IN THE MOUNTAINS OF FIRE by Dolores J. Nurss
Volume
III: Responsibility
Chapter 2 The Road to Tumblebugs
Wednesday, June 3, 2014 Together we drive up the
steep grade to Tumblebugs, Damien and Kanarik and me rattling along in the
dentist's old car, while Chulan and Fatima take the jeep on an alternate road,
the military gear divided up between us.
Right now war doesn't seem hard at all. Kanarik passes me more
stapleseed biscuits, despite my protests.
"'Tima said to make sure you get extra helpings, 'cause you got
mountainsick a few days ago." "Oh all right, just
one more…thanks, Kana." The stuff
must carry a lot of vitamin E, then, to decrease the body's need for
oxygen. Maybe someday a lab can analyze
this grain for some purpose other than fuel. Damien watches our back, so
it prickles my neck when he says, "Uh folks, we’ve got company." I check out my rear-view mirror--three
military jeeps, and Chulan doesn’t drive any of them. "Don't open fire
unless they do,” I say. “They might just
assume that we're..." They fire. I slam the fuel-peddle as Damien and Kanarik
scramble for the weapons. Of course--why
would a cheap car like this have any business driving to Tumblebugs? How long have they been tracking us,
anyway? Why did I take so long to sweep
out Malcolm's foreign tread-mark that I couldn't finish the job? Or did the bioconversion smell give us away? But only a Purple Mantle would know how to
track a... I see him. There, in the mirror, second car back, calmly
taking notes, heedless of the fierce veering of our vehicles or of Damien's
returning fire. I see the pure white
sleeves beyond the mantle itself, the surprisingly young face, I can even make
out the faint moustache--eyes back on the road!
You nearly missed that curve, you fool!
But I know him. I've dreamed of
him, I've had nightmares, all but forgotten except for that too young, too grim
face. I recognized his name the very
first time I heard it. Fate must mean
for us to do battle with each other. Will he also recognize me
when I kill him slowly for what he did to Aron? "Use the hand-grenade,
Kanarik!" Damien shouts.
"Pretend it's a dance move, make it land precisely where you want
it." She leans way out, young and
wild, her arm makes a perfect arc and releases--seconds before the gunfire shears
right through the flesh. "Stop the bleeding!"
I cry, as the lead jeep behind us blows up, roaring. "Do exactly as I say." "Kana, Kana, it's all
right, they didn't get your leg," he murmurs in the mad firelight. "You can dance with one arm, they didn't
get your leg." "She'll lose her life,
too, if you don't do precisely what I tell you to!" I propel us around a
turn that wants to fling us out into space.
"Raise her arm and squeeze the wound as tightly as you can—how’s
the bleeding now?" "Too many wounds--I
can't compress them all!" The jeeps
slow behind the burning hulk of their brother. "Try pressing the artery
point I've shown you, the one on the inner side, near the armpit." "It's squirting with
her pulse, Deirdre! What do I..." "Listen! Malcolm's change of clothes back there--find
a rolled-up pair of socks and press it to that pressure-point." Too bad he keeps the medical supplies in the
trunk. "Rip off a wide strip from
the bottom of his shirt, all the way around, and wrap that twice around her
arm, holding the socks in place."
And how did I hear Damien through that blast, anyway?--but no time to
think about that. "Spread it wide,
but pull it tight." Oh no--the road's too broad! The jeeps can get around the wreck. I increase speed and duck just as a new spurt
of gunfire shatters our windows. I can
barely peer over the dashboard now from where I crouch, as I race up and down
the swirling mountain road, the wind blowing hair into my face. "Knot it tight,"
I say. We screech around a bend faster
than anyone with normal reactions could take; we outrun shooting range. "Put a stick--or pen or dental tool,
anything--over the knot, and tie another over it." My hand darts up to change the mirror's
angle, back down again ahead of new shots--oh lord, they're gaining on us
again! "Now twist the stick a full
turn." No--I saw through fear; they
aren’t that close. Can't lose my head at
a time like this. I hear Kanarik scream in
pain. "Do it! Finish the job--a full turn or she'll
die." I see more jeeps than I
thought behind those chasing us--and yes they do gain on us! "Now tie the stick into that
position." The car flies over bumps
as we swerve on the shoulder and nearly off a cliff before we gain the road
again. "Wrap her up warm, now,
Damien." Our way narrows once
more--we stand a chance.
