“Done,” said Teo, who nodded to Idala. She whistled long and loud, and her Nalkies peeled back from their positions.
Captain Feril made arrangements with the other Nalki leader for a phased retreat up the forest path, sending riders forward to screen their movements.
Tezhay sought and captured Captain Feril’s eye. “I just wanted to tell you,” he whispered. “Even if you are rogues. It doesn’t mean I disapprove.”
Chapter 43: Homeless
The strip of diners and restaurants along Railroad Street had been prime territory for foraging during Ara’s early days in St. Johnsbury. She weaved down the sidewalks, scanning tables, circling into back lots to peer into kitchens – just scouting for now. Closing time was when the good stuff got tossed. Now was the time to scope out what places offered the best prospects for a meal.
Having made the rounds of all of the sit-down dining establishments, from Anthony’s Diner at the far end of Railroad Street to Dylan’s Café near the bridge, she saved her favorite place for last. She crossed the street to Natural Provisions, a bakery and health food store whose hearty breads had formed the basis of many a free meal in her day.
She strolled into the store, smiling at the girl at the register, sampling some cookies, perusing the bread counter for the day old marked-down items that would later be hauled out to the bin. She spotted an olive ciabatta and a bag of garlic mini-baguettes that made it worth lingering in the area, as the store would close soon. The staff here was friendly to homeless folks, never soiling the items they tossed, placing sacks beside the back door so scavengers could avoid the indignity of having to climb into a dumpster to fetch them.
She went back outside to wait, stepping into the closed storefront of a clothing shop to get out of the brisk wind. She needed to find herself a jacket. Once she got her bread she would head for the coin-operated laundromat on Eastern Avenue whose lost-and-found table once provided the bulk of her wardrobe.
A man was coming across the bridge on foot. He had an odd, bouncy gait – the stiff but powerful sway of the muscle-bound. Something about the way he strode seemed familiar.
Ara wondered if he could be one of her old friends, one of the job-hopping street musicians and artists she used to spend time with, hopefully someone who had taken care of himself better than Michael. She ducked back out onto the sidewalk and swung behind the man as he turned off the bridge.
She was tempted to call out, but wanted to make sure that she really knew this person so as not make a fool of herself.
The man crossed the street towards Dylan’s café. As he passed under a streetlamp, a chill rippled through Ara that had nothing to do with the northwest wind blowing in from Canada.
The man was Baas! Commander Baren’s cruel lieutenant.
Heart thumping, Ara stopped and turned back the other way, slipping into a tiny park fronting a darkened real estate office. She peeked around a hedge. Baas was gone, probably inside the café.
Ara crawled under the overgrown, over-pruned yew, peering through the gaps between the branches. She kept her eyes fixed on the walk leading up to the café. Long minutes passed before Baas re-emerged. Instead of retracing his steps, he came up the street towards Ara, carrying a large, brown bag.
Ara settled into the depths of the yew, careful not to bump or jiggle its twisted boughs. Baas bounced by, wearing wore blue coveralls of the type a paramedic might wear. Threads dangled where he had ripped off various patches and insignia. He tossed a glance her way, sniffing, wrinkling his brow, but he kept on moving.
She wondered how he had managed to order take-out. Through grunts and pointing, she supposed, because Baas had never tried to learn a word of English, despite Ara’s efforts to tutor Baren’s entire entourage.
From beneath the hedge, she watched him cross the road and start over the bridge. He carried a lot of food, surely he didn’t plan to eat it all himself. Who was waiting by the portal for him? Baren? Or maybe Kera, her dearest friend and confidante among the ill-fated contingent of cadre that Baren had brought to Ur.
It seemed impossible that they all could have survived an armed confrontation with every police officer Greymore could muster, but Baas was walking proof that some had emerged from the fracas intact.
Ara climbed out from under the bush, took a few steps down the sidewalk and darted across the road to the bridge.
***
A children’s soccer match was finishing up across the river. Lights glared down over people dispersing across a field of grass too green for nature. Baas walked against the grain, nudging, shoving any who got in his way. Ara picked a more sinuous route, skipping from group to group, pretending to join them, taking pains not to reveal to Baas that he was being followed.
