin?” he croaked.

  “I’m here. How are you?”

  “Hurt, but better. Is… is he still here?”

  “He’s in no position to harm us. If he even moves, he’s dead,” Robin threatened, looking at Bunge’s smug face. “We need to get out of here. They’ve got us surrounded. Is there anything you can do?”

  The faerie shook his head.

  “Then… then I’m afraid we’re done for, Snow. I’m glad you’re here with me. I’m glad. God, I don’t want to die. Not now. Not now that I have you.”

  “Robin?” Lila asked, looking scandalized. “You didn’t—With… with that?”

  “Be quiet, Lila. I’d say I’ll explain later, but it doesn’t look like we’re going to have a later, does it?”

  With a confused, guilty frown, she looked at the weapons in her hands. “I’m scared, Robin.”

  “Sorry. I wish I knew what to say. What to do.”

  “Let me have the faerie, and I’ll let your friend go,” Bunge offered in an oily voice.

  “Fuck you.”

  “What?” Lila squealed. “Give it to him, Robin! Sir, will you let all three of us go? Will you swear it?”

  “I will.”

  “Lila, no! Don’t do this to me again.”

  “Do what? Try to save our asses?”

  “We’re not leaving anybody behind,” Robin said. “Besides, do you really think he’d let us go? We step off this car, and we’re dead. Either we all get out of here, or none of us do.”

  “We will,” Lila pleaded. “Give him that thing, and all three of us will go.”

  “No.”

  “Might be a good idea, lad,” the guard agreed, drawing his gun a little closer to his chest.

  “Or what?” Robin yelled. “You’ll shoot me? Again? So what? What does it matter if I get shot by you or them?” He pointed his chin toward the side of the train and the men outside. “I won’t hear any more of this.”

  “Thank you,” Snowdrop gasped. He smiled, cracking the dried blood at the corners of his mouth. “I’m glad to be with you too. Glad… glad I can tell you that I feel the same. Worried I wouldn’t get a chance.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I want to tell you I love you too.”

  “Snow.” Robin barely remembered the exaltation he’d uttered in the heat of passion. He didn’t realize Snow had heard. But he had, and he felt the same way! At that moment, he made a decision. “We’re getting out of here.” Carefully he shifted Snowdrop’s head off his lap. Bracing himself for the pain, he clutched the rifle under his arm and crawled toward the blown-out windows, ignoring the glass that punctured his knees. When he reached the window, he grasped the sill and pulled himself halfway up. Balancing the barrel of the gun across the train’s polished brass ledge since he couldn’t support it with his injured arm, he got one of the guards in his sights.

  Since he couldn’t shoot a man in cold blood, not without giving him at least a warning, he called, “I’ll give you men one chance to get out of here. Turn around and start walking south. You have half an hour to be gone.”

  Most of them laughed out loud, holding their ribs and slapping their thighs. Some of them made obscene gestures with their hands. When they’d finished Robin pulled the rifle’s lever and looked down the barrel, holding his breath to steady his arm. He squeezed the trigger slowly, and a second later, a red bloom erupted from one of the men’s thigh. The thick snow broke his fall as he went down.

  “You little son of a bitch!” someone yelled. All of the assembled men returned fire.

  “Lila, down!”

  She dropped as bullets whizzed over them, scattering the remaining bits of glass and ricocheting off the metal walls. In their first stroke of luck, one hit Maxwell Bunge in the wrist. His metal baton rolled across the floor as he hollered vulgarities. “Ah! I’m dying! Help me!”

  “Just shut up, you pathetic little bastard,” Robin yelled over the gunfire. The thick smoke made him cough until he couldn’t berate the son of a bitch anymore. He waited for it to clear, holding his aching ribs and trying to fill his lungs. He pulled himself back up until he could see out the window. He did a quick count of the soldiers: ten including the one with the wounded leg. “How many on your side?” he wheezed.

  “What?” Lila sputtered.

  “How many men?”

  “Seven? No, eight.”

  “Alright.” He looked at the magazine below the barrel of his rifle. He and Snow had each been shot once, so that left him with five rounds and Lila with six. Turning to their timely rescuer, he asked, “How many cartridges do you have left?”

  “Five, I think,” he said. “Why?”

  Eighteen men and sixteen rounds, Robin thought. Out there, up to their knees in snow, the guards had nothing to get behind, no cover, while he and his companions could duck below the walls of the car. The thick metal would stop the bullets aimed at them. If we’re careful, if we make them count—

  “We can do this,” he said.

