Aftermath - Ann Aguirre [9]
Rescue will come, I tell myself. We’re not simply waiting for the Morgut to finish conquering Venice Minor.
“Here,” I say eventually.
Though covered in moss and vines, the shelter looks like an old groundskeeper’s hut. At first, I wonder if there’s a comm panel in there, but we shouldn’t risk another message, even if there is. We don’t want them blowing up this location, too. Humidity makes the door stick, swollen from the dampness in the air, but with some effort, Hit shoves it open. Inside, it’s dim and hot, moist with mildew.
“Think there are any spores in here?” she asks.
“Hope not.” If they take root in our lungs, we could be in deep trouble without proper medical facilities and no idea when—or if—help is coming. Bluerot is one of the many strains of fungus that can thrive in the human body; I’d rather not test the nanites to that degree.
Even the faint light can’t disguise the derelict nature of the place. Spiders have long since laid claim, and the hammock has been chewed to strings, which now hang in forlorn rags. Otherwise, nothing lives here but dirt and mold, certainly no comm. I imagined a hero’s welcome when we returned from grimspace. There would be furious screaming first, of course, followed by obligatory punishment. And then everyone would cheer . . . because what we did, nobody’s ever done before. Yet here we are, hiding from the battle. There are no ships to steal, no help to summon. From Hit’s expression, that doesn’t sit any better with her.
“As soon as you feel up to it, we’re getting out of here.”
I nod. Wearily, I sink down onto the floor and lean my head back against the wall; I can’t feel the rumble of the bombs anymore. On the surface, that seems like it’s a good thing, but I imagine them raining down on innocent tourists. Their dying screams fill my head, and I feel raw, as if I’m at fault for them, too. So many restless ghosts. When I close my eyes, I see Doc and Evelyn, joining hands at the last. They seemed so small against the destruction raining down upon them—two souls, surrounded by burnt metal and flaming wreckage. They had no chance. No chance at happiness. It’s beyond wrong that a man of peace should become a casualty of war.
“I should’ve found some way to stop this.”
“Yeah? How?” Her tone is kind enough, but her expression reveals impatience. “I know we’re not as close as you and Dina, but I figure there will never be a better time for some straight talk.
“You’ve let March get inside your head so you don’t see things like a normal person anymore. He has this epic sense of personal responsibility, and you’ve let that become your code as well. Honest to Mary, I don’t see how you could’ve done more. This guilt is a joke, and it’s exhausting to watch you martyr yourself. Now shut the frag up and get some rest, so we can hike out of here.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I’m too weary and heartsick to sleep, but I don’t burden Hit. She’s right; it’s tremendous ego to think I could’ve prevented this. And for the first time, I accept that maybe war was coming even if I hadn’t toppled the Corp. It might just be Farwan fighting the Morgut now, instead of the Conglomerate.
But Doc and Evie? I am all but positive that was me. I sent that second signal because I wanted March to be safe so much that I didn’t contemplate the risk. I was afraid he’d jump before the message I bounced to Tarn went out as general orders, so I acted to save the Dauntless. I don’t know for sure that Doc heard our message, but I can’t imagine what else drew them out at precisely that time. I don’t believe in coincidence, which means I’m guilty.
I wish it wasn’t true. They’re too smart, too vital, to be gone. Part of me hopes beyond reason that this is a dreadful mix-up. Eventually we’ll find out that they’re not lost, vaporized beneath the infernal heat of Morgut weapons—that Doc found somewhere to hide, where the bombs couldn’t touch him—but I know what