Night Witches Part 11

I crumble one cookie now and feed the baby bird in my pocket. I checked Aura and discovered you call a baby bird a fledgling. I'm going to name mine Eye Bright, because that's what its eyes are like a" alert and beady and full of life. I feel its feathers rustle against my hand. Aura says there's a word from Old Nation days for animals you keep and look after a" pets. Eye Bright is my pet bird. A life saved when others have been lost.

I was going to call it Lucky, but that would be stupid, because clearly that word would never stick with me. I'm unlucky, unhappy and under observation, here in the back of a convoy of trucks crammed with canisters labelled Slick. I've got Steen Verdessica on the seat next to me and Reef Starzak on guard opposite. Reef is sitting with his feet up so there's more room for my legs but Steen isn't as considerate. Our legs are so close I can feel the heat of his thigh even through the fabric of my trousers.

Worse than that, wedged between canisters just behind the driver is one person I've been hoping to avoid. The canteen cook, Haze. The girl they say has got my face.

How could anyone confuse me with her? Haze is big and stocky, like most foodlanders a" bulked up on a stodgy diet and lots of muscle-based work. Her hair's cropped round her ears and high across her forehead. She's lumbered by a full-length skirt that divides and is bound round the ankles by embroidered bands, then at the waist with a decorated belt. Her sleeves are rolled up to show strong arms; her sun-browned skin is laced with fine scars.

Haze glowers at me, Steen looks under his lashes at me, Reef observes everyone and I look at the floor.

Where are we going? Nowhere fast, thanks to the mud.

Spring thaw is the worst possible time to be travelling, especially in foodlands, where biogra.s.s struggles to hold the ground together once the rain-storms have flooded down. Aura reports worse snow-melt than usual this year.

Questions are churning in my mind, like wheels in wet mud. I'm getting nowhere, answers-wise. I want to know why no one told me we used to live in Sorrowdale. Why's this Lim girl, Haze, set on leaving witch-thing charms for my protection? What's Steen's interest in sticking with the squadron a" something he wants so much he's rumoured to be feeding Aura information about the Crux Air Force to keep himself out of prison?

As for Reef, I'm trying not to think about him at all, just in case Scrutiners can read your mind. Whatever tentative connection we had, I've utterly wrecked it. Like he said, us was a mistake.

The truck skids through yet another bad patch, flinging me sideways on to Steen, who grins as I flinch.

Reef says, *The roads get better after the bridge.'

Which bridge? I try and remember what I can about the route we've taken so far from Loren. We're heading south-east, so that means towards Sea-Ways, which means the bridge will be over the river that runs through the city to the ocean a" River Seaward.

A sudden wave of nausea hits me and I have to put my head down to my knees.

*Rain? Are you OK?' I hear Reef but can't answer. What's wrong with me? The Slick stinks, but I thought I was used to that. This is worse a" a definite bad feeling for no logical reason.

*Travel-sick, bless,' says Steen sarcastically. *And here I was a.s.suming roads in Rodina would be so civilised a" it claiming to be such a sophisticated Nation.'

*Shut up,' says Reef a" not eloquent, but to the point.

*She doesn't want to cross the river,' says Haze abruptly. Her voice is slow and thick, as if she's not used to talking much. No one pays any attention to her, thank G.o.d . . . thank whatever.

With a great grinding of gears we come to a stop.

*Mud!' Reef pushes open the carry-go door and leaps down. *Crux a" come out here and help.'

Steen's eyebrows shoot up. *And be lynched by every Crux-hater within a ten-klick radius? No thank you!'

*I'll help,' says Haze, bundling up her fat skirts. *It's all I'm good for, after all. Do this, fetch that, cook this, clean that. Not like little softie city girls with mothers and fathers to work for them . . .'

Reef nods and starts to take off his pristine, white Scrutiner tunic. I try not to stare at the shape of his muscles.

*I can help too . . .'

He raises an eyebrow and looks at me, shaking his head. *Stay in the truck.'

Do I really look so pathetic a" such a pipsqueak a" next to Haze? I twist round and peer through the mud-spattered windows. The roadside is thick with refugees a" hundreds, perhaps even thousands of silent walkers slogging through the mud. Some are dragging carts loaded with boxes, some balance bulging suitcases on their heads, some have little children straddling their shoulders. On they trudge, round our convoy, not even bothering to stop and ask for a lift. Squinting forward I can see the bright paint of a school bus just ahead of us. I also spot the great arch of the upcoming bridge and the shapes of more military vehicles from Loren crossing over.

How did it happen, that one day there was peace, the next day war, and now this?

I flick a quick look at Steen. A Crux. Cause of all this misery in motion. He won't meet my eyes.

