Ice Diaries (28 page)

Blitzed by recent events my brain had
slowed. I thought of something else Morgan didn’t know. “Mike
shot Randall Pack. I think he may have killed him.”

As if summoned by my words, at that
moment a head appeared through the hatch. To my amazement, Randall,
his skin greyish and blood-smeared, heaved himself carefully over the
rim and joined us. He had a bloody bandage round his head made from a
strip of tea towel and looked older and gaunt, the graven lines from
nose to mouth more apparent. He took in the scene, snow spattering
his black jacket and settling on his shoulders; his frown deepened
when he saw the damaged turbine blade.

I said, “Are you all right?”

“I’ll survive.”
Behind his offhand manner anger smouldered. “I’ve lost
the top of my ear and some of my scalp. I’m bleeding like a
stuck pig and it hurts like hell. David wanted to stitch it, but I
told him it could wait till I’d sorted this out.” He
turned to Morgan. “Guns aren’t allowed in Strata.”
He held out his hand. “You can have it back when you leave.”

“Here.” Morgan handed him
the Glock, and Randall put it in his jacket pocket.

“Tell me what happened.”

Morgan kept his account short. “I
was clearing snow off the turbines for Ginger. Mike came to shoot me,
Tori showed up and distracted him, we had a fight. I won.”

“Is he dead?”

“People keep asking me that. No.
He’ll have aches and bruises for a while, that’s all.”

Randall nodded, turning to me. “And
what about the man in the turbine room, Hong, is that his name?”
I told him I’d gone to help Morgan, Hong had restrained me and
in desperation I’d stabbed him to get away.

His dark eyes regarded me
speculatively. “Hong’s dead.”

“He can’t be.” I was
incredulous. This couldn’t be true. “If he’s dead,
someone else must have killed him after I left. I only stabbed him in
the leg, the knife wasn’t very long. How can he be dead?”

“The blade slit his femoral
artery. Mac did his best to put on a tourniquet but he bled out in
minutes.”

I felt faint and giddy and had
difficulty getting my breath. If Morgan’s arm hadn’t
tightened round my waist I’d have fallen over. “I didn’t
mean to kill him.”

“He’s just as dead as if
you had.” Randall’s eyes went from one of us to the
other, his expression bleak. “I won’t have weapons or
fights or killings in Strata. I won’t have people bringing
feuds here. In my book you two are troublemakers. I take it you’ll
both be leaving today?”

Morgan said, “Yes.”

“Make sure you do. Find me before
you go and I’ll give you your weapons. Don’t come back.
You’re no longer welcome here.”

Having dealt with us, Randall walked
over to Mike and nudged him with his foot. Mike stirred and his eyes
opened. Groggy, he raised himself on an elbow and looked around,
blinking and frowning, wiping snow from his eyelids. Impassive as a
judge, Randall waited until Mike’s gaze travelled upwards and
took in that he was alive; waited until Mike’s eyes widened in
alarm at what he read in his face. Then Randall said,

“You shot me. That’s not
allowed in Strata.”

He got out the gun and held it in both
hands, took careful aim and fired twice. The first bullet hit Mike’s
chest, the second ripped his throat apart. Mike coughed a spray of
blood and struggled for breath, clutching at his wounds, making
terrible gurgling noises as he died choking on his own blood. It
didn’t take long. I flinched and buried my face in Morgan’s
jacket, afraid I’d throw up. I wished I hadn’t been
watching. I was now stuck with an indelible memory of violent death;
bullets bursting into flesh; blood splashing and soaking into the
snow. I was glad it hadn’t been Morgan who killed him.

Randall pocketed the gun, knelt beside
the body and rolled it effortfully over and over until it was on the
very edge. He stood, breathing deeply. One final shove from his foot,
and all that was left of Mike slid down the steep snow-covered glass
slope, bumping and scraping, till the sound cut off. Seconds later a
dull thud broke the silence as his corpse hit the ground.

Randall walked away slowly towards the
hatch without looking back.

Ice Diaries ~ Lexi Revellian

There was a long silence after Randall
left. Blood beat in my ears and my breathing was all wrong. I stared
at the red smear on the white surface, which was already becoming
blurred by the falling snow. Eventually Morgan said, “Well,
that told
him
.”