Baas made a bee line straight for one of the relay stones, displaying not the slightest concern who noticed him, as if the people of Ur were no more than motile shrubs, to be uprooted or cut down at his whim.
He crossed a cinder track and started up a rise covered in tall, herbaceous scrub. At the top of the embankment he left the wash of light and entered the darkness. Ara hemmed, weighing her fear of physical harm against her wish to know who among the cadre had survived. Curiosity won.
She crossed to the edge of the field and climbed the scrubby slope on a line parallel but offset a good fifty paces from the path Baas had taken. Before she could reach the top, the lights illuminating the field blinked out. Ara paused, waiting for her eyes to adjust. A partial moon shed just enough to highlight the vegetation, but she had lost track of Baas.
She proceeded cautiously, feeling like prey even though she was the hunter. She knew the area quite well, in darkness and light. The xenoliths it harbored were the same that had brought her to and from St. Johnsbury when she was in Travelers’ school. She just wanted to get close enough to hear voices, to ascertain who had survived. She particularly wanted to know if Kera was okay.
The slope leveled and transitioned to a narrow strip of trees bordering a meadow that harbored the relay to Gi. The Sesei relay sat deep in the forest beyond. Ara passed to the edge of the trees and waited, squinting into the darkness. She spotted the silver-brushed form of Baas just as he entered the thicker forest across the meadow.
Ara waited, heart pounding, till she was certain he had passed deep enough to be out of sight of the meadow. She stepped out into un-mowed grass, studded with young trees working hard to convert the meadow to forest. She moved in bursts and pauses. Each step closer to peril took her pulse up a notch. She began to question the wisdom of her pursuit.
A flurry of movement came from her left. A coyote, perhaps? A fox? Too lithe and quick to be Baas.
A dark blotch marked a dense patch of shrubs in the center of the meadow. She resolved to minimize her risk. She would burrow beneath them and lay low, waiting and watching until her former comrades betrayed their presence. She wished she had picked up that bread before following Baas.
A wiry arm seized her. A hand clapped over her mouth.
Chapter 44: Casualties
The wounded girl’s name was Eaamon. She had communicated that much to Frank, but not much else. She couldn’t have been much older than Ellie, but was stubborn as a rock. She was slender and would have been easy to hoist, but she fended off Frank’s entreaties to carry her, insisting on walking under her own power, even though step she took drove the barbs of the bolt-head deeper. She left a trail of bloody drips on the natural cobbles of the path. Frank resorted to helping her along the path, supporting her injured side with a firm hand so at least she wouldn’t fall and worsen her injury.
As they approached the cliff, a spotter called out and the farm’s ragtag band of defenders spilled down the zigzag gash of the cliff face like a human avalanche. They snatched Eaamon up like a feather, and she floated up the ramp in a bevy of arms. Though it miffed Frank to see her let the others carry her without any fuss, he was no stranger to disrespect.
“Gentle! She’s not a sack of meat,” he said as her bearers stumbled o
n a ledge. He pointed out the nature of her wound and mimed that they should not twist her torso or tug at her arm.
Once they got her into a nice sunny spot and fetched a bag of sterile saline to keep the wound clear, he could extract the rest of the bolt and stitch her up. The bleeding looked like it wanted to stop, once all the jostling was over.
Frank felt an unpleasant thumping in his chest as he climbed up the cliff behind the rest of the group, cradling the girl’s AK in his arm. He had come to ignore his off-kilter heart, letting it find its own way back to equilibrium. Worrying about it only seemed to do it more harm. If he dropped dead, then so be it. No great loss.
He hoped he had set the safety latch properly on the AK. He fiddled with the lever as he topped the cliff. He looked up to find Liz staring at him, arms crossed, weight transferred to her one good leg.
“Where’s Misty?”
“Don’t know,” said Frank.
“Did you go out there to fetch her?”
