Chapter Twelve


    The Rats


    Lieutenant Ullwick accepted the diary from Ariea. She flicked through the pages, not taking the time to inspect them in the dust-bitten wind. ‘Is it important?’ she said through her nose.


    Ariea looked at her bouldering frame, arms clasped behind her back. ‘He says the crater formed while he was living there. So, the settlement predates the impact. There’s no connection between them.’


    Ullwick looked at Ariea for the first time. Her nose twisted, perhaps surprised that this native could articulate itself well. ‘Anything else?’


    ‘The settlement was destroyed by invaders around the same time. Presumably, unoccupied since.’


    ‘Lines up with what we saw, and all,’ the old man, Hern, said. ‘Lot of dried blood about the place, couple of bodies too.’


    ‘Useful,’ tutted Ullwick. She turned to the tents of soldiers behind her and beckoned one of the more senior-looking ones. ‘See that we can’t clear the first floor or two.’


    ‘Ma’am?’


    ‘Will make an effective FOB. Gets us out the bloody sun at least.’


    ‘That sun nourished your ancestors, Lieutenant,’ called Hern gruffly. His jaw skewed and he took a hobbled step. ‘That’s the lifeblood of our kind, or did you forget?’


    Ullwick stared back bemused. ‘Transport them back to the Farm. Spare me his poetry.’


    The soldier nodded. ‘Right, you heard,’ he shouted at them. ‘Get yourselves on the truck. We’ll be heading back now.’


    Ariea at once held a hand to help Eli her onto the truck.


    ‘Away with your chivalry,’ Eli said to her. ‘I’m not that pregnant yet. We came all the way out here just for that?’ she scoffed.


    Ariea shrugged. ‘We did our job.’


    ‘Which was what exactly?’


    ‘Minesweepers. Check the Underground, the settlement I mean, was empty.’


    ‘Why? They have guns. They’re big boys and girls, they can look after themselves.’


    Ariea bit her lip. ‘I’m guessing they would prefer to avoid antagonising or be seen shooting any locals. It’s a bad look.’


    ‘To who? There’s no one to see them.’


    ‘The other soldiers. Gossip gets around, I suppose.’


    The truck rumbled into life once more, and they were lofted back towards the encampment, the Farm as Ullwick called it. The journey back seemed quicker than the way there. The morning, brief as it was, took its toll all the same. And the rocky plains were punishing in the gaze of the sun.


    ‘Hey there,’ said a voice. Ariea looked up from her lap. A prisoner boy on the opposite side of the truck was looking at her. He was handsome, about her age, with a devilish grin and waves of brown hair. ‘You’re Ariea Finland, right?’


    ‘I’mma stop you there,’ cut in Eli. ‘She has a boyfriend.’


    Ariea snorted. ‘Eli.’ She then looked at the boy. ‘She’s not wrong though.’


    ‘I meant nothing of the sort. Western Pascara.’ He extended a hand which Ariea shook awkwardly. ‘We met once. I am, was, an archivist at the town offices. Paperwork.’


    ‘Honest work,’ Ariea said.


    ‘Is it bad I’m finding this all rather exciting? I’ve got more energy than I know what to do with. Feel like I could lift mountains.’ He flexed his bulging arms and Ariea thought Eli might swoon.


    Eli bit down on her lip. ‘You do a lot of working out, as an… archivist?’


    ‘Only thing to keep me sane,’ Western said, smirking. He looked back at Ariea. ‘We need to get together, see that we can’t sort some kind of plan out.’


    Ariea’s eyes narrowed. ‘Plan?’


    ‘An escape. I was talking to the old boy, Hern, couple others on the way over. I thought if we had the Ariea Finland to hand, we would stand a fighting chance.’


    ‘Huh.’ Ariea looked at Eli who turned her eyes to the floor. ‘There’s how many of us—’


    ‘Eleven. I counted.’


    ‘And triple figures of them. We don’t have any weapons. Any advantage.’


    Eli chuckled then. ‘I really got through to you last night, huh?’


    ‘I want to escape as much as anyone,’ Ariea said, ‘but it pays to be a realist sometimes, with your life. I trust I could get myself out. But eleven?’ She shook her head. ‘You have to choose your moments and choose them sparingly.


    Western nodded, waving his hand at the blustering air. ‘That’s exactly the sort of thing you can help us with.’


    ‘Just, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’


    Ariea had only just convinced herself to be patient, and not to cut her way to freedom alone, bloody blow by bloody blow with a pocket knife. Now, the other prisoners were apparently contemplating a mass-breakout. She did not need to be responsible for these people right now. Because Ariea knew she wouldn’t be able to help herself once she was.


    ‘We have the element of surprise on our side! They’ll think we’re beaten, disorganised, too dumb-struck to fight back. It’s our window of opportunity while they’re still getting the lay of the land.’


    ‘In my experience,’ Ariea said coldly, ‘that window of opportunity is vanishingly small. The more people there are involved, the more likely things are to go wrong.’


