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It was very quiet in the central clinic. No new casualties had come in for two hours, and those already in were sleeping. A few volunteers moved silently between them.
Fin finished checking the patients’ charts, almost daring to hope that all those who had made it here alive would stay that way, in spite of the limited resources. Her gaze returned again to the far end of the room, this time with a sense of foreboding. There was one who was still not responding in the way she had hoped.
Kit was lying unconscious on the bed by the wall, the deep cut on the side of his head cleaned and stitched. There were no other marks on him apart from bruises, nothing to immediately explain why he had not come round or why his breathing was so shallow. Unless he had internal injuries. And they had no scanner to help them find out.
Bel was sitting beside him holding his hand and staring into space. Fin knew she was re-living the last hideous hour in the market, trying to control the despair of another living nightmare where she was about to lose someone close to her.
She and Bel had run back into the building as soon as they struggled to their feet after the blast and had worked out that they were still alive and could still run. They stumbled through the smoke and dust to find Kit lying face down under a pile of rubble.
Twenty anxious minutes of searching, clearing away the debris, frantically pulling lumps of dusty concrete off him with bloody fingers until they could drag him out, battered and unconscious. He must have thrown himself on top of the boy just before the blast because the kid was curled up underneath him, miraculously unhurt. Fin had given him back to his frantic mother and then followed Razz as he carried Kit to the clinic.
In the strangely disjointed way of respites in the midst of disasters she had noticed how the heavy enforcer presence had melted away. The only people left in the street were civilians, either injured or trying to help those who were.
Fin walked over to the bed for the tenth time and took Kit’s pulse. Too fast and too irregular.
The outcome still looked uncertain.
*
Kit was drifting in a world that had existed three years before, deep in memories and images, some his own, some re-created from what he had learned afterwards, woven together in a strangely surreal narrative. Disconnected from his physical body by pain and shock, his only reality flowed in disjointed dreamlike sequences through his mind.
It was the day he deserted the military and went looking for the Resistance.
*
Late afternoon in the western forest, trees catch orange rays of setting sun. The gun battle has been unrelenting since midday. Kit and Daniel are wedged behind a rock, communications cut off from the rest of their unit, firing spasmodically at the unseen enemy on the far side of the clearing.
At seventeen, they had only enlisted the year before. They are both physically fit and expert with the heavy military-issue assault rifles, but they have no training in strategy for this situation. They face a determined group of Outlanders fighting desperately to defend their meagre food supply and as usual the airstrikes are slow arriving.
Daniel weighs up the positions opposite them. He gives Kit a push, pointing to the forest.
“Go!”
Kit looks blank for a moment, makes the decision, smiles, thanks Daniel with a quick grip on his arm.
He has only known for a week how desperate I am to get out, and now he’s done this...
Daniel lets off a burst of automatic fire while Kit moves from cover, vaults over the rock and runs forward, keeping low and weaving between the trees, firing as he goes. He breaks through the line of trapped Outlanders and throws himself flat behind a boulder, gasping for breath.
A shadow passes over. He looks up. A single brutal flash as the airstrike erases the isolated farm and every Outlander in and around it. The boulder barely prevents Kit from being incinerated as well.
It suddenly goes very quiet except for burning trees and dying flames. Kit takes off his helmet, wipes ash and sweat from his face with his sleeve. Blackened devastation behind him. He makes an effort to concentrate, sheds the cumbersome body shielding, buries it with the helmet under a pile of stones.
Burying my old life along with all its trappings...
He navigates due west, using the last hour of sun and his watch, noticing streams, saving water, very aware of how badly camouflaged he is. The blue-black combat fatigues only blend with the deepest shadows and his exposed skin is too pale by contrast. He rubs it with walnut leaves to darken it.
Stay in the shadows. The way the forest rangers do it. That’s how they stay alive.
He is not carrying much spare food, so he lays out the single small packet, cuts it in half. Night falls, he looks around. Lighting a fire is too great a risk of being spotted. He eats half the packet, replaces the remainder in his pocket.
Keep heading west. Save the rest of the emergency pack. You can fast for days if you have to.
He sleeps uneasily till dawn. When he wakes he drinks water, checks direction, heads west. Sees a small deer, flips his gun to single shot, stalks and shoots it.
Raine and Bel are on ranger scouting. They hear the shot. One almost imperceptible hand signal from Raine and they turn their horses to the sound.
They catch up with Kit’s position as he completes cleaning and cutting the deer. They watch from the cover of the trees.
Kit leaves the waste in a neat pile, packs the meat in plastic, straps it on top of his pack. He checks direction again and walks on. The rangers silently shadow him till late afternoon. At last Kit allows himself rest and food. He lights a fire, well hidden by rocks and uses sticks to roast some of the meat.
I can feel them out there. Why can’t I hear or see them?
He takes the two haunches, seals them in their skins, looks around again, hangs them in a tree, then packs up, heads west.
Rangers still watching.
Raine asks, “What’s that all about?”
Bel emerges from her gestalt focusing for a moment.
“It’s a gift.”
“Who for?”
“Us.”
“He can’t know we’re here?”
“He’s waiting for us to find him.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
“He’s different. Deserters, refugees, most of them are disoriented, no idea where they’re heading or even how to survive. The only mistake he made is using the gun. Paramilitaries will hear it, same as we did.”