"Damien--the grenades! Throw
another grenade!" But it takes him
forever, and by the time he does the road has widened again. One jeep loses control on the crater and
crashes into another, but the rest keep on coming, slowed but making it
around. "Damn you, Damien--you
choked!" "Kana's arm..." "Don't give me your
excuses, boy! Next time I tell you to
throw you reach out of this car and throw--or we'll all wind up dead, Kanarik
too!" "Can't," he
husks. "We only had two." "Then take up the gun
and shoot the first jeep to make it in range." I grit my teeth and
concentrate on the road ahead. We
sideswipe a sign warning us to slow for curves and tear on faster than
before. Oh God, oh God, I promised you
I'd make up for all the sins that got me fast reflexes by how I used them--let
‘em save our lives today! The torque of
our twists at speed wrestles me for the wheel but again and again I wrench us
back onto road, putting gut-muscle into it and cursing through clenched teeth
worse words than I've ever used before. I can hear the rifle
stuttering out death, Damien’s finger glued to the semiautomatic trigger. I can feel his fear as he leans out far
enough to do it. I can feel the fury
that makes him do it anyway. I
can--watch the road! Damn you, Merrill, and your
accursed experiment--I don't feel "enhanced" at all! Trees and rocks and cliffs keep coming at me
and I dodge them just in time; my wheels kick up dirt as often as they screech
over pavement. Over there--Chulan hurtles
onto the widening trunk road ahead of us from her separate route, with Fatima
on shotgun. No way up but one from here
on out. I nearly crash into them to
swing around and ahead and they curse us like the pros they are, but I can't slow
down to save my life. Let them take the
fire for awhile--I've had enough of it! I hear their share of the
grenades go off. Fools--to waste them on
the broad road where the army can cruise right past the craters like nothing
happened! The car makes sickening
grinding noises as I flog it up the slope.
Malcolm's jalopy has never seen a workout like this in all its
overlengthy years--and it ain't seen nothin' yet! I make 'er spin, whip past the surprised
girls straight towards the even more surprised army, and loop again to give
Damien a chance to spray them all with bullets before they know what hit
'em--then hightail it back again ahead of screaming Fatima and Chulan and their
own gunfire. Two can use the widening of
the road. A glance at the mirror
shows me Damien's face as he spares me one quick look, all glaring eyes and gritted
teeth in a blood-drenched face. Then
over the rise we fly, airborne for a dizzy instant before we crash back
bone-hurting-hard down to screeching wheels and hurtle into the crater-park as
patrons shriek and run before us, gunfire raining down from the government
jeeps behind. We squeal around the bowl
of the arena, us and Chulan's jeep and the Charadocian army behind us, but none
of us have rollbars and they don't even have roofs. I loop back again, close enough so the troops
can see me lick my fingers at them, then I lead them and their gunfire away
from Chulan and 'Tima as the girls escape the crater; higher and higher up the
slope I go, daring them to... ...tumble like the
"bugs" built for the sport. They can't react like I can. Soldiers fly out of their open vehicles that
soon crash down on top of them. I make
split-second choices to avoid the same fate, circle 'round and 'round till I
can go straight again and tear up out of that pit, veering around the smoking
hulks and dodging the bullets of diehards firing from behind the wreckage. I think I caught a glimpse
of Chulan's jeep headed for the streets of the complex itself to pick up the
rest of the troops. But I also note the
man in purple and white, down in the basin still, who rolled expertly out of
harm's way and now, unshaken, retrieves his notes, a few rips and road-rash on
his not-so-immaculate person, but none the worse for it otherwise. Bewildered, the rest of the
army slows to a halt, finding themselves surrounded by the elite of the
Meritocracy--gentlefolk interrupted in their play by fearing for their
lives. The gunfire stops and shouts
exchange instead--outraged aristocrats versus defensive soldiers trapped in a
different kind of battle that Basic couldn't train them for. Meanwhile, the gears scream in the old
rustbucket as I force it upslope to flee over the lip--it won't last long. I chuckle, hoping that the crowd contains a
politician or two--someone in a position to cut military funds. In all the distraction I
catch a glimpse of Lucinda and the others leaping from a wall into Chulan’s
jeep like fleas onto a speeding horse...and speaking of which, who should
gallop in but two red-headed imps on horseback?
