Ghosts of Koa, The First Book of Ezekiel (37 page)

In the rush, Caleb was somehow able to think only of the two girls, who were getting kicked around under the feet of his men.

No time, we're all gonna die--

A flash of gray in the corner. Zeika was under the control console, burying the little one with her own body. Acting, not thinking, Caleb leapt forward towards them, reaching out with his power--

The cave shook, vomiting fire and debris from above. Just an inch shy of the console, Caleb's body slammed downwards into the cavern floor, and his back was consumed with agony. The side of his face smashed against rock, and he felt two back teeth shatter, releasing blood. Electric shocks in his chest and back, anguish that was sudden and intense. Then silence.

Zeika.

Minutes, maybe hours later, he wasn't sure. But she was his first thought when his consciousness swam back to him.

"Zeika..." He coughed, painting the rock floor with wet red blossoms.

Dust and debris tumbled into the hovel from above. He tried to move, to drag himself towards the obliterated console. It had been blasted with heat and rock, and in the dust cloud, he couldn't see them.
 

Shards of something sharp were wedged into the flesh of his back, like puppet pegs cruelly driven in. They ground against his ribs with each movement. Still, he gripped what ground he could and dragged himself forward. His right arm was working. His left one lagged, disobedient. He managed one final slide forward before he laid on the ground face down, spent.

Please. Please don't be dead.

He had placed a shield around the girls first, then over himself... maybe too late. He needed to get up. He had to get up.

"
Manja? Hal anti bikhaira, yaa hebiibetii?
"
 

A soft feminine voice rolled back the silence. Movement, under the console. Zeika. She was speaking to the little one, and Caleb could finally see them through what was now a jungle-gym of scorched steel. She was stroking the little one's puffy hair as they uncurled from each other.

"
Na'am...
" The little one replied, wiping her eyes. She sniffled. "
Kanaa khaa-ifa,
Zeeky."

"I know. I was scared too, sweetie," Zeika whispered. "It's okay now."

Caleb flinched, and Zeika stiffened, finally seeing him from between the twisted metal. For a moment, her eyes bloomed fear. Then they settled. She turned to him and began to pick her way out the twisted jaws of the console. When she met metal too contorted to push through, though, she looked to the little one.

"
Saa'ideeni
," she whispered.
 

"Mm."

Zeika pushed through once more, this time succeeding. Caleb wasn't sure, but he swore that as she crawled through, the metal lifted, just enough for her and the little one to squeeze out. When they got into the open, she scurried up next to him while Manja hung back, a thumb in her mouth. Tears were still on the little one's cheeks. Zeika, on the other hand, had already gotten her bearings and was looking him over.
 

"Backward subluxation," she murmured to herself, touching his left shoulder blade.
 

Even while on his stomach, Caleb could see that his shoulder had left its socket in the impact, the bone clearly detached beneath the skin.

She gripped his bicep and wrenched it, at the same time slamming her palm into his shoulder. Caleb winced, but immediately the pain in his shoulder began to subside.
 

She actually did it...

"Help me," Zeika commanded.

Now calmer, Manja stood to her feet. Together, they grabbed Caleb's left shoulder and rolled him over onto his back. He wheezed, blood foaming at his lips. Hurt so bad...

"Prep," Zeika said, taking off her robes and laying them on the floor. She was wearing a thermal bodysuit, one he was sure had come from her forge. Now, she was using her robes as a sort of prep table,
 
emptying the side pocket of her bag onto it. She laid out rolls of fabric, different sizes, along with some medical needles.

Manja also went to work. She found a reasonably flat rock in the rubble, wrapped it in a fold of cloth, and pushed it under his head. She moved with a swift delicacy and a furrowed brow, and she plunged her hands into her backpack, one that looked just like the commando bear he'd given her. They had turned the poor bastard into a knapsack, and now Manja was emptying his insides: a bottle of water, a medical pack, and another gun--
 

Christ--

--which Zeika took with nary a second thought.

"You are badly damaged," she said. Her voice was calm. "We're going to issue emergency aid. Stay very still." Zeika opened the medical pack, listening as Manja tittered and pointed various points on his chest. Zeika asked a question, and after a bit of thought, the girl responded, nodding.

He couldn't be sure, but it sounded like they were speaking some kind of Semitic language. Arabic, maybe. It was too hard to understand it through the pain and pulsing waves of nausea and darkness that swept over him. Zeika then said something that made Manja freeze.

"
Mithla-al kalb, hebiibetii.
"

Manja's eyes filled with horror. "
Mithla-al kalb?
"

"Kalb" meant "dog" in Arabic, he knew that much. But it also sounded a lot like "Caleb", so he couldn't be sure. But he definitely noticed the very nervous way in which Manja bit her lip, as though the word put fear in her.

"It's okay, baby," Zeika cooed. "You can do it. Okay? I'm right here."

Manja took a breath and then nodded. She closed her eyes and hovered her hands over his chest. Then, Zeika spoke, issuing some sort of command.
 

What happened next he couldn't understand, but suddenly the wound in his chest was
writhing
, as though the muscles themselves were ripping apart. He screamed, and next he was sitting up, obeying all his instincts to get away from the pain.

The cold muzzle of the 9 mm Glock jammed into his forehead, right in between his eyes. He followed the grip holding the gun, and when his travels ended, his gaze caught Zeika's cool and calm stare.

"Lay down, and take the pain like a man," she said. "Or I'll anesthetize you the old-fashioned way. Got it?"

He clenched his jaw, and seeming to see something in his expression that she didn't like, Zeika pulled back the gun hammer and slowly cocked her head. She never broke her gaze, and suddenly his priorities shifted. Whatever he didn't know about her, he knew that she was giving him a look that meant business. If he posed any threat, she would pull the trigger. He could feel it.
 

