Snowburn

by Frost, E J

  Kez’s hand in my back urges me towards the arch. With a long last look at Ma Quaak to make sure she’s forgotten about us in the excitement of her bloodless blood-sport and the haze of her drug-of-choice, I let Kez push me through the archway.

  Through the arch there’s a short hallway with three doors. A glance at the one on my left shows it’s a ‘fresher, fixtures so old there’s a toilet instead of a zap can. Kez pushes me on, towards the end of the hall. The last door is closed, but not shut. I can hear wet, slapping noises from within, despite the dull background roar of the superboxer match. Heavy breathing. Furniture creaking. The unmistakable sounds of fucking. I put one hand on the doorframe and resist Kez’s forward urge.

  “Wait.”

  “Snow,” Kez whispers, her voice full of pleading.

  Nothing good ever came of walking in on anyone humping. I shake my head. From the tempo of the breathing, it shouldn’t be long now.

  It’s only a minute before the sounds peak in a man’s drawn-out groan. But it’s a long minute. Kez leans against my back. She’s shaking. I know she’s crying even though she’s trying to be silent. I reach back with one arm and wrap it around her. Keep the other hand on the doorframe, my knife flat against the permacrete.

  Once the sounds stop, I nudge the door open with my boot. Keep one arm around Kez and the other braced against the door until I can see what’s going on.

  The room’s dim, lit with the same green-tinged light that fills the rest of the unit. The weird light plays over so much clutter I can’t see the floor. The room’s spacious, but junk fills every corner, making it look smaller. Clothes, shoes, pieces of furniture, the rim of a broken holomonitor, a torn bodysuit from an antique simstim rig, all lie jumbled across the floor. A path has been roughly cleared to a bed, pushed up against the wall, under one round window. The bed sags on old foamcore, and under the weight of two people.

  A man lies face-down on the stained mattress. His legs and ass are bare, ghoul-green in the odd light. A woman pulls herself from under him and I immediately recognize her. The beautiful girl from Kez’s house. She’s still wearing her jade green tank top, although she’s lost her sweatpants. She shakes a curtain of silk-black hair back from her face. Pulls a sheet around herself as she sits up and smiles at me.

  “Are you here for the party?” she asks. Her voice is soft, sweet.

  “Oh, God, Nevie,” Kez whimpers against my back.

  “Kezzy? Is that you?”

  Kez pushes hard against my back and I finally let her propel me into the room. She starts to slide around me but I catch her wrist and hold her by my side. “Be sure,” I say. Wary of the danger inherent in trying to rescue someone who doesn’t want to be saved.

  She glances at me, then at the bed, and nods. Wipes her wet eyes. Stops trying to pull free of my grasp and stands next to me, a safe distance from the bed. “It’s me, Nev. I’m so sorry I’m late.”

  The beautiful girl smiles. It’s a strange, beatific smile. The smile of someone who has found what they were looking for, if only for the moment. “It’s okay,” she says.

  Kez hunches into herself and I see a fresh tear streak down her cheek. “Nev, honey, it’s not okay. Remember the baby? Nevie, do you remember your baby?”

  The beautiful girl looks down at her belly, covered by the sheet, and rubs her hand over the round bulge. “My baby,” she whispers.

  “Nev, we have to go,” Kez urges. “You need your medicine for the baby.”

  Nev raises her brown eyes to us, languid and glazed with Hex. “Is the baby sick?”

  “Hex makes the baby sick, Nevie, remember?” Kez rocks a little, back and forth, vibrating with anxiety. “We have to go.”

  Nev sighs and brushes her hair back. “But we’re gonna have a party. Sky’s invited a bunch of friends over. I can’t go yet.”

  Kez stifles a cry by biting down on it. So hard I see a line of blood well against her white teeth. She looks up at me and the anguish on her face is painful to see. “Snow,” she whispers.

  “Keep talkin’.”

  Kez squeezes her eyes closed. Nods. Takes a deep breath and tries again. “Nevie, I brought the skimmer. We can go get your medicine and come back for the party. Remember how we used to party together? It’ll be just like that. Just like old times.”

