Finally Ingo slumped against the counter. “So we won’t starve to death at least,” he said in an undertone. He rubbed a hand over his face.
“We’ve got ten cans left.” I gently stroked their discoloured tops. “We’ll share one a day. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Ingo hesitated. “There’s something we haven’t thought of, you know.”
I was looking for something to put the cans in. “What?”
“The choppers. Where did they come from?”
I froze mid-motion and stared at him. Choppers were short-range flight vehicles. As near as we could guess, we’d travelled several hundred miles from Harmony Five. Those choppers couldn’t have come from there.
“Some sort of landing pad,” I murmured. “Somewhere to refuel.”
“Exactly.”
I leaned against the counter next to Ingo, my thoughts tumbling. The landing area could be a pump and a shed in the middle of nowhere…or, if we were lucky, something more developed, with roads and trucks.
“It could be at another Harmony,” I said after a pause. “Just like wherever the snow-trucks are heading.”
“It could be. But maybe it isn’t.”
It was another chance, at least. “Let’s still follow the trucks for now, like our original plan,” I said. “At least we know they’re heading directly to a place where it’s warmer, maybe with autos.”
“Yes – but we’ll keep an eye out for the choppers, and see if we can tell where they’re coming from.” Ingo’s smile was grim. “Just as well they’re still looking for us, I guess.”
We both knew this intensive search was because I was Wildcat. Ingo would have been safer on his own, if he could have managed it.
I found a burlap bag and we loaded the cans into it.
“Sorry you asked me to join you?” I said finally.
He shrugged. “I couldn’t have escaped without you.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
Ingo started making cardboard sheaths for the knives. At first I thought he wasn’t going to respond, and then he glanced at me.
“No. I’m not sorry,” he said. “We’ve eaten a rat together and are willing to shove deadly implements into each other’s throats. I think that means we’re bonded for life, in some strange way.” He handed me one of the blades. “Do you want to carry the bag first, or shall I?”
We hiked up the road that led to the top of the ridge where we’d fallen, then hid in the copse of trees we’d glimpsed before the first storm. The snow-trucks arrived less than an hour later, trundling across the landscape, their tracks leaving a straight line across the whiteness.
We started to walk.
We spotted the choppers often – always in the distance, buzzing over the terrain like malignant flies. I craved seeing them as much as I dreaded it.
We couldn’t tell where they came from, though we kept a careful watch. But the snow-trucks were heading roughly southeast. Others returned by the same route. As the days passed, we kept following their tracks, looking out for them on the horizon so we could get out of sight.
Half a can of cold stew a day was barely enough to keep us going. Hunger gnawed constantly. We took turns carrying the bag, which grew progressively lighter.
The scenery was sweeping, the sky huge. One night, the northern lights appeared, shifting like weird green smoke across the stars. Sometimes in the day, we saw herds of moose, their legs long and ungainly – once a grizzly bear in the distance.
We slept in crude lean-tos of branches hacked from trees, scattering them into nothing each morning. The cold turned bitter after dark and we slept curled together for warmth. Night after night, so tired there was no conversation, I lay pressed against Ingo’s thin form and felt his breathing as if it were my own.
From the stiffness of his movements, his side still bothered him. There seemed no point in mentioning it – there was nothing we could do.
As we journeyed, the weather gradually became warmer, until finally we reached a snow-dusted road – and, from the trucks’ tracks, the point where they changed the runners for tyres. Ingo and I stood studying it. “We’re getting somewhere, at least,” he said.
“Somewhere,” I agreed.
But where?
When there were no choppers or trucks in sight, the world felt empty. We trudged on, too tired to talk much. Occasionally Ingo mentioned his siblings, or I’d talk about my childhood with Hal.
I never brought up Collie or my father. Ingo never mentioned Miriam. When I’d known him before, he hadn’t been able to stop mentioning her – even when it was clear she’d hurt him.
Finally, when we’d been following the snow-trucks’ tracks for over a week, we heard the choppers’ distant drone and saw what we’d been praying for – they were landing. We watched with taut hope as one by one, they disappeared down into the trees in the distance.
“A fuelling point?” murmured Ingo, not taking his eyes from the horizon. His thin shoulders were slumped. We were both bone-weary, muscles aching. “Or are they just getting a closer look at something?”
We glanced at each other. There was only one way to find out.
We stood on a wooded rise, gazing down at a huge compound.
“What is it?” I breathed.
Whatever it was, it was laid out below us: dull grey buildings, gridlike streets. A few autos were moving about. Roads stretched away to the south and north, arrow-straight. In a strange way it reminded me of the Peacefighting complex.
Ingo’s face had gone slack. “There must be hundreds of people working there. What the hell? Is there a town nearby?”
“None of this should exist,” I said in a daze. An auto crawled along a road: a distant moving dot. “Ingo, I mean it! I used to love maps, growing up – I’d pore over them for hours. This whole area should have nothing.”
“Yes, I was just the same. And you’re right.” Ingo snorted, still staring downwards. “Well. It looks like Gunnison’s been quite the busy bee these past twelve years.”