“Liz. There are bigger things afoot. There are whole armies out there after each other. I saw a fucking Toyota crash into a wagon.”
“Toyota?” Liz looked puzzled. “You mean an actual car?”
“Yes.”
Liz narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “Miles did say he brought one here. I thought he was delusional.”
The people carrying the girl had already passed the terraces with her.
“Yo! Wait for me!” He turned to Liz. “I got to catch up with them. Don’t want them to yank that bolt out or she might gush.”
“Ellie’s up there to help out,” said Liz. “So, no idea if Misty’s okay?”
“I caught a glimpse,” said Frank. “Thought I saw them across a field. If so, they’re fine.”
“Not very re-assuring, but I’ll take it,” said Liz. She turned and walked beside him past the sweet peas. Her presence kindled a pleasant warmth under his skin.
“Your sweet peas look amazing by the way,” said Frank. “Where did you get—?”
“Stray seeds from my purse,” said Liz. “They grow all over the valleys now. Don’t know if you noticed.”
“I did,” said Frank. ‘Like kudzu,’ he was about to say, but restrained himself. “How’s Tom doing?”
“Hanging in,” she said. “He’s awful sleepy. No worse anyway.”
“Sudden changes are what we don’t want to see,” said Frank. “You let me know if anything happens with his breathing or such.”
“You plan to check in on him, don’t you?”
“Yeah, of course. As soon as I’m done patching up that girl.”
They stood facing each other in a silence that grew ever more awkward. But Frank was reluctant to excuse himself.
“I’d always admired your doctoring,” said Liz, finally.
“Really?” Frank frowned. “You used to hate it when I talked shop.”
Hearing Liz refer to their old days together made his stomach tumble. Having his prior existence acknowledged was a major breakthrough. Any crumb would do in a famine, he supposed.
“I was a stupid little girl back then. All squeamish. A couple years in Gi will run the squeamish out of anyone, let me tell you. All of the innards and brains I’ve seen splashed on the road. Gi’s a rough place … particularly since the Venep’o came, but even before, the clans would war with other. This unified Nalki business is a new thing, relatively.”
“Must have been hard … for you,” said Frank.
Her head turned like a turret and she aimed a gaze loaded with cold fire straight at him—not hostile, just intense. “You. Have. No. Idea,” she said.
“Wish I could have been there for you Liz,” said Frank. “Believe me, if there was any way I could have known about this place … how to get here … I would have dropped everything and come.”
Liz’s had hardened up again. Frank’s eyes pried, but she wouldn’t look at him directly.
“I prayed … that you would,” said Liz, her voice gone small.
“I’m … sorry,” said Frank. “I let you down.”
“No fault of yours,” said Liz. “I mean, how were you to know? I’m sure … you went looking for me … didn’t you?”
“For weeks on end,” said Frank. “Interrupted only when the constables took me in for questioning … for your murder. Your family almost brought charges against me.”
“My brother, the lawyer,” said Liz, smirking. “How is he?”
“No idea,” said Frank. “He won’t talk to me.”
She touched his arm. “His loss. I can tell that you’re still a good man, Frank. And a good doctor.”
A mist formed in Frank’s eyes. Liz’s words prompted a memory of something she used to say to him—a pet compliment. Frank tried taking a deep breath, and a half-sob snuck out.
“What?” said Liz. “What’s wrong?”
“It just … reminded me of something you used to say to me when you were proud of some little kindness or charity I did.”
Liz’s eye’s flashed with understanding. “You’re a good man, Charlie Brown,” she said.
Frank lost control. His tears spilled, unhindered.
Liz looked on with wonder.
***
The villagers had Eaamon laid out on Liz’s porch when Frank arrived. Ellie was already attending to her.
Liz went out back to check on Tom.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” said Frank, his stomach clenching as she left his side.
“When you can,” said Liz, tossing a worried glance.
“Don’t pick at that,” said Frank, as Ellie pulled at the gauze surrounded the severed bolt shaft.
“How else am I going to get it out?” said Ellie.
