Part 11 (2/2)

*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.

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