Fog (26 page)

I cry until his skin is damp with my tears. All the while, he holds me to him, never telling me that all will be okay, never telling me that it’s time to stop weeping, to pull myself together.
 

How can such a small life weigh so heavily that my chest doesn’t know how to breathe? All the people I’ve killed… I don’t even know how many. Thirty? Fifty? But this little one who was already dying, the most fragile of all, is killing me. Every breath I draw across Runner’s skin feels like my last. I’m losing a battle. I want to curl up until the forest eats me, until beetles and maggots dig through my flesh and I can rest in peace.

Peace.

Wouldn’t that be wonderful and sweet?

I inhale Runner’s scent and realise it is not only Ezra I’m doing this for, not just her I want to protect. It’s him — mostly him. How stupid is this? He’s the professional. I’m a bloody novice.

I press my forehead to the crook of his neck, not daring to kiss him there, because suddenly it feels as if this closeness is too much. I can’t handle the softness of his touch; it breaks me. He is not mine.

I’m ashamed I used his pity to get myself off.

Swallowing, I push away and stand. ‘I’ll kill the fuckers. All of them.’

He blinks and wipes mud off his eyebrow. Before he can open his mouth and comment on my freakout, I say, ‘I’ll wash. Briefing in a minute, then we’ll get a move on. Kat needs us.’

‘Yeah,’ he croaks.

I peel off the bandages and dunk them in the water. Clay and leaves tumble downstream. There’s dirt in my wounds, dirt all over my body. I scrub myself and gingerly dab at the sutures. A dipper flits past and dives through a curtain of water falling down a pile of rocks. I watch and wait. A few moments later, it dashes back out and flies away. It must have its nest there. I smile and, for a moment, I forget what and who I am.
 

A small noise hauls me back, the crunch of bare feet on sand. The coarse surface of the rock digs into my butt and I focus on the sensation of stone against skin. I’m undecided whether to freeze, or to wrap my arms around my legs, pull myself into a knot and hide. The familiar urge to disappear raises goose bumps on my skin.

‘Let me,’ Runner says and places a MedKit and my clothes on the rock next to me.

He can see me now. There’s no dirt concealing my skin. I’m scrubbed clean and every scar is as sharp and clear as it gets.

‘You seem…cornered.’ A hand taps my knee lightly. ‘Did I hurt you?’

No, but you will now
. I turn to face him, laying myself bare and watching his gaze wander over my body. He reaches out and touches my 1/2986.
 

‘This is the first scar you showed me,’ he says and brushes his thumb across it. ‘And the second.’ He places a palm over my DIE. ‘I don’t know what shocks me more. That someone cut this, or that you felt so much pain you cut the others.’

You don’t have to look.

‘Talk to me, Micka.’

‘I can’t.’
You’ll walk away.
 

His hand slips off my back. My skin feels cold there now. I watch the crunch of bare feet on pebbles. He kneels in the riverbed, opens the MedKit, and begins cleaning and disinfecting my side. He dabs my skin dry, tapes a bandage over the injury, and moves down to my leg.
 

‘I can deal with whatever you throw at me, but I can’t deal with your silence now,’ he says, fastening the gauze around my thigh.

I hold my arms straight out, like an offering. ‘Look at me.’

‘I am.’ He cocks his head as if he’s wondering what I’m getting at.

‘I’m waiting for you to run away. I’m a…I’m a…’ Fuck, I hate crying. I hate the shitty clump in my throat. I want to be strong, set my jaw, and take, without a flinch, whatever life dishes out.

He takes my hand in one of his and places a fingertip on my wrist. ‘I grew up in the desert. I love it; it’s such a beautiful place. I love the sand…’ he traces my freckles with his fingers, ‘…the wild landscape scarred by countless battles…’ a
zzzing
shoots from this scar all across my body, ‘…the sunsets.’ He runs his hand through my orange hair. ‘I’m looking at you, Micka. What scares you so?’

‘Everything,’ I whisper.

His eyes darken, a frown hardens his features. I owe him an explanation, but I don’t quite know the answer, either.
 

‘For a long time,’ I stammer, ‘I was no one. But I chose it; it’s okay.’

Then, the truth forms and words tumble out of my mouth. ‘I chose to be invisible instead of being unwanted. And now, it’s hard to be seen, to be listened to. It makes me vulnerable. The hurt will come back. That’s what scares me.’

He nods; his gaze rests on my face and there’s a deep sadness that makes me want to reach out and touch him. But he’s faster. His fingertips brush my cheek. ‘Don’t disappear, Micka,’ he says softly.

Runner is walking ahead of me. I told him I can walk just fine. He knows I’m lying, but he lets me be. I don’t know what’s going on with me. Nothing makes sense anymore. Everything is jumbled.

He stops and extracts the SatPad from the side pocket of his pants, again. Every few minutes, he tries to contact Kat. She never answers. He pretends to wait for her reply, but in truth, he waits for me to catch up. My injured leg annoys the heck out of me.

About an hour ago, he climbed a tall tree and scanned the coast, checking to see if the BSA had dropped anchor at Gonggang, but the harbour was empty. We have no idea where everyone is.
 

‘—get the railgun back in position!’ screeches from somewhere. Stunned, I lift my head. Runner is rooted to the spot. Commands echo from his SatPad.
 

‘Kat? Kat! What’s going on?’

‘Runner? What the hell—’

The noise of a nearby detonation cuts her off. Swaying, she comes back into view. Behind her, people are flitting in and out of focus, shouting, hammering on keypads.