Bel says, “He wanted us to hear it.”
Raine turns his horse westward. “Educated deserter... or well-trained spy. Be careful.”
Bel signals, “Well, do we accept the gift?” Raine nods assent, she collects it.
They shadow Kit until evening.
Kit pauses by a rocky outcrop, working out the best way around it. Raine signals to Bel, points.
“Tree just in front of him.”
Bel puts an arrow in the tree in front of Kit. He reacts instantly, sensing the direction of the shot, moving behind the broad trunk, gun ready. Then, almost as quickly, he looks again at the arrow, steps into the open, carefully lays the gun on the ground, takes a few paces back, slowly goes to his knees on the grass, hands visible, very alert, waiting for someone to appear.
Surrender by choice is harder than I thought. I can’t even see who they are. And I’ve put my life in their hands...
He concentrates on keeping the fear under control, vulnerable to unseen weapons. He sees Bel first, standing on the edge of the trees, her arrow aimed at his heart.
Stay calm.
Raine steps out from the trees, picks up the gun.
“Where are you heading?”
“West.”
“What for?” He is watching Kit carefully.
“Waiting for you to find me.”
“Deserter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Silence. Kit doesn’t find this easy. Then, “I was on land sanitizer support. I had enough of poisoning people’s food.”
Raine catches Bel’s unspoken warning, acknowledges they have to be careful. Kit sees the cord in her hands, signals acceptance, holds out his wrists to be tied.
Raine looks around. “We stay here tonight.”
They tether the horses, collect water, unpack their gear. Bel is uneasy, constantly looking into the trees. Raine notices. A silent conversation about sensed danger, confirmed by a bullet hitting the rocks beside them. They take cover, fast.
“Over there. Paramilitaries.” Bel points to the flash of an assault rifle in the trees opposite.
“Give me my gun.” Kit gets to his feet awkwardly with bound hands. “I’ll draw their fire so you can fan out round the side––it’s what they’ll be doing.”
Bel shakes her head warily.
Kit holds Raine’s gaze. “Deserter or spy––either way I’ll be trying to prove you can trust me.”
It’s easier from here. Whether I die or not––it’s in the hands of others now. Fate is already written somewhere beyond my control.
Another shot hits the rock. Raine makes the decision, cuts his prisoner’s wrists free and hands him the gun. He watches Kit for a moment, surprised and impressed by the way this unknown deserter follows their suspicions and deals with them.
He signals Bel and they move forward, flanking either side of the attack.
Kit takes cover behind a rock, firing at regular intervals. He has a sense of the running fight beyond the first band of trees. More paramilitaries than anticipated.
Four of them coming, well spread––
He hits one of them, sees the other three are too far apart to cover efficiently. He moves, rolls, scrambles to the side, his back flattened against a broad tree trunk.
At least one of them is going to get here. Make sure you’re on your feet and ready or you’re dead.
One of the guns stops firing.
Jammed or out of ammunition. But the guy is still coming for me. That’s crazy. He’ll catch a bullet unless the others stop––
Maybe not so crazy. Kit has to concentrate for a moment to stop the guns moving closer and catches the blur out of the corner of his eye as a heavy bulk hurls itself on top of him.
He sidesteps and twists as they fall, jabbing the butt of his automatic into the man’s neck. They roll over in the damp leaves and grass, the attacker coughing and choking, trying to get his broad-bladed knife free of Kit’s grasp.
The other two have stopped firing.
They don’t want to shoot this monster by accident, so they’ll be moving in with knives––
He senses the moment they arrive, tries to keep twisting and moving to stop them finding a way in. Then the white-hot pain of a knife slicing between his ribs.
That’s it.
Fate isn’t on my side after all. Everything going dark around the edges...
Through the blurred images he can no longer tell exactly what is happening but the fight suddenly feels different. Raine pulling attackers off him and then Bel joins him.
Hands drag him clear and he sees Raine’s face, set in concentration as he tears off layers of cloth and works on the stab, Bel passing swabs and bandage. He hears her voice, hears Raine answering.
“Extend signal range?”
“Yes. Just get them here.”
They lift him onto a horse, Raine behind him, one arm firmly across his chest to stop him falling. They head into the dark forest. Fin meets them further up the track with Greg and full medical supplies. They make camp. Greg runs the hand scanner over Kit’s body and clothing.
“All clear, no trackers.”
Fin eases Greg out of her way with a well-placed elbow.
“Good, now give me some space to fix this.”
Greg grasps Kit’s arm, smiling encouragement.
“Hang in there, we’ll get you to the Warren soon.” His presence is warm, reassuring.
Kit drifts in and out of consciousness while Fin and Raine work on the stab.
I made it. I found the right people. That’s all that matters.
He can see the blurred outlines of two women, hears Bel’s voice.
“I think he’s coming round.”
The faces of Bel and Fin come into focus. Kit tries to sit up, gasps from the sharp pain in his chest.
“They got me with a knife.”
Fin’s cool hands on his shoulders.
“No, Kit. That was three years ago. What you’re feeling right now is a couple of cracked ribs.”
“How?”
“You’ve been drifting for a few hours. Do you remember the bomb in the market?”
“No.”
“It might take a while. Bel, talk him through it a few times. I need to check on the others.”