“I can’t believe Randall
was so ruthless …” My voice sounded strange, and not just
because my ears were buzzing. “He … he executed him …”

“Ginger said he had his own
style. See what he meant now. Let’s get out of here ASAP.
There’s some stuff I might get from Mike’s flat now he’s
dead.” Morgan let go of me. “I’ll just make sure no
one’s waiting for us down there.” He picked up the broom
and the defunct hairdryer and put them to hand by the edge of the
hatch. “Pass these to me when I get down.”

He peered below and descended the
ladder warily. “It’s okay,” he called after a
moment. I followed him, though I’d have preferred to huddle in
a ball on the roof until snow made me invisible and froze all thought
from my mind. The rungs felt icy to my gloveless hands, the floor
gritty beneath my feet as I climbed from cold brightness to the
shadowy floor beneath. The room was empty except for Hong’s
body lying on the paving slabs in a pool of blood. Someone had
straightened his limbs and put a jacket over his face. Seeing him
there I felt very bad indeed; the only time I’d felt worse was
when I found Mum’s body. I’d never expected to kill
anyone. Before they all vanished, I never even killed insects; I used
to think that like me, they only had one life. Now I’d killed a
human being almost in passing as others might step on a spider. In
Morgan’s words, I’d taken his future away from him. The
cold had seeped into my bones. I stopped in my tracks, too weak to
walk.

“Tori.” Morgan put his arm
around me. I gazed at my boots. “He was a professional fighter,
you aren’t. You didn’t mean to kill him. And if you
hadn’t, he’d never have let you go and Mike would have
shot me. Remember, I told you to hit as fast and hard as you could,
and not to worry about hurting your attacker? I said the only rule is
to win, and that’s what you did, you won.”

It was nice of him to try to make me
feel better, but it wasn’t working. I just shook my head.
Morgan gripped me by both shoulders. “Tori, look at me.”
He gave me a little shake. Reluctantly I lifted my eyes to his. “You
came to get me when you could have let me take my chances alone.”

“Yes, but …”

He said softly, “You watched my
back, you risked your life for me. You might be a troublemaker in
Randall Pack’s book, but in mine you’re a hero.” He
kissed me and a small kernel of warmth glowed in my chest. I felt
less awful. He smiled. “What you need is breakfast. Let’s
go and see if Ginger’s still talking to us.”

The front door was now upright, leaning
against the wall. The first thing I saw when we walked past into the
room was a snow-free streak from top to bottom down the middle of the
great sloping windows, the trail of Mike’s last journey,
stained in places with blood. I averted my eyes. Ginger was sitting
alone on his sofa, feet up, eating. I’d been half afraid
Randall would be with him.

He looked up from his breakfast.
“Randall told me what happened. Glad I missed that. Sorry he’s
kicking you out.”

Morgan shrugged. “His place, his
rules.”

Ginger seemed happy to leave it there.
“D’you want some toast?”

On a tray was a plate piled with
buttered toast, honey and marmalade, a coffee pot and sugar in a
bowl. I went and washed the blood off my hand with bottled water in
the kitchen and while I was there collected crockery. We helped
ourselves. My appetite came back at the smell of the hot coffee. I
poured myself a cup and wrapped my hands round it in turn as I ate,
thawing gently in the warmth of the apartment.

Ginger swallowed a final mouthful and
got to his feet. “Randall said a turbine blade got shot. We’ve
only got two spares. Let’s hope the next visiting psycho has
better aim.”

“Thank you,” said Morgan,
reaching for a slice of toast.

“No offence, but a couple more
like Mike and we’re buggered. I’d better put a padlock on
the door so no one can get up there. I’m off now to change the
blade. And I don’t suppose you finished clearing the snow … ?
Never mind, I’ll do it. Make yourselves at home.”

When Ginger had left, we carried on
working our way through the plateful. I started brooding and didn’t
want any more. Morgan noticed and got stern with me, as if he was
still a soldier and I was too.

“You’re not to get down
about it, Tori – it won’t achieve anything, and we’ve
got stuff to do. I need you fully functional. The main thing is, we
survived. It’s like an army operation, you support each other,
do what you have to and get back alive. Then it’s over. Don’t
let it get to you, leave it behind and move on.”

He was right. I nodded. “Okay.
I’ll try.”

“And finish your breakfast.”

