Coiled Snake (The Windstorm Series Book 2) (25 page)

“Kava, Kai! You didn’t hear what she said! You can’t leave me here! The twins—”

“I told you to drop that!” he snarls. “Let me remind you one more time that I’m in charge, and I’m this close to pulling you from the mission.”

“But—”

“And I don’t want to hear you placing the blame on Hana again.”

My eyes burn a hole in his back as he walks away.

Several hours later, when the ship is gleaming and Squash is satisfied, we’re allowed to return to our cabins.

Hana is already there. Neither of us says anything as we undress and climb into bed.

I can’t believe Kai is defending her
, I fume in my bunk.
It’s not fair. She started it!

The thought that Kai might take me off the mission makes me sick. I’ll have to be on my guard in case Hana tries something else. I can’t let her sabotage my attempt to save Jack and Maisy.

As I lie on my mattress and look up at the ceiling, Hana’s taunt, the words that started everything, cartwheel through my head. Did Paika love my mom? Is that why he risked his life for me? I remember how he said once that I looked just like her. Could it be that he … ?

I shake my head. I know Paika cares about me, but it’s not for the reasons Hana said. I can’t let her get to me.

My last thought as I fall asleep is of two men. One falling into a crank, one falling into the ocean. And I can’t shake off the black cloud that’s expanding slowly inside my chest, growing darker and heavier with each breath.

The next morning, most of the warriors at breakfast are nursing bruises and cuts; some, broken bones. Very few people speak. The memory of last night casts a somber pall on everything. Even seeing Hana’s black eye does nothing to cheer me.

During our triple shift, I’m assigned to the hold, where the smell is the strongest. After several hours of sorting fish and spraying the shoots, I’m beginning to feel sick. During one of the tows, I sit down and close my eyes for a few seconds, trying to rise above the nausea.

“Not used to this kind of work, eh?” I open my eyes to see Julian taking the hose out of my hand.

“You could get in trouble for that,” I say. Even though Julian’s been in the hold with me all morning, he’s been in inexplicably high spirits.

“Only if you sit on your arse too long.”

“Why are you so cheerful?”

“Maybe I liked seeing Hana get punched in the face.”

“People died yesterday, you know.”

“The
rohamaka
deserved it.”

“Maybe.”

“What are you two bums on about?” Mafia interrupts. “No sitting on the job.”

“Sorry,” I mumble, getting up and taking back the hose.

“Feeling a bit queasy, are you?” Mafia asks me.

“I’m fine now.”

“This kind of work takes some getting used to.”

“I’m fine,” I repeat, turning away to wash out another shoot.

But Mafia doesn’t give up. “Tell me about yourself, Kit,” he says, following me and leaning against the run.

“Not much to tell.”

“What do you like to do for fun?”

“Oh, I don’t know … ” I try to remember the last time I did something simply for the fun of it.

“Do you like to read?” Julian inserts.

I shrug. “I like books. I don’t like being told
what
to read though, or what to think about what I’ve read. Probably why I didn’t do very well in school.”

“What about movies?”

“They’re okay.” I can’t remember the last time I watched a movie either. “What do
you
like to do for fun?” I ask, hoping to direct the questions away from myself.

“I’m not half bad on the violin,” Julian admits. When Mafia snickers, he adds, “But only because my mum made me practice so much. Now that I’m a warrior, she can’t make me anymore.”

Mafia begins to crack jokes about “Julian a-fiddlin’” until Rex shouts down to us that the net is coming back in. We get in place as the load of fish comes flapping through the hatch.

“Bugger,” Mafia says.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Sea turtle,” he answers, pointing into the slippery mass of fish. I see a glint of a green shell before it disappears under the gray bodies. “That’s bad luck, that is.”

We work without speaking for several minutes. Then Mafia says suddenly, “You know, I was there when we attacked the Yakone’s fortress. Took out a few of those wallys myself.”

An emotion I can’t identify curdles in my throat—a mixture of approbation and revulsion—and I’m not sure how to respond.

“I was there when Paika found you too,” he continues.

“What?”

“Yeh. You were in bad shape.”

“Did you travel back to New Zealand with us?”

“No, I went by way of Russia with another unit. I only got back home in time for the training, just before … well, you know.”

“Oh.” For a moment, my memory of the stink of burned hair overpowers the smell of dead fish, and I feel even sicker.

To my immeasurable relief, our shift ends shortly after the catch has been dumped, though I carry the smell of preserved fish with me throughout the afternoon training exercises, which Stephen and Mokai ensure are extra rigorous.

Finally, after dinner, I’m able to take a shower. But no matter how much I scrub, I can’t seem to rid myself of the smell of death. Giving up, I climb wearily into bed.

I’ve been asleep for only a few hours when I’m awoken by a siren and the noise of marching feet. I slip off my bunk and into some clothes.

“What’s happening?” I ask the warriors passing me in the hallway.

“
Paratuna
3’s shipping out,” someone answers.

I follow everyone into the open air. The three
raiti
that form
Paratuna
3
are lined up on the deck, each warrior in full gear, MOLLE pack slung over his or her shoulder, F88 in hand. The rest of the warriors are standing on the sidelines, chattering excitedly, the novelty of war enough to break the chill caused by yesterday’s events. I look out across the waves; the sky is too dark to see anything, but I know land must be near.

Squash, who is standing at the head of the company, blows a whistle, and the noise dies down. She says a few words then nods at the
wheteni
who shouts a command to the first
kapa
. The soldiers march forward purposefully and then, on their
kapa
’s signal, rise into the air. The wind is strong, and it doesn’t take them long to become faint objects in the distance.