“You’re not to touch it,” said Frank. “You’re going to let me do it.” Frank held his fingers up limply and looked about. “First, I need to wash my hands.”
Ellie got up and fetched an earthenware pitcher insulated with coils of damp rope, she put it down and handed him a small bouquet of pink flowers.
“What’s with the damned flowers?” said Frank. “I need soap.”
“This is our soap,” said Ellie. “Crush the buds. You will see.”
Frank did so, and with a little water dribbled over his hands, he worked up a thin, green lather.
“Cool,” said Frank.
Ellie crossed the porch again and retrieved a clanking bundle from a rack. She deposited it in front of Frank. The saturated cloth was warm to the touch.
Frank un-wrapped it to find a scalpel handle, several disposable blades that looked like they had been re-sharpened and an assortment of forceps, needles and suture thread.
“I assume this has been—”
“Boiled?” said Ellie. “Of course.”
He peeled back the girl’s shirt, taking care not to catch it on the bolt shaft. Frank worked quickly, taking advantage of a shaft of sun falling over the corner of the porch. He made a few tentative probes, every movement drawing gasps from the un-anaesthetized girl. She was more stolid than he would have been. She was probably accustomed to pain, but he’d be working with sharp instruments. She could be harmed if she flinched.
“I wish we had something to anesthetize her with.”
“Anesta? What?”
“Anesthetize. To make numb so it doesn’t hurt.”
“Just a second,” said Ellie.
She went inside the house and came back with a small ceramic jar with a wax seal.
“What’s that?”
“Some stuff we picked up in Raacevo. I think it’s a narcotic.”
Frank pried the lid open and took a whiff. He didn’t have to get close. The potent aroma sought him out; earthy and putrid and familiar as rotten potatoes.
“Any chance this stuff’s called bolovo?”
“Yes. I think that’s right. How did you know?”
Frank administered a few drops to the girl, not the full swig that had knocked him unconscious for half a day. In minutes, the girl’s eyes developed a distant, swoo
ny look, though she remained responsive. Frank remembered how swiftly it had acted on him.
“Mind if I hang onto this?”
“Go ahead,” said Ellie, shrugging.
Liz came back around. “You done?” she said.
“Just getting started,” said Frank. “Wanna help?”
“Um … sure,” said Liz.
“How’s Tom?”
“Same,” said Liz. “You’re still going to check on him, aren’t you?”
“Of course,” said Frank. “This will just take a minute.”
Frank pulled a flap of skin back from the girl’s wound. Her eyes responded but she seemed detached from the pain.
“What can I do?” said Liz.
“Take these forceps,” said Frank. “Hold the wound open.”
Frank used the scalpel to free up the barbs, one at a time.
“Nasty,” said Frank. “They don’t want these things to come out, do they?”
“She’s lucky,” said Liz. “They’re known to dunk these bolts in venom.”
When Frank had cut the bolt free, he lifted it out gently and tossed it to the ground. It had come close to nicking an artery, but had stayed free enough that Frank had minimal suturing to do before he could close up the wound. The girl’s bleeding had picked up, obscuring his field of work.
“Where’d Ellie go?” Frank looked over his shoulder.
“Why? What do you need?”
“I left some bags of saline somewhere,” said Frank. “I need this irrigated so I can see where I’m suturing when I can close it up.”
“I know where they are,” said Liz.
“Here, I’ll take that from you,” said Frank, putting his hand over Liz’s to take the forceps from her. She paused and stared, startled, before pulling her hand away. Frank’s breathing deepened. Ever since his arrival, his senses were acutely attuned to the most Liz’s most trivial actions.
Liz got up, went into the house and came back with an IV pack and Ellie in tow. “Ellie’ll take over for you so you can sew,” she said.
Liz thumbed open the valve and rinsed out the wound. Frank worked quickly and delicately, putting in two layers of sutures under as Liz dribbled a steady flow of saline over the wound to keep everything clear.
“Wow, you’re good at stitching,” said Liz. “When all this blows over, we’ll put you to good use mending our socks. Beats patching young folks, don’t you think?”