  Some small spark stirs in those Hex-blasted eyes. The girl smiles and begins to climb over the unconscious man, moving awkwardly, holding her belly, disjointedly, as though she has to remember how to move each limb. She jostles the man; he stirs and lifts his head. He brushes a wave of longish brown hair out of his face. “Nevie?”

  “It’s okay, Sky. I’m gonna get my medicine with Kezzy and then I’ll be back . . .”

  “What?” The man’s expression changes in a split-second from bewilderment to absolute, utter rage. If I needed any confirmation of his relation to Ma Quaak, that expression confirmed it.

  He launches himself off the bed with a strangled roar.

  Kez sidesteps him. Twists and slams her elbow into the back of his head. He hits the floor like a sack of wet laundry. I didn’t know she had that move in her, and by the look of total surprise on her face, I don’t think she did, either.

  “Sky!” Nev half-climbs, half-falls out of the bed, tangled in the sheet she’s pulled around her lower body.

  Kez is on her in a second, clapping her hand over Nev’s plush mouth and pulling her down into a crouch on the floor. “Shh, Nevie.” Kez watches the door nervously and I realize she’s watching for that plasma cannon.

  I seriously doubt Ma Quaak can hear anything over the howl of the superboxer match and her own hateful internal soundtrack, but I realize that there’s no way we’re going to get out of here without going through Psycho Granny.

  “Stay here,” I say to Kez. I slide the money-bag off my back and drop it next to her. I don’t want anything in my way if I’m going up against that plasma cannon. I push the small shiv I had out back into my pocket and take out the big guns, two hollow-ground kukris clipped into special sheaths in my boots. Took me weeks to make and there’s no better weapon for a slashing cut. Since that’s what I intend to do to Ma Quaak’s throat, they seem like the right tools for the job.

  Chapter 11

  At the doorway, I drop to my knees before I peer around the door. If Ma Quaak is standing in the hall, waiting to blast whomever sticks their head out, I’d rather she hit permacrete than my face.

  The hallway’s empty. I drop to my belly and crawl towards the great-room, keeping below Ma Quaak’s line of sight should she decide to tear her attention away from the match. Down this low, I’m under the green smoke, but the carpet’s so permeated that each movement sends a billow of quaak, wet dog and sweaty feet up my nose. I hold my breath and move steadily towards my goal. When I reach the great-room, I follow the outer wall until it brings me directly behind her.

  I lift my head off the stinking carpet and consider the angles. The couch is at a slight angle to the vid-wall, so she won’t see my reflection in the screen when I rise behind her. Then there’s the angle of the kukris. I could take her head off with just one of them, but I prefer the surety of bringing the blades across each other. Thirty degrees is the best angle, to take advantage of my height, the inwardly curved cutting surface of the blades, the soft tissue of her neck, and the strength of my wrists.

  I start to rise behind her, kukris held at my sides.

  Ma Quaak giggles.

  It’s a feminine sound. And it stops me in my tracks. No matter what else Ma Quaak is, she’s still a woman. And I’ve never killed a woman. At least, not deliberately. Marin’s face in that last moment, when she knew she had died for me, flashes across my vision.

  Marin, you can really pick your moments.

  I straighten and extend my arms to bring the kukris to the right angle. She’s a monster in a house-dress. A monster that pimps out a pregnant, Hex-addled girl for two hundred credits a pop. Killing her is a community service.

  But I’
ve never really been all that community-minded.

  I shove the kukris into the back of the couch. Reach across Ma Quaak as she registers the impact and slap one hand down on the business end of the plasma cannon. Catch the stock as it flips up off her knees. I snug the stock into my shoulder and train the cannon on Ma Quaak as she turns around. Beside her on the green-stained couch, her dog wakes from its doggy dreams and begins yapping frantically.

  “Shut the dog up or I shoot it, and then I shoot you.” Whether it’s my tone, all the deeper and more pissed off for being thwarted by Marin’s ghost, or having her own weapon pointed at her, Ma Quaak wraps her hand around the dog’s muzzle without a peep.

  “Kezra!” I roar to make myself heard over the superboxers. I hear footsteps in the hall but I don’t take my eyes off Ma Quaak. She’s not saying anything. She doesn’t need to; her dark eyes speak volumes. Whatever compunction I had about killing her, she doesn’t feel the same way. Not. At. All.