The
wheteni
blows his whistle again, and the second squad windwalks off the deck. After waiting until they’ve all but vanished from view, he blows the whistle a third time, and, saluting Squash, leaves with the third squad.

“You know what this means,” Julian says, appearing next to me.

“What?” I ask.

“More chores for the rest of us. And our
paratunu
is the last to leave too.”

I make a noncommittal noise then return to my cabin. I climb back in bed, but it takes me much longer to fall asleep.

The next few days go by without much incident. Our chore load increases, as Julian predicted, but compared to our punishment after the fight, the extra work doesn’t seem too bad. I eat most of my meals with Julian and his friends and try to avoid Hana as much as possible. I see Stephen now and then, but we don’t talk. Kai and I don’t talk either, though I’m beginning to notice how much he talks to Hana. Whenever I see them together, I grit my teeth and take deep breaths in and out through my nose.

Before long, it’s the second
paratunu
’s turn to leave, which means we must be near the top of South America, which means only another couple of days before we reach Mexico. Our chore list gets longer again, but I don’t care. Soon we’ll be there. Soon I can rescue the twins.

Finally, the announcement comes at breakfast that our platoon will leave that night.

“You seem more chuffed than I expected you to be,” observes Julian, who’s sitting across from me.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, I don’t know … We’re about to enter enemy territory, attack a high-security prison with only ten people—half of whom have never seen battle—just to rescue one random bloke… Yeah, you’re right, mate. No reason to fret.”

“Are you scared?”

“I’m not
scared
,” he says scornfully. “I just don’t like my odds.”

After that, we split up for chore duty. He avoids me for the rest of the day, but only part of me notices.

We don’t do drills in the afternoon. Instead, we separate into our squads and go over our strategy one more time.

“We’ll verify our intel once we’re on the ground,” Mokai says, “and make adjustments if we need to. But for now, stick to the plan.”

There’s no chatting on the sundeck tonight. Immediately after dinner, we all go to bed for a few hours of sleep. Before sliding under the covers, I clean my rifle, repack my bag, and paint my face in camouflage. Hana does the same, but we don’t talk to each other. I notice that the skin around her eye has faded to a pale yellow.

Once I lie down, it’s impossible to fall asleep. My brain is racing in a thousand directions—hoping I’ll be able to windwalk as well as the others, wondering if I can make it to land without tiring, worrying that the Kaana will catch us, and most of all, trying to figure out how I’m going to get around Mokai’s plan in order to save the twins. Finally, I swallow a handful of painkillers and slip into darkness.

When the signal is sounded, I wake up so quickly I’m not sure I actually slept. The adrenaline launches me out of bed, and I hastily pull on my combat clothing. Grabbing the rest of my gear, I leave the cabin.

The crowd rushing onto the deck is sparser than those of the previous send-offs, but I still feel a spike of frustration at having to wait at the top of the stairs. Finally, I reach my designated spot on the deck and jam on my combat helmet, impatiently shifting my weight from foot to foot while I wait for the others.

At last, when all thirty people are lined up and Squash delivers her rote speech about serving our
iwi
, Stephen blows his whistle. Somewhere in my mind I realize this might be the last time I see him, but I’m too focused on Kai’s orders, on forming
honga
and riding up with the others, to give it much thought.

As I soar above the waves, I feel like I’m in a dream, like the real me is somewhere else. A part of my mind must be acknowledging Kai’s hand signals, because I move in tandem with the others, but only just. All of my attention is on being one with the wind, on watching the dark shoreline grow slowly closer, on thinking about what lies ahead.

It takes longer to reach land than I anticipated, however, and soon the exhaustion in my back brings me out of my trance. I hike up the bag and rifle, but moving the weight around does little. To make matters worse, a stream of sweat is squirming its way down my face and neck and back, making the cuts sting. I press my helmet against my shoulder, but it doesn’t help, and I have to breathe into
honga
in order not to scream from frustration. I can’t risk losing focus.
Tātu e tātu e
, I chant, breathing in and out, forcing myself to concentrate on the moment and nothing else, knowing it’s the only way I’ll get through.

And then we’re approaching the quiet shoreline. There are no city lights in sight, just miles of black landscape. To my dismay, we don’t touch down for a break. Mokai adjusts our course, and we continue onward, soaring over cloaked beaches and trees and mountains. I try to stay alert, but soon my fatigued body goes numb, followed shortly by my mind. It’s all I can do to keep the others in my vision.

We stay in close formation. I struggle to remember the drills, only just catching my turn to move to the back and keep watch. My arms shake as I hold my rifle at the ready, and I’m certain I’m not doing any good. If an enemy appeared, I’d be an easy target. I’m beyond relieved when after about thirty minutes it’s time to rotate again and Mafia takes my place.

After a lifetime of searing darkness, a pallid glow begins to spread across the horizon, turning the thick foliage beneath us from black to gray. And, finally, Mokai gives the signal to land.

We drop toward a clearing outlined faintly in the trees. But when we get close, I realize it’s not a simple clearing. It’s one of the sinkholes Kai told us about—I see the gleam of the early sun reflected fifty feet below me.

“Remember the vines!” Kai shouts.

Snapping my head to my left, I spot a cascade of ropy tentacles dangling in the chasm. I lunge forward and grab a fistful. Using the momentum of my fall, I swing myself onto the lip of the basin, groaning from the effort.

As soon as my feet touch the forest floor, I drop my bag on the ground and slump to my knees, dragging off my helmet. Too tired to stretch my aching muscles, I settle for weakly massaging my shoulders.