Just then it hardly registered that Ingo had shared my childhood passion. “Some kind of foundry maybe,” I ventured tensely, studying the northern road. “For whatever metal we were mining.”
“Must be, though it’s about ten times larger than I’d have thought any foundry needed to be. I wonder—” Ingo stopped short and grabbed my arm. “Look.”
I followed the line of his pointing finger. The similarity to the Peacefighting complex increased tenfold. “An airfield?” I gasped.
“Only one runway – but yes.” Ingo barked out a disbelieving laugh. “I think we’ve just discovered where the choppers refuel.”
We glanced at each other. Neither of us had dared hope for this. A runway meant airplanes. Airplanes.
Ingo and I were both pilots.
He gave me a grim, wolfish smile. “Are we thinking the same thing?”
The feverish light in his eyes probably matched my own. The idea was insane. Yet there was no fence…and with luck, our stolen uniforms would be the same as those worn by the guards.
“We are,” I said softly.
Hours later, we’d made our way down the hill without being seen and were hiding among the bushes at the edge of the airfield, watching to see if there was a routine we could use to our advantage. So far, we hadn’t noticed one.
We saw a few overall-clad workers, but the hangars remained closed, no planes in view. Whenever I was about to suggest that we risk checking them out, a worker would stroll past.
The sun crept across the sky. The small airport was just a few hangars. What appeared to be an office – glass-walled and sleek, with a reception desk inside – fronted onto a larger building. Above, a red-and-black Harmony flag rustled in the breeze.
Ingo and I shared the last can of stew. Neither of us commented on the fact that our food was now gone.
“Do you know what I like about you?” said Ingo suddenly.
I glanced at his weary, angular profile. “I wasn’t aware
that you liked anything about me,” I said.
Ingo shot me a wry look and for a split second I was startled by the burned half of his face. I’d actually forgotten about it.
“Don’t be idiotic,” he said. “We’ve eaten a rat together, remember?”
“True. That does things to you, all right. Fine, what do you like about me?”
“I like,” said Ingo, “that you’re not one of those annoying people who’s constantly saying things like, ‘Do you think we’ll get a chance soon? Ingo, do you think there are any planes in those hangars?’ When you know perfectly well that I don’t know, but you just have to chatter to hear yourself talk.”
“I hate that too,” I said. Then I glanced at him. “Who are we talking about?”
“Most people. But Lena, sometimes.”
“And my mother,” I said.
“And Miriam,” said Ingo after a pause.
His expression was complicated, bitter. Just like the first night I’d met him, when he’d studied Miriam’s laughing face from across the dance club and I’d commented how beautiful she was.
I was abysmal at this kind of thing. I hesitated. “Do you want to tell me about…?”
“No,” said Ingo. “Forget I mentioned her.”
“All right,” I said. I cleared my throat. “Okay, I think we need to make a decision. The next time we see a worker pass, should we just take a chance and head over?”
Ingo let out a bark of laughter, and my eyebrows rose.
“What?” I said.
The relieved grin he gave me made him look about sixteen. “Add that to the list,” he said. “You’re capable of actually dropping a subject when asked.”
Before I could respond, he looked back at the airfield. Surprise flashed across his face.
“No, look!” he hissed. “There’s someone in the office.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
We peered tensely through the branches. The office lay across the airstrip. Through its glass windows, I could see that a cluster of people had arrived: several Guns, and men in double-breasted suits.
Two Guns carried a placard on a tripod outside. They set it up. I could read only the top words: Welcome to AHD!
“AHD?” muttered Ingo.
“No idea,” I murmured back, gazing at the Guns. Their uniforms were the same as ours, only cleaner. Then I noticed the glances they were casting at the sky. My skin prickled; my eyes flew upwards too.
“Ingo, I think…” I started, and then broke off as we both heard the vibrating roar of a Merlin engine.
There’s nothing like it in the world: a deep, primal noise that goes right through you. “There!” Ingo said, pointing a grimy finger. Through the bush’s branches I saw the familiar shape approaching.
The small plane was at about two thousand feet. It came in at an angle as the pilot viewed the runway, then straightened out, its nose lifting for the landing.
“A two-seater,” I murmured as the plane touched down and taxied to a halt. The propeller slowly stopped. A worker darted over to shove chocks under the front wheels and the gang from the office swarmed forward, smiles ready.
The cockpit slid open. A young woman with coiffed, light brown hair climbed out as her pilot emerged from the other side. She wore a stylish flight suit with a fur coat over it. She smiled prettily as one of the men hastened to bring a small set of stairs over and helped her down them.
I stared at her. “I don’t believe it.”
Ingo glanced over. “You know her?”
“That’s Kay Pierce! Gunnison’s Chief Astrologer. She was at my trial.” Sourly, I recalled her sitting at the prosecution table, whispering with my attorney.
Ingo gave a soft snort. “I guess she’s up here dispensing astrological wisdom to AHD, whoever they are. How nice for them.”
Someone helped Pierce take off her parachute and the group headed for the glass-walled office. One of the suited men held the door open for her; she swept inside with a ripple of fur coat. They all passed through some inner door, leaving the office empty again.
My chest clutched. Suddenly the airfield was quiet. The workers had vanished into a hangar. The Merlin sat crouched on the pavement, its nose pointing towards the sky.