  Kez finally appears in my peripheral vision, dragging her friend.

  “Get my knives,” I tell Kez. I like the kukris, and there’s no way I’m leaving a weapon within Ma’s reach while we get the fuck out of her quaak den.

  Kez props the beautiful girl against the wall, scuttles over in a half-crouch and ducks under the cannon’s barrel to tug my knives out of the back of the couch. Good girl; most would have crossed my line of sight. I doubt Kez has much experience with guns, since they’re strictly illegal on Kuseros, so she’s just that smart. I want those smarts at my side, in my bed. Despite the baggage she comes with. Despite our recent tiff. She may not know it yet, but I’m keeping her. My smart kitten.

  Ma Quaak’s malevolent eyes follow each movement. Kez keeps hold of the kukris as she scoots back over to her friend. She watches me almost as intensely as Ma Quaak. “Ready,” she says.

  “Door,” I tell her. I want her clear before I begin to move. That’s the most dangerous moment. When my attention’s divided between holding the gun on Psycho Granny and navigating the hallway. When Ma thinks I’m far enough away that I won’t shoot her if she goes for another weapon.

  Kez nods and beats a fast retreat down the hallway. I can’t hear the door over the fucking fighting robots. I give it a slow count of ten. The hallway isn’t that long, but she’s dragging her friend. Time stretches. One slow breath. Two. Longer than the minute I stood in the hall, listening to the beautiful girl getting fucked, listening to Kez trying not to cry. They must be out by now.

  I start moving, circling the couch towards the door. Movement in the hallway brings me up short.

  Junior Pimp staggers through the archway, wearing only a short tank, limp dick dangling between his legs, holding the back of his head. I bet he’s got a hell of a headache.

  I back up a step and keep the cannon trained on Ma. “Go sit with your mother,” I tell him.

  He gapes like a fish, first at me, then at the gun. He’s probably not a bad-looking kid when he’s not gaping. His face has a certain softness to it, though. No question who wears the pants in the family, even when he has some on. He raises his hand towards me. Ma Quaak makes a strangled noise. “Skylar, don’t be a fool,” she says.

  Junior Pimp drops his hand to his side, but stays standing in the archway, looking dazed. The path to the door takes me directly between the two of them.

  “I don’t actually need the gun to kill either of you,” I tell Ma.

  “I believe you, son.” The gray curls bob sharply. “I’ve seen your kind before.”

  I give her a slow, feral smile. I bet she’s seen a lot of predators. She probably ate a few when she was younger. “Age’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

  “Comes to us all, son. Even you.”

  “Yeah, but not today. So clear your boy outta my way, or I will.”

  “Skylar, move your ass,” she snaps. Enough of our conversation finally penetrates Junior’s Hex-and-concussion haze. He weaves across the floor and collapses onto the couch.

  Path clear, I move towards the door. Keep the cannon trained on Ma and Junior. She watches me go without moving, but those black eyes track my every move.

  Just before I slide down the hallway, out of sight, she says, “Son, there’ll come a day, not so long now, when you’re not so fast anymore. And on that day, someone’ll have you. Thinka me then, boy. Thinka me.”

  I doubt I’ll forget her any time soon. And if I keep hanging around Kez, there’s not going to be anywhere on this fucking planet I can go without looking over my shoulder. But I’m not going to let her see any of that.

  I give her an evil grin. “Until then,” I say and slide down the hallway.

  I catch up with Kez and her friend in the stairwell. Without a word, Kez and I trade burdens. I sling Nev up into my arms, wrapping the sheet around her. She rests her head on my shoulder. She weighs less than Kez. Way too little for someone so pregnant.

  It’s tempting to run. To take the stairs two at a time. Get the hell away from those malevolent eyes and the bullseye I can feel on my back. But if I drop Nev on the steep stairs, the rescue will have been for nothing. I grit my teeth and take the stairs one at a time.

  I don’t linger, all the same. My boots ring on the stairs. Loudly enough that I don’t immediately register the girl speaking to me.

  “ . . . I’m pretty?”

  “What?” I ask, tilting my head towards her to catch her words.

  She strokes my chest. Her fingernails are long. Shiny. Patterned and jeweled. I remember Kez’s hands straining against the headboard of my bed. Her fingernails were bitten down to the quick.

