Aftermath - Ann Aguirre [14]
Yours,
Suni
.END-TRANSMISSION.
.ACTIVATE-WORM: Y/N?
.Y.
.TRANSMISSION-DESTROYED.
CHAPTER 4
Jaw clenched, I lead the way through the wasteland. The impact site still steams heat, though the days of sporadic rain have cooled it enough to make it safe for human passage. Small remnants of normal life leap out at me—part of a sign advertising fresh seafood, a child’s toy partly charred and now discarded. The red polymer of the hat has melted across the doll’s face, so it looks like fresh blood.
I pick my way around fallen metal shards, six meters across, and Hit shakes her head as we pass. “This was a ship.”
Though I never visited Castello, I’ve seen vids. This street used to be green with tropical trees, spiky plants grown in their shade. Flame-hued flowers bloomed in profusion on the ivory walls, and children ran ahead of their parents to splash in the fountains; unlike most cities, they didn’t mind such behavior here. Beautiful caramel-skinned men sold iced drinks from cafés lining the public promenade.
They’re gone now.
I remember teasing March with thoughts about how I intended to retire here, but Venice Minor will do a different kind of tourism henceforth. Too many died here for it to be believable as an unspoiled paradise any longer. Someday, there may be monuments and commemorative plaques, so people don’t forget. Mary knows, I never will. I feel their ghosts watching us as we move through in respectful silence toward the city center, where Vel will be waiting. Adele—my spiritual mentor on Gehenna—would doubtless offer a prayer for these lost souls. I don’t know any sacred words, but I offer some heartfelt ones in their place.
“Find peace,” I whisper to the ashes and the dust, to the broken stones and the soot-stained fountain. I bow my head for a moment.
Hit pauses beside me and offers a longer, more eloquent prayer. “Holy Mary, have mercy on these, your lost lambs. For those who remain, enkindle in us the fire of your love. Send forth your spirit, that our hands perform your work, and together, we may renew the face of the world. Amen.”
“Damn.”
The taller woman shrugs. “Madame Kang was a devout woman in her way. She asked forgiveness each time she sent us out on a job.”
There’s a certain twisted logic in that.
Here at the fountain, the heat must have been so profound as to evaporate the water, melt the pipes beneath the ground, and fracture the basin; at least that’s the evidence left behind. I see the overwhelming damage and once more picture Doc and Evelyn, standing hand in hand. The hurt swells; he was my friend, and I killed him. Even if I never know for sure, I’ll still carry the burden of his loss.
We walk on. In places, shop windows melted rather than shattered, clinging to the remnants of the structures in glittering, uneven waves. Sorrow weights my steps, but with each one, I move closer to Vel—to hope—and soon I’m running again, as much away from these memories as toward the promise of rescue.
Hit keeps pace beside me. I don’t worry about being spotted by the Morgut anymore. So far, we’ve heard no sign of recon drones, and they’ve shut down the planetary communication network with sheer destruction. Vel mentioned scout ships, but unless we power up some impressive machinery, they’re not going to notice us.
I hope.
Ten minutes later, we arrive at the city center, what used to be a civic administrative complex. Now there’s only wreckage and the scent of dust lingering in the air. We climb the steps and wait beside a fallen monument; this used to be a statue of Padric Jocasta, the general who fought in the Axis Wars. His family has been famous for generations, and his descendant Miriam, the diplomat, died in no less spectacular a fashion than her forefather. Now he’s toppled from his pedestal, the bronze melted and disfigured.
“Think he’ll make it?” she asks.
At first, I think she’s talking about Padric, whose monument is clearly cast down, then I realize