  “Do what?” Lila asked.

  “We need to take our time,” he explained. “Aim very carefully.”

  “You mean to shoot those men? To kill them?”

  He nodded gravely. “It’s them or us.” Truth be told, he’d never felt more horrible about anything. He thought he’d vomit when he shot the guard in the leg. He couldn’t even imagine how it would feel to take a life, but he wanted to survive. He wanted to live with Snow. Already the faerie looked better. The hole in his neck began to close, and his skin didn’t seem so ashen, though he struggled to breath, and his wondrous eyes rolled back and forth. “I’m getting you out of here,” Robin told him, squeezing his hand. “No matter what it takes.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Bunge said through gritted teeth.

  “Watch me.”

  “Wait just a minute, lad,” the ally-guard said. “I can’t let this happen. I know those men, and most of them have wives and little ones waiting for them back home. They’re just doing their job.”

  “What they’re doing is wrong!” Robin yelled, his voice cracking and his throat sore enough to bleed. “You know that! Getting coin for doing it doesn’t make it any better. What do you think they’ll do to you? We’ve got no choice.” He pulled the lever on his rifle hard, and the resulting click echoed in the quiet car. Turning, he rested the barrel against the window and aimed at the nearest man, his heart in his throat and his body shaking so hard that the gun bounced against the ledge. He knew what he needed to do, but he couldn’t make his finger squeeze that trigger. He’d never felt so conflicted. He thought he’d be torn apart. Snow is hurt, he thought. He loves me. Then, Men with families, doing their jobs. Trying to get by, same as anyone.

  You promised to get him out of here, Robin told himself. There’s no choice. You have to do it.

  Resolving himself, he positioned his finger as sweat stung his eyes. Something poked into the back of his hair. When he tried to turn toward it, it pressed harder.

  “Don’t make me do it,” the guard said. “Please. Just put the gun down. Put it out the window.”

  “But!”

  “I don’t want your blood on my hands, lad, but I can’t let you kill all those men. Put it out the window, or I’ll do what I have to do.” His tone invited no argument.

  “Let me keep it,” he pleaded. “Let me take Snowdrop and go.”

  “They’ll shoot you down in an instant.”

  “I’m not just waiting here to die,” Robin said. “Either shoot me in the back of the head or let me take Snow and go. I won’t reta
liate unless attacked. Please, let us have a chance.”

  “It’s your funeral,” the man said, lowering his rifle.

  “Thank you.” Robin slung the gun over his shoulder and wondered how he’d even manage to get the faerie off the car. Half of his body, his left arm and leg, were useless. He didn’t know if he could carry himself, let alone support Snow. But he would do it somehow. He had to. Leaning down, he wiggled his good arm beneath the fey’s back and guided him up to a seated position. “Put your arm around me,” he said. “We need to go.”

  For a long time Snow stared blankly at the ceiling. Robin feared he’d have to drag him. “Go,” Snow breathed, like a breeze in the reeds. His head shot up, and Robin felt static sparkling where their skin met. Every hair on his body stood straight out, and every one of his pores contracted.

  “We’re not going anywhere,” Snow said in a strong voice. Holding Robin’s shoulder, he got to his feet and stood steadily, looking at each of the three people on the opposite side of the car. “No, I’m not finished here yet.” As if swatting a fly, he waved his hand, and the roof ripped off the passenger carriage. Metal groaned, screamed, and tore. A powerful gust lifted it ten feet above them, and when Snow dropped his arm it flew a hundred yards to the left, skidding across the ground and sending the guards running and diving out of the way. “I’m not done with him.” He pointed at Bunge, and an invisible force burst from his finger. It pierced the man’s shoulder just like a bullet. Blood sprayed out in an arc.

  “How dare you touch me?” Bunge howled. “You’ll suffer! I’ll punish you for this!”

  “I don’t think so,” Snow said calmly. “Because I’m going to kill you.” He stepped forward until his thighs grazed Bunge’s fat, pocked nose.

  At first Robin thought he should try to dissuade the faerie, but he found he didn’t want to. He couldn’t deny he wanted Bunge dead. This monster needed to die, so he couldn’t hurt anyone else. Doing this thing would help Snow heal. Besides, Robin couldn’t stop him even if he wanted to. Snow spread his fingers an inch over Bunge’s head. The older man whimpered and drooled, clutching the hem of Snow’s coat and pressing it against his face. Snow took it and tore it out of his hands.