She turns and smiles, her face coated in blood, the pistol glowing in her hand.
‘Run,’ she says.
TWO
THE
BOOK
OF
MALADY
COLD METAL. PAIN on the wings of black birds. A figure gloved in blood…
There are cries, alarms, the smell of burning plastic and gore. It’s all over me, I realise, spattered from the medic’s chest. I hear footsteps and turn, expecting to see soldiers. But it’s the General, her face a mask of blood.
‘Move!’ she orders.
Are they with us? Is it their intervention, somewhere in the web of time, that ensures the security systems of the base are activated two seconds too late, that the tracking beams of the automatic guns are only able to spray the dust at our heels as we plunge across the parade ground? Are they showing the General the path to take through all those potential futures, as they have shown me?
By the time we reach the mule, the camp is on full alert, the air thick with gunfire and roaring engines and thudding boots.
‘They have a shock cannon at the gate,’ the General says, ‘and I am damn near out of charges. If we distract them, and try to ram it—’
My head is ringing with the noise and the chaos. I squeeze my eyes shut. Had I known it would come to this? The General swears and shoves at me as more beams blink into life and sweep the ground.
‘We need to move.’
‘I know.’ Neither of us will die here. ‘Follow me.’
‘Low!’
I count the seconds between each beam and run for a few inches of shadow cast by a wall.
‘Low,’ the General hisses, stumbling close behind me. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘On the western side of the base,’ I say, buttoning the medkit into my jacket, where my heart thuds madly. ‘There should be a waste pipe. If they haven’t buried it, we can use it to get out.’
‘And if they’ve buried it?’
I don’t answer. We have thirty seconds grace, perhaps, to make it out alive before the base marshals its scattered forces.
Whose grace? I look into the sky, as I once did every night as a child during prayers, but dust-filled clouds drown the stars.
I grab the General and run. Above, there’s a terrible whine, the screech of an alarm, and one of the automatic guns opens fire, charges searing into the metal fence behind us. No time to stop. We round a corner and there – I choke with relief – there is the waste pipe, large enough to transport the leavings of the entire base.
‘You’re crazy,’ the General yells, ducking charges. ‘I’m not getting in there.’
I grab the pistol from her and empty the remaining charges into the pipe’s join until the plastic melts and it begins to leak foul-smelling water.
‘Help!’ I kick at it.
With a curse, she puts her boot to work with mine. Within seconds, the pipe breaks open. It plunges into darkness, through the fence and down the hill on the other side. A nauseating stench rises from it, but I shove the General forwards.
She scrambles in and I hear her retch. I follow, charges from the automatic guns thudding and burning through the plastic above.
‘Go!’ I scream.
I push myself along desperately on my elbows until the pipe drops away, sending me scrabbling head first down an incline that ends in darkness. There isn’t even time to gasp before I hit the water.
Even expecting it as I am, when I surface the stench almost makes me vomit. Excrement mixed with powerful chemicals, all trapped in a space not much larger than my outstretched arms. I cough sewage from my mouth and nose, kicking madly in the total darkness, the uniform and boots threatening to drag me down.
A fist connects with my face; the General flailing to stay afloat.
‘—hell?’ she half shrieks.
‘One of the treatment tanks.’ I fight down a retch. ‘Don’t swallow.’
Beyond the tank, I can hear the sirens of the base. The General’s fists hammer at the smooth plastic.
‘We’re trapped. I’m going to die in a fucking shit tank.’
‘Quiet.’ With a burst of effort I reach upwards. The liquid level in the tank is too low, the roof somewhere above out of reach. ‘I’m going to lift you,’ I wheeze.
Before she can protest, I reach down into the muck and take hold of her about the waist, boosting her out of the water. It rains down onto my face, and I close my eyes tight. Her fingernails scrape at the plastic.
‘There’s nothing—’
My arms burn, legs kicking desperately as I move us forwards. Then, I hear a grunt of effort and the sound of plastic cracking.
Air spills over us, air like clean water, like drenching rain. Through the hatch I see the dark sky, the sickly glow of searchlights. With a last heave, I push the General up and she scrambles free.
A moment later, her face appears. In the semi-darkness, I can’t quite make out her eyes.
‘General!’ I reach up.
She doesn’t move.
‘Help me,’ I gasp, my lungs burning.
Where are they? I strain my awareness, but there’s nothing. Only sirens and the face of a girl, deciding whether I should live. Is she seeing my death, the possibilities of a world without me?
‘Help!’
She shoots out an arm. I grasp it hard, my fingers like claws, but she doesn’t complain. She hauls me out of the tank, with more strength than any child should possess.
We stagger away from the treatment plant, crawling past its perimeter into a dusty agave field, keeping to the shadows.
Finally, beyond a broken wire fence, I see the flickering lights of Tiger Town. Our one chance of safety.
‘We have to get to Falco’s.’
‘The benzenery?’ the General spits. ‘They will tear this town to pieces looking for us. We have to get out of Landfall.’
‘How do you propose to do that? We have nothing. Falco will help.’
‘You think I’m going to trust