‘Where are you?’ Runner asks.

‘Southern tip, right at the bay. The BSA has three destroyers — we sunk only one of them — the rusty one they let us see days ago. Shit, Runner, we stepped right into their trap. Our ships are all down. This one is sinking. We’re losing the battle.’

Ask her about the temperature of the reactor,
trails across the screen.

Runner stares, his face loses colour, and he sits down heavily. ‘Kat?’ he breathes. ‘What’s the temperature of the reactor?’

‘What?’ she shouts.

The nuclear power plant, not the ship’s reactor
.

‘What the fuck?’ I whisper. No one hears me.

‘Kat, listen to me. Check the temperature of the nuclear power plant with an IR sensor. Now!’

Kat doesn’t ask why, she just turns away and yells a command at someone, then says, ‘We thought you were dead. Micka sent a text message…’

‘What? When was that? I didn’t send anything.’

She has no time to answer. The ship tilts and groans, metal screeches, and Kat is ripped from view.
 

‘Kat?’ Runner and I shout simultaneously.
 

No one replies. Runner points to one of the large windows where the deep blue ocean is gushing through.

A stranger’s face pushes into view, he squints at us. Blood is leaking from a cut above his eyebrow. ‘Did
you
ask us to check the temperature of the reactor?’

‘Yes, I did,’ Runner answers. ‘Anything out of the—’

‘All reactors are in meltdown. The walls are hot and about to blow. Did you do this?’

‘What? No!’ I shout. ‘We have—’

The live-stream is cut off, the screen turns black. Runner makes a noise as if someone kicked his chest.

It is time, Mickaela,
crawls across the SatPad.

‘For what?’ I ask, and Runner raises his hand to type it for me.
 

But Erik is faster.
‘I can hear you.’

‘Why?’ is all I can manage.

Because I can.

I open my mouth, but Runner grabs my hand and tugs at it. I look at him. He shakes his head no, then says, ‘You said it’s time. For what?’

I’ll not speak with you, Arab
.

‘Fuck you,’ I growl, bend down and whisper in Runner’s ear, ‘What does Arab mean?’

He looks up at me; his eyes are warm as his palm brushes my cheek. ‘It is a reference to my home country. Ask him what he wants, Micka.’

‘What do you want, shitstick?’

The reply comes quickly.
It’s not so much about what
I
want. Despite your lack of respect, I’ll be generous and give you two options. One: you stay with your comrade and die a rather gruesome death. As you know already, the nuclear power plant is in meltdown. The hydrogen buildup will cause a detonation that’ll contaminate the entire southern part of Taiwan and the northern half of the Philippines. It’ll happen any moment now. Neither of our forces has enough time to leave the shore. For now, you are protected by the mountains. The shockwave can’t reach you, but the fallout will. Highly radioactive dust will rise up into the atmosphere and precipitate as black rain. It’ll coat your skin and your lungs. Your body will die; you will watch it falling apart and there’ll be nothing you can do about it. No cure. Am I making myself clear enough?
 

‘Clear,’ Runner says.
 

Nothing happens until I repeat, ‘Clear.’

Perfect. Now, about that second option.

The earth trembles. A keening sounds from afar, then a deep groan and the sound of an entire forest being ripped from the soil. Runner stands and we look south, but see nothing. Trees and mountains are blocking our view. I slip my hand into his and he answers by curling his arm around my waist. ‘Can you see it?’ he asks.

‘No.’

‘There.’ He points. I strain my eyes and there it is — a ball of fire rising up, as massive as a mountain, swallowing clouds where it touches them, pushing a ring of smoke and steam aside and rolling it around, rising higher and spreading farther and wider. It’s terrible and beautiful — the fist of an angry god.

And then the fury takes control. ‘You killed my friends!’ I cry at the small machine. ‘You killed all my friends!’

Not quite yet.

I shut my mouth. My hands are sweaty and cold.

My apologies, we were interrupted. This is option number two: You come to me.

I can’t help but grin. Of course, I’ll do him the favour!

If you would now, step out into the small clearing west of you, so I can see you better.

‘Why did you do this?’ Runner asks. I repeat the question for him.

The balance needed to be restored.
 
Many good men have perished. But now, information, force, and technologies are in the hands of both sides. The final battle can begin.
 

None of this makes any sense to me.
 

You have only two hours left, Mickaela. I recommend you stop talking and start walking.
 

‘I’ll not leave Runner here to die.’

If you bring him, he’ll die a quick death. It would be humane. You decide.

Runner shakes his head, eyebrows drawn low, lips a compressed line.

Step out into the clearing, now.

I look at Runner. He says nothing, just nods at the clearing as we both pick up our rucks and walk the few paces, gazing up at the ripped open sky. The word “slaughtered” comes to my mind. It tastes of metal, blood, and guts.

Very good. Three kilometres north of you is an airstrip.
 
My helicopter will wait for precisely 115 minutes more. You come alone. You walk where I can see you. The Arab stays where he is, in full view. If he moves, the helicopter will leave the island without you and you’ll both die. Should you consider attempting an assault, you had better commit suicide now and spare yourself the walk.

‘I will kill you,’ I growl.

You will not, because you want to survive.

‘Never heard anything so stupid. “Run to the BSA to survive.” Sure. What do you want?’

What every father wants with his daughter: to teach her and shape her to his liking.

‘Fuck you! You don’t know me!’ I snap at the machine.