Part 11 (1/2)

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 . . .'