Night Witches Part 12

We plunge.

It's like hitting a broken wall; being a salad tossed by a tornado; having a bath in angry ice. Which way up? I want to breathe. Can't breathe. Want to swim. Can't swim. Want to hold on to the girl . . . can't hold her. Got her coat, her collar . . . got nothing but her coat. She's spinning away under the waves. I stretch and kick and stretch again till I've got it a" her hand, her cold, bare hand. Images tumble round my head like the river water a" visions of an old, old woman lying in bed, dressed in tubes and a hospital robe.

The girl doesn't die today!

That gives me the strength to surge up and, quick, breathe a" suck all the sky in at once. I fight the water, fight the water, fight the water . . . lose the fight, get dragged down, down deeper, down darker, a strange turmoil. Ears are screeching, heart is breaking, hand-hold weakening, then . . . PAIN a" as if my hair is being torn out! Let go of me, let go of me, let go of me . . .

*Let go!' I cough, turning to sick up Seaward water on to the riverbank.

Steen Verdessica is straddling me, sodden from scalp to socks. *I'm giving you the kiss of life,' he says, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. *I'm not sure you've properly recovered yet . . .'

*Get off me!'

I shove him away and grope around in cold mud for the still little body at my side. *Is she . . . ?'

*Alive, don't worry, thanks to you. And you're alive, thanks to me.'

I gather the girl up and keep her close for warmth. She's breathing at least.

*You dragged me out by my hair!'

*Good job it's long then,' Steen replies, tweaking one of my wet braids.

I notice he's s.h.i.+vering and his wrists are bubbling red.

*What happened to your handcuffs?'

*Burned off, thanks to a truck fire. Bioweave stinks when on fire. I thought it best to be mobile, given the situation on the road. Traptions aren't subtle machines. I didn't rate my chances of convincing them I'm on their side.'

*What about Reef?'

Steen pulls away from me. *I don't care about him. It's you I was worried about.'

*You . . . meant to jump in and save me? Why would you do that? We're the enemy to you!'

He looks at me with pity in his eyes. *Crux wors.h.i.+p light, not death, Rain. Just because I fight in a war doesn't mean I glory in the death-toll. And the girl . . . she's just a kid.'

I wish I had something scathing to say about that but I don't because I'm vomiting again, with Steen holding long hair out of my face.

*As for you,' he says wryly, *isn't it obvious I would die for you?'

Soldiers come. There are medics and Scrutiners. Hospital tents and heat lamps. Lights to keep a new night at bay. Eventually Zoya finds me and bundles me in a hug, along with the billowing silver therma-wrap I'm wearing to fend off hypothermia.

*Pip, you lunatic, I thought I'd lost you! Our trucks got over long before the bombs, so we're all fine. Are you going to eat that food bar, because if not . . . ? Thanks. So. Are you OK now? You're s.h.i.+vering.'

d.a.m.n right I'm s.h.i.+vering. My head is full of visions of death for each of the three medics who've laid hands on me since Steen dragged me to safety. I saw one medic get shot by friendly fire; one wastes away from an old-age disease. The third one, a female, I sense is growing a baby, which will live far longer than its mother.

Enough, enough! I don't want to know these futures! I don't want this torrent of life and death! I shrink away from Zoya too. My best comfort is having one hand in my pocket to stroke the quivering ball of feathers nesting there. My bird. I'm amazed Eye Bright survived the river.

When all clothes are dry and all reports completed I meet the rest of the ground crew to continue our Strategic Withdrawal east. We're jammed into yet another truck a" I notice it's got a flattened wild rablet stuck dead on one tyre. Zoya squashes between Yeldon and Haze, leaving me the only free s.p.a.ce, next to Mossie, who tells me she's so happy I'm safe, then promptly falls asleep on my shoulder.

We're dumped at a set of monumental gates at the edge of an industrial estate somewhere west of Sea-Ways. A screen that's dying for lack of power streams a sign: People's Number 41 Biopolis. Beyond the gates great bio-vats march across the horizon, blocking the sun. These are the towers where bio-fibres are woven, ready to be formed into whatever the Nation needs. Now they're as empty as the other factory buildings. The workers have had their own Strategic Withdrawal, to sites on the east side of the city, where it's safer.

This, then, is the home of the new Storm squadron. The planes are under camouflaged nets along one side of a long strip of patchy bioground.

*It doesn't look like an airbase,' Zoya says doubtfully. She connects for rea.s.surance from Aura. *Oh no! Check your updates, Rain. We've got to report to Marina Furey. I bet she's still mad at you for taking the Storm . . .'