Sue appeared in the doorway. “I’ve
come to get the dishes,” she said. “You’re still
eating, don’t mind me, I can wait.”

She perched on the end of the sofa,
darting surreptitious fascinated looks in my direction. I felt
awkward chewing in the spotlight of her gaze, knowing the reason for
her sudden interest lay above us, cooling fast. No longer hungry, I
lowered my half-eaten piece of toast, and avoided her eyes. Then I
started eating again; Morgan needed me fully functional. Chewing
doggedly, I saw a patch of blood on my trousers below the knee and
crossed my legs to hide it.

“The snow looks like it’s
easing off,” Sue said. “Will you be going today?”

“Yup,” said Morgan. He
crammed the last of his toast into his mouth, stacked our plates on
the tray and handed them to Sue. “Thanks,” he said
dismissively.

She fussed about a bit, tidying the
table, ran out of things to do and had to go.

“Maybe she was hoping we’d
tip her.” Morgan got out Mike’s key ring and swung it
round his finger. “I’ve got the keys to five sleds here,
the Polaris, Eddie’s, Hong’s, Mike’s and Serena’s.
What shall we do with them?”

“You said you’d give Serena
hers back.”

“I did.”

“That’ll leave us with
four …” An idea came to me. Morgan read my mind with
disconcerting ease.

“Oh no, Tori, you can’t be
serious. You’re not thinking of taking that bunch of losers
south with us?”

“Why not?”

“What are you like?” His
eyes crinkled and he began to laugh, then he grabbed me and kissed
me, toppling us sideways on to the sofa. We were still horizontal
some minutes later and thinking of moving to the bedroom when a man
came through the doorway, young and skinny with a skimpy beard and
veiled eagerness in his eyes. We broke apart and sat up.

“You must be Tori and Morgan. Hi.
I’m Scott, from Buzz Weekly, that’s Strata’s news
sheet, I expect you’ve seen copies of it round the place.”
He produced a camera. “D’you mind?”

While Morgan and I exchanged glances,
the camera clicked. I ran my fingers through my hair, Morgan
shrugged. Scott took a few more photos of us from different angles,
then some shots of the tracks on the window, whistling under his
breath.

“This is a big story,” he
said with relish. “I reckon the paper’ll run to eight or
ten pages this week, and I’m hoping to bring it out this
evening instead of tomorrow morning. This is the biggest news since
the food poisoning outbreak. Bigger, no one died then.” He
dragged a chair over so he could sit opposite us, put away the camera
and got out a notebook and pen. “We’ve never had a
killing before, and now two. Everyone’s talking about it, so I
want to get the story out while it’s hot. You’ll get a
free copy, of course. Two copies. Now, can I just ask you a few
questions?”

“I’ll give you a
statement,” said Morgan, his voice flat. “Mike tried to
shoot me, Tori came to help and was attacked by Hong, she stabbed him
to get away and saved my life. Randall shot Mike and pushed his body
off the roof. Now I’m afraid we have things to do.” He
stood.

Scott’s eyes widened and he spoke
faster. “Can you tell me why Mike wanted to kill you, and how
it felt, being unarmed facing a man with a gun?”

Morgan shook his head. “Sorry.
C’mon, Tori.”

I got up and followed him out of the
room, Scott pursuing us. “D’you know where he got the
gun? Had he tried to kill you before? When are you leaving Strata? If
you could give me a few personal details, a bit of background, how
long you’ve been together … it would literally only take a
few minutes.”

This seemed harmless enough, but he’d
be bound to pursue it further, and I really didn’t want to
discuss what had happened with a stranger. I didn’t want to
discuss it with anyone. Morgan ignored him and kept between us. While
we waited for the lift Scott tried to change our minds. “I want
to help you guys. This is your chance to get your side of the story
out, to get public opinion on your side, to tell people why Randall
shouldn’t turn you away from Strata.”

“Randall can do what he likes. We
were leaving anyway.”

“So he
did
tell you to
go?”

Morgan glowered at him. “Fuck
off.” The lift arrived, its doors opened and Morgan ushered me
in.

Scott called, “How do you feel,
Tori, knowing you’ve killed a man?”

He tried to step into the lift after
us, but Morgan swivelled and grabbed his lapels, yanking him forwards
and up until their faces were only inches apart. He growled, “She
feels a hell of a lot better than you will if you ask one more
dumb-ass question.”