‘You don’t have a choice, ma’am.’
I drag her into the shadows as a scout drones overhead, its motor whining as it clogs with dust.
She wrenches herself from my grip. ‘I know how to look after myself.’
In taut silence, we creep into Tiger Town. Luckily, at this time of night, many of its citizens are distracted; lulled by century smoke, or knocking back benzene, or clacking their teeth on beads.
When I see the lights of Falco’s, hear the din coming from inside, I almost sob with relief. I make my way around the back, muscles trembling with ebbing adrenalin. But before I can raise a fist to knock, the door flies open and the muzzle of a gun is jammed between my eyes.
‘It’s me,’ I croak, hands raised, ‘it’s Low.’
Beyond the gun is a familiar face. It’s the G’hal from earlier, Pegeen. They make a noise of disgust at the smell, before looking beyond my shoulder to the General. Their eyes go wide.
‘Guess you gutspills better come in.’
* * *
The General slumps on the threadbare mattress, allowing me to swab a graze on her arm.
The light from the single bulb in the ceiling illuminates the surgery scars that criss-cross her neck and shoulders, exposed by the bright pink dyed vest.
She shifts in the borrowed clothes and I wonder if Falco chose the garish colours as a deliberate taunt. They obviously make the General uncomfortable, and I can tell she wants her uniform back.
Falco refused to let us into her bar, filthy as we were, and demanded that we shed the sodden, stinking clothes before being hosed down in the vapour shower. I hadn’t been able to hide the shudders as the blasts stung my skin. It was too much like the hulks. All through the weeks in the prisoner camps, the holding cells, even the military trial, nothing had prepared me for the finality of that first day as a convict, standing beneath the sterile shower, as everything was stripped and scraped from me: the girl from the far-flung Congregations, the medic, even my name until only a body was left to be labelled and collared and stored – the embodiment of my crime – nothing more.
I drag my thoughts back to the present, to the child before me who needs healing.
‘It should mend well,’ I say.
‘What do you care if it does?’ She looks up at me in the artificial light. ‘Why did you even come back?’
Because I had to. Because it is what they want. I pack away the swabs.
‘I couldn’t just let them kill you. I told you before. I have my own reasons for wanting you to live.’
‘You shouldn’t have bothered. Didn’t you hear? I’m dead walking.’ Beneath the ferocity, I hear fear. ‘Do you believe it?’
I shrug helplessly. ‘Without the equipment to run tests…’
She swears and sits back. ‘I need to talk to the others.’
‘Others?’
‘Other Generals. Like me.’
She falls silent. I wonder if she’s feeling what I feel: the sickly grey emptiness left behind by their presence. I wish I had some breath beads to sharpen my mind, but Falco doesn’t believe in them, says they make you too dependent.
‘I’ll bandage your arm later.’ I sigh and let my head fall back against the wall. ‘Pegeen is bringing fresh supplies.’
When she doesn’t answer I wonder if she’s fallen asleep. But I open my eyes to find her staring at me, her gaze fixed upon my neck, upon the livid scar that runs from ear to ear, badly healed, puckered pink. I move out of the light.
‘What’s that?’ she demands.
‘A scar. You have plenty of your own.’
‘None like that.’ She looks almost impressed. ‘What happened?’
I swallow, feeling it again, the terrifying rush of my own blood over my hands as I tried to hold my skin closed.
‘My throat was cut,’ I murmur.
‘Why didn’t it kill you?’
‘Luck, I guess.’
Luck. That’s what I always thought, before I came to Factus. Now I wonder: had they been there with me, watching the blood run, making sure my hand found the cauterising iron in time? Were they here even now?
‘Well,’ the General smirks, ‘at least it covers up the prison collar scars.’
The trap door above slams open and boots appear, clattering down the stairs. I push myself up as Falco storms into the cellar.
‘If I had known what you intended to do with that stun pistol, I never would have given it to you,’ she snaps. ‘All your talk of saving lives and not killing—’
‘I killed no one!’
‘No? Then explain to me why the camp is in uproar and why my informer is blathering about a dead medic and six wounded soldiers.’
‘Seven. And I didn’t kill the medic, she did.’
Falco regards the General, face inscrutable. ‘General Ortiz. Aren’t you supposed to be dead?’
The General hunches her shoulders, making herself seem tiny on the thin mattress. ‘They said I’m dying. I’m so scared. Please – will you help me?’
‘Poor little one.’ Falco kneels before her. ‘Of course I’ll help.’ She smiles. ‘I’ll take you straight to the nearest orphanage, where you can laugh and play with the other flea-ridden children.’
The General’s innocent expression drops. ‘Very funny.’
‘Serves you right for trying on that terrible act,’ Falco retorts. ‘Now, both of you. Explain.’
‘It was an ambush,’ I say. ‘Those soldiers had orders for my termination. I knew the General was likely in danger.’
‘So you went in?’ Falco is incredulous. ‘You just… drove into the base? For her?’
The General makes an affronted noise.
‘A life is a life.’
Falco shakes her head, hostility turning into pity and disbelief. ‘Look, you can’t stay here, Doc. I can keep them off for a time, but not forever.’
‘I know, Mala.’ I rub at my scalp. ‘We need to get out of Landfall.’
‘And go where?’
My brain feels scrambled. In the past, I would have run for the Barrens. A person alone can get by alright there. But going with the General would be like painting a target upon my back.
‘What about Otroville?’ I say, trying to think.
Falco scoffs. ‘The capital