Aura directs us to the new HQ. Before we can even knock to enter, an office door is yanked open and Marina Furey stands there looking magnificent and terrifying, with hands on hips and a half-opened packet of chokes sprouting out of a pocket. We haven't seen her since we set off for Sorrowdale that last, illegal time.

*Do you two have any idea how much trouble you're in?' she bawls. Her anger echoes round the Biopolis and lasts until she runs out of energy, then she rubs her eyes, gives one final lament about insubordination from one of her most promising pilots, and tells us to clear out.

*Go and get something to eat. Get a bath too. You look filthy.'

Did she mean what she just said? Did Marina Furey, the world's greatest aviator, call me one of her most promising pilots . . . ?

*We're free to join the squadron again?' I ask.

*Yes, Aranoza. You're more valuable to us as a pilot than a prisoner, not that this means any more abnormal behaviour will be tolerated in the slightest.' Her expression softens. *You were wrong to take the Storm to Sorrowdale, but under the circ.u.mstances all charges have been dropped. It was the least I could arrange after what you did for Henke and Rill . . . and for me.'

I glance at Zoya a" What does she mean? Zoya looks just as confused.

Furey snaps her fingers for the nearest stream-screen to power on. She scrolls through some images until one face fills the screen.

*That's the girl on the bridge,' I gasp. *She's not wet in that picture,' I add lamely.

*No,' says Furey, with a bit of a sniff, *she's not wet any more. She's one of the evacuees from People's Number Twelve Young School in Sorrowdale. Her name is Tilly Furey and she's my daughter a" the only family I have left in the world.'

I'm dizzy-glad that happiness came out of the horror of River Seaward. My heart would be a lot lighter if I knew that Reef was doing OK, but that's Scrutiner business and Aura won't let me access updates about him. Of course, he could message me himself. But he doesn't.

Once we're ejected from Furey's office Zoya declares she's famished. She heads off to see if there's hot food.

*Everyone will be in the canteen,' she says. *Aren't you coming?'

*In a bit. I need to get some clean gear on. Scrub up a bit.'

*OK. Don't be long a" everyone will wonder where you are.'

I want to wash any lingering traces of the river away and I get Aura to direct me to the Biopolis bath-house.

It's an Old Nation building that's been modernised with decent plumbing and hopefully hot water. Apparently there are sweat-rooms, dry-heat rooms and a cold plunge-pool. The first two sound wonderful, but when I get to the bath-house they don't seem to be open for business. The changing-rooms are empty, with just one forgotten sock in the corner.

I figure I can at least shower. I undress quickly. It's silly to keep looking over my shoulder as if someone's watching me, but I do anyway. Taking care not to disturb Eye Bright, who is a ball of sleeping fluff, I fold my clothes, grab a towel a" grey and scratchy as if it's been murdered in the laundry, rather than washed a" then tiptoe into a shower cubicle. The floor is cold. I say, *Shower on.' Nothing happens. Again, sharper: *Shower on!' The nozzle leaks water like a runny nose. Cold water. Nothing to do but pull the towel tight and nip to the next cubicle. *Shower on.'

Not even a dribble.

Showers, sauna, steam-room a" all cold. I try the sinks outside the row of toilet cubicles. Joy. One tap spits out enough water to fill a basin before choking dry. I drop my towel round my waist and manage a rough strip wash, wetting my hair and soaping that too. Maybe I should cut it off after all. It tingles from where Steen grabbed it to haul me out of the water. I still can't believe he did that. Why would he? He said he'd die for me. How idiotic.

There's a mirror over each sink. In mine I see a stark reflection. A girl who keeps surviving catastrophes.

I look normal enough. Uncomfortable, obviously. It's funny being more or less naked in the open like this. I seem healthy enough a" I always have been, until the recent bouts of sickness. Maybe my body needs a bit more padding. Bigger b.r.e.a.s.t.s? Will I grow taller? What will I look like as I get older? What would Reef think if he could see me now? Na! That makes me s.h.i.+ver! I imagine his eyes on me . . . My skin tightens. Nipples go hard.

Colder water required.

Even when it's been scrubbed clean my skin still feels wrong. Stretched too tight. Itchy. Is it my face? I get one of those moments when you stare at your reflection and it's like looking at somebody else's face through a pane of gla.s.s. You wait for the other face to do or say something. You frown. It frowns. You blink. It blinks.

When I open my eyes the light behind me is flickering, on-on-off, on-on-off. Not the sort of power glitch you expect in Rodina.