  I know which I’d rather have digging into my back.

  “We could party later,” Nev says. “If you think I’m pretty?”

  Her come-on is as forthright as Kez’s was. But it leaves me cold. She’s beautiful, without a doubt, but there’s nothing attractive about her. Hex has destroyed her spirit, the thing I want most in a woman. And I’ve never been interested in another man’s leavings. If I shift my hand a little, I could probably find the wet spot on the sheet from Junior’s come. If my nose wasn’t clogged with that acrid green shit, I could smell him on her. The idea of touching the skin he’s just touched makes my balls shrivel.

  “I’m with Kez,” I grunt.

  “Oh.” She rolls her head on my shoulder. “She won’t mind. We share everything. She’s my best friend.”

  Kez said the same thing. I hope she didn’t mean it the same way.

  “Have you known her a long time?” I ask, to keep her diverted.

  “Since we were kids. She’s my only real family, Kezzy.”

  Another orphan. Only her abandonment issues are hanging out in the open for everyone to see. “You’ll have your own family soon.”

  She nuzzles her face into my neck. “I know. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  Not if she keeps poisoning the kid with Hex. I turn onto the landing for the first floor and start down the final flight of stairs with a sense of profound relief. The risk of dropping her is becoming greater with every step, and not because my arms are getting tired. “Baby got a name?”

  She giggles. “Sky, if it’s a boy. For his daddy.”

  Well, at least she knows whose it is. “And if it’s a girl?”

  Another high, sweet giggle. “Sky.”

  Moron. I should have left her with him. What does Kez see here worth saving?

  “Great,” I growl.

  A few steps ahead of me, Kez turns out of the stairwell. I follow her at a trot. Careful over the broken and pitted floor tiles. Through the hanging plaz and out into the atrium where I can finally breathe a sigh of relief. Kez seems to feel it, too, and takes off at a sprint past the fountain. I haven’t really seen her run. My breath catches. She glides over the ground, long legs scissoring. It’s effortless, the way she runs. Beautiful.

  She hurdles the broken airlock. Even carrying the plasma cannon, my kukris and the money-bag, she seems to float in the air for a moment before she lands and races down the
incline to the skimmer. Gig holds open the skimmer door for her, but she doesn’t climb in. She hands him the plasma cannon and turns back. “Come on!” she shouts.

  I feel her urgency. We’re almost there, almost out. I want to toss her friend over my shoulder and bolt. But that would defeat the purpose. I maintain my steady, ground-eating pace. It takes longer than I want to cross the atrium, duck through the airlock and skid down the little hill, but at last I’m there, handing Nev off to Kez and Gig. Taking back my kukris and tucking them into my boots. Finally feeling the memory of those black eyes and the bullseye between my shoulder blades fade.

  Once Nev disappears into the dark maw of the skimmer, Kez turns to me. “I should go back with her. She’s going to be a mess when she comes down.”

  I nod. I’ll take a pass on the mess.

  “Would you—” She hesitates.

  “Would I what?” I catch one of her dreads. Give it a gentle tug.

  “Would you come back to the Warren with us? I mean, it’s dinnertime. We all have to eat—”

  I consider it for a moment, decide I’m okay with a little mess. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. And I might be able to persuade Kez to leave some of the mess to someone else. Get some rest. Or at least, spend some time in bed.

  “Yeah. And I’ll get dinner. But not noodles. We’ll save that for another time.”

  She gives me her full mischievous grin. I wasn’t sure when I’d see it again. Didn’t realize how much I missed it. “I was going to get Makan,” she says. She snaps together her viewie and scrolls to a picture of chopsticks. “There’s a place down the street. We have a standing order. What would you like?”

  It’s not a cuisine I’ve tried. “Whatever you’re having. Let’s talk while we’re walking.” I cock a thumb towards the habitable. “Ma Quaak might have another plasma cannon lying around.”

  Kez grins at the name, but nods. “Are you okay following us?” She glances towards my trike and a longing almost as strong as when she asked for another ride in the Marie fills her eyes.

  Gig, so quiet that he’s gone unnoticed during our conversation, suddenly says, “You could ride with him.”