Hail, hail, the gang's all here!
Then we plunge down, down the steep road of the other side, so fast it
pops our ears, till we can veer off onto the third side-road that we find. (“Max?” Beside me, at the window, my fellow hairdresser starts to
faint. A pink crystal rolls from his
fingers. “Hide that!” he husks as I catch him. So I kick it behind a waste-pail for the
moment and help him over to the nearest massage-table. I overhear somebody say, “That Max is such a swoosh!” and others
laugh—nervously, because the bullets scared us all--none of us here at
Tumblebugs actually want the revolution to come this close. When nobody’s looking I fetch the crystal again and bring it back
to Max, who looks as pale as Mountainfolk can ever get. “I need food—carbs,” he says, taking the rock from me. “Don’t tell anybody I have this. Don’t tell anybody I know how to use it.” And he passes out again.) Seriously rattling itself
to death, our vehicle manages to limp into a hidden fold of forest and then
chokes to a halt meters before I intended.
I think it took bullets into vital parts that we have no means of
repairing right now--as if it hadn't taken enough abuse, already. I climb out to check the damage--and look in
the back instead. Blood soaks Damien and
Kanarik and every surface back there, strewn with a sparkle of shattered glass. Damien sits hunched and staring a thousand
miles into nothing, while Kanarik lies there shivering in his lap, pale beneath
the blood, her lips turned blue.
"Thirsty," she whispers as I open the door. "Damien, give her all
the water she wants." I didn't know
that her slim little body could hold so much blood, let alone lose it and still
live. I seem to recall some admonition
against giving fluids to people in shock, but she needs volume, at least, in
her veins—and fast. They make those
rules in the land of plentiful transfusions and hospitals open to all, but I
can't even guess her blood-type. Or
maybe it’s don’t try to give fluids to the unconscious. Or…I don’t know! I can hardly think right now. I lean in and uncover
her...her rag of an arm. I can't save a
thing like that. Jesus, I can't do a lot
of things that a real medic's supposed to do; I learn more about what I don't
know all the time. Oh, sweet Jesus,
why'd you give me so many talents, only to drop me into this life where only
the ones that I don't have count?
"Go ahead, Damien, give her water--we can do that much for
her." No, I gave me those
talents. In a sin. I reap what I sow. Dully he asks, "Is she
gonna die?" "I don't know. Not if I can help it.” And with
those words some of my wits come back. “Come
on--give her the water. She needs it,
bad." Slowly he finds a skin of
water, then lifts her head up and lets her suckle it like a desperate baby. I get the oxygen bottle out
of the trunk and position the nosepiece on her as she continues to gulp down
fluid. If we can maximize the oxygen in
the few red cells that she has left, she stands a chance. "I've saved worse cases, Damien--you
know that." And suddenly so do
I. I remember all the amputees that I've
nursed back to health who meant less to me than this dear child. I can do this. "Hand me that other
waterskin, Deirdre; she's finished with this one." I don’t think I mind killing government
soldiers anymore. |
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