*Is anybody there?'

Silence except for the sound of invisible water trickling. If I had fur my hackles would rise.

On-on-off goes the light.

I look in the mirror again. For a flash moment there's no reflection a" I don't exist. Then there's my face again in the sink water a" an oval of fear framed by black hair.

A single droplet rolls from the tap into the sink. It falls without a splash into the basin. A second drop goes the same way. A third drop is as red as blood. It blossoms in the sink and spreads, making a grim sunset on a pale horizon. Dark shapes appear against the red a" a phalanx of planes in formation. Bombs scatter down, fires flare up. Then I see a shape in the flames a" a burning G.o.d-house and a girl with lightning for hair . . .

Enough!

On-on-off. The light reminds me where I am. I plunge my hand into the water. The pictures swirl into soapy grey and are gone.

Off.

All the lights go off.

Utter darkness. Not a glimmer.

*Who's there?'

I don't need to ask. I can actually see in the dark, not just the light shapes and shadows of normal night-vision, but as clear as if all the lights are on. They're not a" I check, and they're dead.

Haze keeps her distance. She's afraid. Of me? Of being without light, most likely. She twists the end of her embroidered belt nervously. If there were lights, what would she see looking in a mirror now a" her face or mine? She shuffles in the dark, approaching me around the walls.

*I know you're there,' she whispers. *You're hiding.'

*I'm not hiding. There's a power outage or something. The lights will be back on again in a moment.'

*You hide in the light too. You lie and steal. Thief!'

*Hey a" you can't go around saying things like that!'

*Can,' she says stubbornly.

*It's you, isn't it, who's been leaving those disgusting charm things on my Storm and in my jacket? I know you probably think they're for protection or something, but I don't believe in witches, so I don't need charms against them.'

*No.' She gives a funny laugh. *You don't need charms against them.'

*So you won't leave any more around?'

*You can't tell me what to do! I'm not your servant! I'm n.o.body's servant now!'

Her anger makes me flinch. *No, I can't tell you what to do, but I could tell the Scrutiners about you and your superst.i.tions.'

She draws back. *Eyes in the Dark are nasty.'

*Exactly. So keep away from me, or I'll tell them everything.'

*Everything?' Her voice takes on a cunning tone. *All your secrets too?'

*I don't have any secrets . . .'

*Lies, lies, lies! I want it back, you know, all of it.'

*All of what?'

*My life. My family. Everything you stole.'

*Honestly, Haze, you're mistaking me for someone I'm not.'

*No.' She's almost crying. *No a" you're mistaking yourself for someone you're not!'

She runs out of the bath-house.

The lights flash on all at once a" too bright! I slide my hand into the sink and pull the plug. Water gurgles down the pipes, leaving the sink spidered with a few long, black hairs.

One of the factory meeting-rooms has been converted to a dorm with bed-slats on the floor and windows shuttered blind for the blackout. I rescue my kit bag from a pile dumped in one corner and dig through it, looking for clean clothes and a comb. I'm s.h.i.+vering and itchy and going half crazy from Haze's words bouncing round my head.

How dare she creep up on me like that! Now I just feel wrong, wrong, wrong. I scratch my nails along the skin of my arm, just to remind myself I exist. Long, red welts appear. I gouge deeper, glad of the pain's distraction and fascinated by the bright blood that appears. What if I found a knife? What could I do then! The pain of the cuts would surely be better than the pain of all this abnormality.

Calm, Rain a" keep calm. It's not normal to cut yourself.

Zoya's not back yet. Is she avoiding me? No, that's paranoia.

Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you, is what Fenlon likes to say.

I should stop being so anxious. Zoya likes her food. She'll just be getting seconds in the new canteen block, wherever that is, eating more of the nasty stuff Haze produces, and being with the rest of the squadron, like normal. Like I should be.

I towel my hair dry. So far I've avoided the regulation military haircut by hiding my braids in my cap. I tip my head forward and begin to brush vigorously. I daren't use a mirror, too scared I'll see something a" or nothing a" reflected. I'm so focused I barely notice a door opening. Someone walks over.

*h.e.l.lo, Rain.'

I fling back my hair. *What . . . what are you doing here? I mean, h.e.l.lo. You're alive! You made me jump.'

He smiles. Reef Starzak. Right in front of me. I try and smooth the static black around my face.

*Sorry. I was just . . .'

Reef looks around the dorm. Now I'm conscious of how old and grey the bioweave is; how thin the blankets; how stark the unshaded light.