Slowly, he eased back down onto the makeshift pillow. She never moved the gun.

"I hope... those books on your shelf... weren't bullshit, kid," he struggled, forcing a smile.

"The shrapnel didn't get too deep. We don't have any anesthetics, but if we don't extract the metal now and patch you up, you'll bleed out. We'll take out as much as we can. She can guide it around your vital organs so you don't take more damage, but you've gotta take the pain."

Mouth dry, forehead beading with sweat, Caleb nodded and locked his jaw. Zeika turned back to her sister, who was sitting back, watching the entire exchange.
 

The unusual calm in Manja's eyes made Caleb wonder how often she'd seen a scene like this-- until again, Zeika issued the command:
"Ieme-lii."

Caleb heaved, holding back his screams as the younger one tore his chest from the inside out. Zeika never moved the gun.
Schick!
One piece, and then another, followed by more, uprooted themselves from his torso. Then Zeika grabbed his shoulder and gently turned him over onto his side.

Fiery pellets ripped through the flesh of his back, and he writhed. He'd never wanted death so badly--
 

Then, it was over. Blood oozed from his wounds, and his body felt like it'd been pierced with a hundred hot knives, but it was over. His eyelids felt heavy.
 

"
Halas?
" Zeika asked.
 

"
Halaaaas!
" The little one responded with a giggle. She dropped the shrapnel into a fold of fabric and wrapped it up.

Caleb felt Zeika grab his chin. She was speaking to him again. "I'm going to strap you with a respirator that has an aerosol tissue restorative. It'll help speed up the healing, and it'll keep your lungs from bleeding if they were damaged. But you need to stay awake and breathe deep."

He nodded absently. She waved her hand at Manja, and the child took some liquid-filled phials and an old-fashioned gas mask from her bear pack. Child-sized. There was a small receiver attached to the mask, seemingly to humidify the air breathed in by the wearer.

"Heh... you two... magicians or what?" Caleb smiled weakly. "That's... alotta rabbits... kid..."

Zeika smiled and shook the phials. "Something like that." And she poured the contents into the mask receiver, strapped the mask to his face, and turned it on.

"Breathe. As deep and as much as you can. We're taking the mask with us when we're done." She turned to Manja. "Keep him awake. Make sure he breathes." Then she started to pack.

Manja scooted over until she was kneeling down next to his head. She picked up his heavy wrist and wrapped both her hands around his. "Wanna sing a song?"

Caleb coughed into the mask, the dryness of his throat nearly stealing his voice. "S-song...?"

"Yeah! Let's sing the Itsy Bitsy Spider! Ready? The Itsy Bitsy Spider ran up the water spout-- sing with me, come on!"

Her stark twinkling blue eyes were the strangest contrast to her dark skin. A rare genetic trait indeed. He was supposed to be analyzing her, taking in as much as he could in case he survived this. But as she smiled at him, urging him to sing, all of that fell away and he couldn't help but smile back.

"Down... came the rain and..." Caleb whispered.

"Washed the spider out! Yay! You did it! Next verse!"

Caleb felt Zeika's fingers at his chest and back. Cool laps of a cleansing fluid. Sharp pinches of a needle and catgut going through his skin as she sewed him closed. But it didn't hurt that much this time... in fact, he barely felt any pain at all.

"You wanna sing the next verse with me?"

Caleb nodded, but didn't quite know what he was agreeing to because things had gotten so dark. He closed his eyes, hummed to sleep by the sound of the respirator, no longer able to think.
 

A rosy blush had settled onto Demesne Five by the time Zeika and Manja made it back to the Forge. Zeika's limbs ached, and each step dragged. They weren't getting any forging done tonight; they'd earned the day off. A hot tin bath and a few extra hours' sleep was barely a reward for surviving a day of pure hell, but she'd take it with gratitude.

Collecting metal, dodging bombs, saving Azures-- I want my friggin' purple heart.

She tossed their robes onto the coat pegs, and Manja automatically walked over to the radio, clearly not interested in discussing the day's events.

"Can we listen to Jimmy at Eight tonight, Zeeky?"

Zeika smiled. "You can listen to whatever you want, honey. You did great today. I'm very proud of you."

Manja blushed and took a moment to puff out her chest with pride before she switched on the radio. James Montgomery's talk radio show would be on in just a minute, but in the meanwhile, smooth jazz from the 1990s filled the little office. Almost to the rhythm, Manja and Zeika moved into their nightly routine.
 

Zeika lowered a hammock and wiped it down. She threw a pile of blankets and pillows in, readying their bed. Then, she and Manja went down into the cellar to get dinner. When Manja opened the fridge, Zeika cringed. There wasn't much left, and most of the Forge's inventory had been sold off. Their current rations would have to do. Fruit and cereal for breakfast, soy milk and peanut butter sandwiches on unleavened bread for dinner. Lunch was optional. Between the money they had and the remaining supplies they could barter, they had about a month's worth of life left at the Forge before things got too desperate.
They'd probably have to use some of the cash Caleb had given them before they'd meet their goal of three grand. They still had his tab at the diner, but after getting caught in the Koan hollow and yanking metal out of his collarbone, she doubted dude would want to swipe his credit card for the Lobon lunch special.
 

Even he did want to continue helping them, she'd feel badly about it. He had once again put his life on the line to protect them, and he'd only gotten hurt because of it. She'd really screwed up. Better to make it on their own and use the Lobon sparingly, at least until she and Caleb got right again. Besides, they'd be leaving the Fifth soon anyway. No need to get too dependent on charity.

They got dressed for bed, and Manja went upstairs, balancing the PB sandwiches on a tray. Zeika
 
followed, carrying up Caleb's rifle, his Glocks, and her cleaning kits. She shut the cellar door beneath them with her foot.