“We can’t think,” Ingo gasped. “We just have to go.”
We scrambled from the bushes and started walking towards the airfield as if we belonged there. My heart battered coldly at my ribs. I kept my eyes on the office, certain that any moment it would fill with people again.
We reached the asphalt. Our steps echoed as we started down the airstrip in quick unison. I forced my arms to swing loosely at my sides, though I was so frightened I could hardly breathe.
“We look like Guns,” I muttered out loud. “We’re Guns, Guns.”
“If no one looks too close,” Ingo said in an undertone. His face was as dirty as mine; our hair under our hats a greasy mess. He scanned the plane with fervent desperation – that wild, almost-euphoria I’d seen in him before.
“I’ll get the chocks while you start it up,” he said.
“No, I’ll do it – I can move faster than you with your injured rib.”
“All right. Just grab them and hop in; don’t waste any time.”
“Are you actually not arguing for a change?” I joked feebly, and he gave me a quick one-sided grin.
“I’m too shit-scared. I can put up a token resistance, if it makes you feel better.”
We’d almost reached the office by then, with the plane just ahead. I glanced at the placard…and froze.
“Ingo!” I gasped, grabbing his arm.
“What? We don’t have…” Ingo stopped as he saw it too.
Welcome to AHD! And then below, in smaller letters, the sign read: Atomic Harmony Devices: the hope for a new era. A logo underneath showed a laurel wreath. Its stylized leaves encircled an item that looked archaic, ominous, belonging only in history books.
A bomb.
“What…what is this place?” I got out. My spine was ice.
“Atomic Harmony Devices?” said Ingo, his voice rising. “No. No, this can’t mean what we…”
He trailed off. He was pale. I stared at the office. The inner door was glass too. Beyond it, I could see a vast, high-ceilinged space.
I couldn’t help myself.
Feeling unreal I went over to the empty office and slipped inside. The only sound was my footsteps. I crept to the inner door and peered through the glass, distantly aware that Ingo had followed.
Kay Pierce and the group of men stood in the middle of what appeared to be an old hangar. Next to them was a large bomb. It lay lengthways on wooden trestles, its metallic surface glinting silver.
Pierce smiled and nodded as one of the men motioned enthusiastically to the weapon. I eased open the door.
“…of course, only a model for visitors, but it’s all to scale. If you were here longer, we could give you the grand tour and show you the actual production process…”
“Amity, look!” hissed Ingo. Still stunned, I closed the door silently and turned.
He was beside a bulletin board. Welcome, Miss Pierce! said a sign at the top. The board was covered in glossy black-and-white photos.
I went and stood beside him. I couldn’t speak.
One photo showed a bomb like the one I’d just seen – a real one this time, I assumed. It was about twelve feet long and easily that much around: a fat, bloated thing with fins on one end. Four men in lab coats stood smiling in front of it.
Other photos showed a production line; two bombs side by side; a snowy region with a mushroom cloud rising up, stark white against the pale sky. A circular graph was titled, “Bomb Blast Effects on a Typical City of Ten Million People”.
I gaped at the display, almost literally unable to believe it.
I stammered, “But this – this goes against all…”
“Atomic weapons,” Ingo breathed. “That’s what destroyed the ancients.” He quickly read the text below the graph. “Uranium.
That’s what we were mining – it mentions Harmony Five’s mine! Uranium’s needed to create them.”
Uranium, that we’d mined at the point of a pistol. Atomic weapons, built for no other reason than to kill millions.
This, too, was because of what Dad had done.
I couldn’t breathe. Evidence. We had to have evidence. I started ripping the photos off the board. Ingo did the same, wincing as he strained for the top ones. The rattle of a hangar door came from somewhere in the distance and we both started.
“Come on!” Ingo gasped, jamming the photos in his coat pocket. He pushed through the door and raced for the Merlin. I paused to snatch the graph. As I shoved it in my pocket I glanced up.
Kay Pierce and the others were heading back. Through the inner glass door, her eyes met mine. Her gaze widened abruptly.
I turned and ran. Outside, Ingo was grabbing up the chocks from the Merlin’s front tyres, flinging them away.
“Get in!” I shouted, pounding towards the plane. The pilot’s side was closest to me. I clambered onto the wing and shoved open the hood.
“Stop her!” screamed a voice.
I felt as if I’d been punched – a split second later I heard the gunshot. The impact slammed me against the side of the Merlin. Another shot whined past overhead. Panting, I clutched the hood and swung myself in, half-falling into the cockpit.
Its dials and levers were all so familiar, yet this had to be a dream. I stared blankly at my left thigh.
So much blood.
Ingo flung himself in next to me and slid shut the hood. They were running towards us – shouts – the world dimmed in and out of focus.
No. I would not die before I had answers. Suddenly furious, I gritted my teeth. With trembling hands I hit the ignition, eased back on the throttle. The plane started to move, picking up speed.
“Are you—” Ingo broke off. I heard his startled swear – felt his hands on my leg, putting pressure on the wound. “Keep going!” he cried over the roar of the engine. “Pull back; you can do it!”