Our engine whines with fresh effort until the truck is finally sucked free of the mud and we hear a faint cheer from outside. Then comes a stranger noise, quiet at first then louder and louder until it seems the sky must be shrieking in agony and we have to cover our ears.

Steen bangs into me, shoving me down to the floor. *Screamers!' he shouts. *Take cover!'

Screamers!

The name doesn't do the sound justice. I feel as if my ears are being shredded by poisonous blades; as if hot wires are slicing my brain. We know from Victory reports that Screamers are crude Crux dive-bombers, fitted with filters on their wings that literally screech as the planes hurtle down, unbelievably fast, to fire. How many are there coming our way? Two? More? An explosion rocks the truck. The door flies open.

*Get out, get out!' Reef shouts, dragging me from under Steen by my jacket sleeve and pulling me into the sludge of a roadside ditch, where Haze is already hiding. A second Screamer cuts the cold air and grey bombs fall between the rain of bullets. Reddened mud sprays out.

Refugees cower alongside us, arms wrapped round their children or just over their heads. I hear babies squalling . . . and the scary sound of praying. Reef flings his arm around my back and covers me with his body. I wish I could melt into him and feel all wrapped up for ever.

Nearby a large woman trembles and mutters, *We should never have pulled the bells down in the G.o.d-houses, after the last Long Night. I said no good would come of it, and no good's come, see? Bells were our protection a" look what happens without them!'

Haze is utterly eye-wide with fear. She stutters, *It's the witch in the woods, come for me. First she sent wolves, now these!'

*Quiet!' shouts Reef, and because he's a Scrutiner everyone obeys.

I want to tell Haze, There's no such thing as witches, but I can't speak. I'm staring at a puddle of dirty, brown water in the bottom of the ditch. It vibrates every time a bomb falls. In between the ripples I s.n.a.t.c.h sight of a vision a" a crippled bridge and a drowned girl.

The corpse I see is me.

Reef connects as soon as he can wipe the mud from his keypad. For a moment he doesn't speak.

*What do we do? Where do we go? Will they come back?' babbles the big woman next to me.

Reef checks his updates again and slowly stands. I'm chilled when his body warmth leaves mine. He jumps up on to the side of an overturned truck and shouts for attention.

*Listen to me, everyone! Our priority is to get any military vehicles that can still be driven over to the far bank of the river. Push them across the bridge if you have to. Get those wrecks out of the way! Carry cans of Slick by hand if you can! You all heard me a" move!'

Haze hauls herself out of the ditch, trailing revolting green weeds that shouldn't even be growing this far from the forest. *That's right, get to the river,' she echoes Reef. *River running, witches retching . . .'

She makes me think of that thing Pedla Rue said, about how, if you need to get away from a witch, you must ring your bells and run to the river. But it's the Crux who are coming, not monsters from the Mora.s.s.

I scramble after Reef. *It'll only slow people down, pus.h.i.+ng trucks and lugging Slick. Shouldn't they just run . . . ?'

*Empty that school bus and push it into the ditch if it won't start!' Reef shouts into the crowd.

*Out, out, out!' calls a teacher from the bus, and tiny evacuees come popping out of the bus and falling in the mud.

*Give us a hand back here!' yells a grey-haired woman from the back of the bus. *All push together!'

*Can someone help me with the children?' the teacher asks.

I head for the evacuees. *Clear the road or carry a canister, Rain Aranoza,' Reef commands.

*But . . .'

*Aura's orders!'

*But those Screamers could be back any moment, and I'm sure I can hear traptions nearby . . .'

*Heave!' grunt the people pus.h.i.+ng the bus.

The big woman stumbles into the road. *Did you say traptions? Are there traptions coming?'

*Keep together! Everyone hold hands and follow me,' the teacher calls to the kids.

*Pus.h.!.+' rasps the woman behind the bus.

*Save the Slick first!' Reef shouts to the teacher.

I know you shouldn't question a Scrutiner's orders or tug on his tunic to get his attention, but I'm utterly, devastatingly certain something terrible is about to happen, so I do anyway, insisting, *We've got to get everyone across the river fast!'

Reef shakes his head. He won't look at me. *I told you a" Aura's orders. The Slick must be saved.'

*Before children?'

*You heard what I said, the same as everyone else!' He jumps down from the upturned truck, sets his shoulder to the bus and starts to push. There's no way they'll s.h.i.+ft it. I muscle into a spot myself.

*Heave!' we all chant together. *One, two, three, heave!'

Strength flows out of me. The bus starts to s.h.i.+ft. It topples at the ditch edge . . . then slides down into the water with an obscene kiss-smack noise. Reef grabs the grey-haired woman to stop her skidding down after it. It's the first time I've seen him truly dirty and dishevelled. He's been hit by shrapnel. A thin line of blood trickles down his forehead and stains the inked tattoo on one eyelid.