    ‘Is that like when you killed Jask?’ Western’s face lit up, hungry for gory details.


    ‘I failed when I tried to kill Jask. I was lucky to get a second opportunity. You won’t.’


    The truck shuddered to a halt outside the tangle of fences, gates, and tarpaulin that enshrouded the Farm. The prisoners were herded off one-by-one.


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    ‘He’s an annoying little shit, isn’t he,’ said Eli once Western was out of ear-shot.


    ‘Really? I thought you were crushing on him?’


    Eli laughed dryly. ‘Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.’


    They were led on. Where there was a mudded path in the morning, metal planks had been lain down into makeshift walkways, drilled into the earth. The pen that had guarded them the night before had sprouted a wooden hut. It was long and boxy. Ariea imagined it was like watching a city grow in fast forward. The edges of the encampment kept spilling wider over the fields, with land cleaved into rows marked out for more buildings. Shipping container offices stacked up to five stories high in the distance and lampposts now lined every path. Drones buzzed overhead and Ariea wanted to swat at them like flies.


    The train of prisoners weaved around inhabitants of the Farm. Fragments of conversations Ariea didn’t understand caught in her ears. Code words and acronyms. They didn’t quite attract the same stares as the day before. Maybe they were warned against it.


    Then, the queue stopped, and Ariea heard murmurs ripple down the line. The soldier guiding them held a figure to his ear. A squad of troopers cantered past him.


    Suddenly, the lazy traffic of the Farm looked frantic. Everyone was changing direction, shouting. A glossy white hazmat suit followed past them, and Eli looked at Ariea confusedly.


    ‘Why do you think I’d have any ideas?’ Ariea whispered.


    ‘You’re clever.’


    Ariea craned her neck around the angle of one of the buildings to look over the edge of the Farm. Staff were being herded into lines at the front of khaki tents, guarded by hazmat suits.


    From the lamppost above them, a speaker blared. ‘Sections Seven and Nine to the med-bay. Sections Seven and Nine to the med-bay. All personnel, unless your current duty is marked priority, return to your quarters at once.’


    The prisoners were backed against the fence while two soldiers passed, a limp colleague suspended between them, pale and sickly looking.


    ‘Into the quarters,’ one ordered. ‘And stay there.’ He didn’t wait for them to obey. He hastened after his colleagues.


    Dumbfounded, the prisoners exchanged stares. Western, in his smugness, shrugged, and led them on without a care for what was unfolding around them. Ariea wanted to stand and stare. Her eyes narrowed to slits as she watched, but she silently followed.


    Their new home was threadbare. Hollowed windows were cut along the walls, and two mirrors and two washbasins were positioned at the end for their convenience. Each of them had a narrow bunk and scratchy blanket, with a second change of clothes and plimsoles left by their bedsides.


    ‘It’s something,’ Eli muttered. ‘Can I sleep next to you?’ she said to Ariea.


    ‘Course.’ Ariea smiled back at her.


    ‘So,’ announced Western to the room then, clapping his hands together as he did. ‘Whatever’s going on there smells like an opportunity for us.’


    ‘We don’t know what’s going on out there,’ said another girl.


    Western strode to the window, pointing his head into the open air. ‘Something not ideal for them.’


    ‘What would you have us do, boy?’ said the old man, Hern. ‘Go back to Wishbone? Dig your home from the rubble. I’ve seen boys stand up to Winter as you do. Not many come home. I would spit on these’s corpses, but I’d rather survive first.’


    ‘Listen to them!’ Western begged. ‘Panic. Uncertainty. Whatever it is.’ He pointed. ‘That is our opportunity. Are we really their priority right now?’


    Ariea raised her head, spoke grimly. ‘We could be the bottom of their to-do list. With the power they have it doesn’t matter.’


    ‘You’re giving them too much credit. They’re people, and people are thick as pigshit,’ said another man, middle-aged.


    ‘Come on!’ said Western. His manic eyes locked with Ariea’s. ‘You’re Ariea Finland. The woman who killed Winter. Own it. These people look up to you.’


    Ariea scanned them. Sheepish faces looked back at her, wounded by faint hope. ‘I believe in you, but they are unlike anything. They’re more than Winter ever were. I ran routes in the Forest of Anna and hunted Winter’s men. They’re disorganised, and ill-equipped. But look at what the Confederacy, the Departed, have built in days. The way they talk and move. We are a flea to them. A dumb flea. Not even people. But…’ She paused as she eyed each of them. She spoke from heart, from duty. ‘They are arrogant. We live off the land. We live hard. We survive failed harvests. And cold winters. And dark Winters. We hunt routes and hunt hunters. They live off the sky, unthreatened, wanting for nothing, assuming we know nothing. The way they look at us, we’re irrelevant to them. But to get out, even a hundred feet before they fire on us, we need to prove the truth, that we’re smarter than them. We plan. We act. We don’t react. That is my line.’


    Ariea knew she wore power well. Words came at ease, and she paused in all the right places.