Next he directs people to a cascade of Slick canisters fallen from a truck, telling them to drag or roll them to the bridge. *You too!' he shouts at the teacher, who is desperately trying to look calm so the kids a" some of them so tiny they're knee-deep in mud a" don't get even more scared than they are already.

*Stay together. Keep away from the traffic,' he tells them. *Get to the bridge if you can. I'll be back for you soon. I've just got to help move those cans.'

The children stand there, petrified.

I drop the can of Slick I'm carrying and wade towards them.

*Rain!' Reef comes right behind me and grabs my arm to stop me. *I don't like it any more than you do, Rain, but Aura knows best how to win this war . . .'

I shake him off. *Does Aura know how it feels to have a Screamer firing at you? To get crushed under traption tracks? To get blown to pieces like, like . . .' I wave my hands at the nasty lumps of people-shapes left in the mud by Screamer attacks. *Like them?'

*I can't ignore Aura,' he says quietly.

*Can't, or won't?'

Time slows. There are just the two of us balancing in the mud.

Reef takes a deep breath. He stares at the Slick. At the kids. At me. *Rain, you've been deafened by the Screamer noise.'

*No, Ia"'

*And your keypad is too wet to connect.'

*No, it's fine . . . Oh. You mean, you think I'm a bit sh.e.l.l-shocked? Not quite responsible for my actions? And you're too busy salvaging Slick to stop me disobeying orders?'

He nearly smiles. *You're confused and panicky.'

*Right.'

He bends down to my ear and murmurs, *But still very lovely.'

Then he's straight and tall again, directing operations on the road. A subtle hand gesture from him tells me a" Go a" go!

I remember images of River Seaward from the stream-screen a" a placid stretch of calm, covered in canoes and rowboats. Now, after all the rain and snow-melt, Seaward is in full spring flood, a surging torrent of brown waves tossing tree trunks around like toothpicks.

I herd evacuees this far. Now all I have to do is get them single-file across the bridge without anyone being squashed by rumbling trucks or dutiful citizens lugging canisters of Slick. On the far side of the bridge a group of soldiers has arrived, and they're already setting up anti-aircraft guns. Better still, I hear the unmistakable sound of People's Number Forty-eight Fighter planes coming to our rescue, harrying the Screamers, hurtling in for the kill. Hurrah for Rodina! I hustle the evacuees forward, quick, quick, quick.

*Don't be afraid!' I shout at the running children. Me, I'm terrified. There's no way I'm leaving land. I don't care if traptions come gobbling mud, or witches even, whoos.h.i.+ng through the clouds on black-feathered wings. Let them come! I won't cross that seething water!

On the far side of the bridge I spy Haze gathering up children who've made it over safely. She pauses to stare at me a" a gaze of pure malevolence. Then she points and laughs. *You can't cross!' she mouths.

Can't. Won't. As the sky-battle boils above, I cower below. I think I hear Reef's voice through the chaos.

*Run, Rain! Get to safety!'

What about him?

*Get on the bridge!'

His words explode as more bombs tumble down. The bridge is. .h.i.t. Girders are blown apart, stick-figures fly high and fall, and the whole structure tips sideways with resentful groans.

Not everybody falls.

Halfway along the tangle of toppled girders is a little girl in school uniform, the last of the evacuees. She's clinging to a railing and screaming screaming screaming. She won't be able to hold on for long.

What can I do? What good would Aura be if I bothered to connect? There'd just be a message, something like status update: situation precarious, please wait for action-requirements, please wait, please wait, please wait If not Aura, what about praying? I close my eyes and make something up.

Oh G.o.d-that-doesn't-exist, I need to get over this river . . .

Where are the saynts with wings, swooping down to carry me to safety? Where are the bolts of G.o.d-light and bell chimes of jubilation? All I get is a sudden swirl of black birds flying in a noisy corkscrew overhead.

There's just me, and what I need to do.

*Hold tight,' I croak to the girl. *I'm coming!'

I step on to a twisted girder. It's no good. Even when I close my eyes I can still hear the wild water of River Seaward. There's an awful lurch as the bridge wreckage drops lower, groans, shudders . . . and holds. How is it that climbing on to the wing of the Storm was nothing to me, but this bridge-crossing is agony?

*Hold tight,' I say again, more to myself than to anyone else. Oh G.o.d, the Screamers are returning a" the noise . . . ! The girl's howls are drowned by their far more monstrous wail.

I don't know how I reach her but I do, just as the bridge is peppered with bullets. I should be able to stay balanced and get us both across. I should . . . but I can't. Panicking, the girl fights me like she's a whirlwind, or like I'm a wolf. My head spins, my feet slip, and the best I can do is hold on to her as she pulls us both off the bridge and down into the flood.