    ‘You see!’ Western said, eyes wide. ‘She can lead us. She can make something of us. We don’t have to lie down!’


    ‘I think you should cool your expectations a bit,’ mumbled Eli.


    ‘Sorry?’


    ‘I said,’ she repeated loudly, ‘you should lower your expectations of what’s achievable. We''re running away, not fighting a war. Slight difference. Baby steps.’


    Murmurs of agreement and disagreement rippled around the room.


    ‘Girl makes a point,’ said Hern.


    ‘Thank you.’


    ‘We should escape.’


    ‘Thank you.’


    ‘And return with all the forces of the North.’


    Eli flapped her arms. ‘No.’


    ‘None of this is our fight,’ said Ariea.


    ‘But it is our home,’ said another woman defiantly.


    Ariea shirked. Her back slumped against the wall and she dropped to her haunches. ‘I’m trying to save you,’ she said quietly. ‘Why can’t that be enough? It’s not something to want, you know.’ Ariea cut Western with her stare and he seemed to retreat a little. ‘Feeling angry.’ She breathed. ‘We escape, with our souls intact.’


    There was heavy silence. No one challenged her, as they shouldn’t, she thought. Her experience demanded their respect.


    Her dark line of thought was broken. Shouts beckoned from outside. She didn’t need to look- Western did the job for her. He poked his head towards one of the slats in the wall.


    ‘What is it, boy?’ Hern whispered.


    Ariea heard several sets of footsteps patter past, then stood beside Western. One set of footsteps belonged to a soldier-girl, a surgical mask on her face. The other to a hobbled colleague, with a blueish complexion. His skin was broken in places, while his fingers were reddened and swollen.


    At once, Ariea slid back to her backside.


    ‘AH-HAH!’ yelled Western. ‘Yes!’


    ‘Speak your mind,’ Hern said.


    ‘It’s fever!’


    Hushed and giddy chatter rippled through the room.


    ‘Fever?’ Hern said. ‘You’re sure?’


    ‘Unmistakable. His face was bluer than the whole sky. They’re screwed.’ Western laughed, gently at first, then into a raucous howl. ‘It’ll rip through them like wildfire.’


    Eli stood opposite Ariea, her arms crossed with a gruff look.


    ‘What’s up with you?’ Western said.


    ‘They’re people. With families. Who like to do people things. Who are doing their jobs because some arsehat army fucker told them to. They’ve given no indication yet they want to kill us? So why are you celebrating a bunch of them are dying?’


    Western growled. ‘Oh, come off it! It’s us, or them. Don’t be so childish. What say you, Slayer?’ He looked down at Ariea.


    ‘I would put them in harm’s way no more than I would need to put you in harm’s way, if I had a choice.’ Ariea replied calmly. As she said it, she glimpsed the shape of an idea in her mind.


    ‘What does that mean?’ said Eli.


    ‘Girl,’ said Hern then. He held Eli’s arm. ‘I fought a short time for Winter, then against them. Nice as it is to think in those terms, for survival’s sake, it can’t be done.’


    ‘Miss Finland,’ whispered a girl about Ariea’s age. She had a gentle voice. ‘What are you thinking?’


    For the last time, Ariea stood, and considered the eleven of them. ‘Western is right. We have a chance. We could maximise the fever’s impact. Incapacitate local security. Make our exit next time they take us off-site, all of us or none of us. Under darkness.’


    ‘Maximise its impact? You mean kill? Just like that?’ Eli said.


    ‘Once we get a sense of their capacity. Shifts. Security. That sort of thing. Sure. We’re not cuffed up. Like he said, we’re not their priority, and weren’t anyway.’


    ‘If that’s the case,’ begged Eli, tightening her frown, ‘why are we having this conversation and not leaving now?’


    ‘Because it only takes one skinny, shaky idiot with a firearm to panic and shoot if he sees eleven prisoners running out the front gate. We take their farm out of commission first. It’s all of you or none of you.’ She looked at them all, and the face of her father haunted her in the moment’s pause. ‘With fever.’


    ‘Does anyone disagree with that?’ Western said, his hands planted on his hips. Uncomfortable silence answered. Heads drooped on their necks. ‘Marvellous!’ His chest pumped the air.


    Ariea looked at them all. ‘When we go, it’s all of us, or none of us.’


    ‘What about them though?’ whispered Eli.


    Ariea averted her eyes, sniffled. ‘We’re not starting a war with them this way. The risks are less. And their medicine is probably good enough to deal with it anyway.’


    ‘“Probably”. Is it worth murdering that many people?’


    Ariea looked down at Eli’s belly, and the beautiful thing gestating inside it, so anonymous, so infinite in possibility. ‘You’re worth everything.’ Ariea felt her features harden.


    ‘So much for escaping with your soul, eh?’ Eli could argue for her conscience’s sake, but Ariea knew she accepted the situation, even if she wouldn’t admit it.


    Ariea then looked down at the scars on her knuckles, and the wounds up her arms. ‘What soul?’ she said gently.