Distant Shores - Marco Palmieri [81]
With the hood out of her way, Seven peered into the dense green canopy of treetops in the direction from which they had come. Her keen vision lighted on a gap in the overhead cover, and she glimpsed a dark gray plume curling upward.
She calculated that its source was a half-mile behind them.
“Zolaluz,” she said, calling out to her traveling companion. “I believe there is a fire in the vicinity of your home.”
“Yes, yes,” said Zolaluz, pausing to hack with the foot of a crutch at a thorny yellow vine spanning the path at knee level. “My house is on fire. It is not the first time.”
A frown creased Seven’s brow as she pushed away from the tree trunk. “You knew?” she said. “I was not aware that your people possessed such a heightened sense of smell.”
“They don’t,” said Zolaluz. “But I do. Thanks to the duluzola. My disease.” Taking a last whack at the thorny vine, she resumed her halting progress along the trail. The bulky knapsack strapped across her shoulders weighed her down, complicating her struggle to haul herself forward.
Seven lingered behind her, turning for another glimpse of the smoke through the jungle canopy. “If we turn back, perhaps we can still salvage some of your possessions.”
“That is what the soldiers want,” said Zolaluz. “That is why my home happened to catch fire so soon after we left.”
“You believe it is the soldiers’ doing?”
“I know it,” said Zolaluz. “I heard them coming when we were leaving.”
Surprised, Seven moved to follow her, using her crutch to stagger along the rough path. “I heard nothing,” she said evenly.
“But I heard everything,” said Zolaluz. “Again, thanks to the duluzola.” Puffing from her exertions, she paused to catch her breath. “This gift comes in handy,” she said with a little laugh, “when I must eavesdrop on conversations from a distance because no one will speak to a zola like me.”
As Zolaluz recovered and lumbered forward again, Seven stole a last look back. Soon, she guessed, the shack would be mostly smoke and cinders.
It made her uncomfortable to think that someone who had already lost so much should be called to make another sacrifice.
“Zolaluz,” said Seven after a moment. “What did you mean when you said that this wasn’t the first time your house was on fire?”
“It happens all the time,” said Zolaluz, panting as she forced herself forward. “All my houses have been set on fire.”
Seven frowned. “All your houses?” she said. “Why?”
Zolaluz stopped and turned to smile at Seven. “I am a zola. There is a war on. Sometimes, I think, for no reason at all.” She shrugged. “But I’ll tell you, I am such a poor housekeeper and each home was such a wreck that the fires only improved them.” She laughed, sunlight glinting from the giant lenses of her eyeglasses.
“Now come on!” she shouted, resuming her course along the barely visible trail. “We shouldn’t be waiting around for those soldiers to track us down! I don’t think the two of us have much hope of outrunning them, do you?”
Seven followed on her crutch without reply.
Three days ago, Zolaluz had rescued her from the flaming wreckage of a shuttlecraft. She had steered Seven safely through a militia battle, then led her across miles of jungle through the night to shelter.
For days, she had fed and protected Seven and tended her broken leg. Now, she guided her through the jungle again, in search of Captain Janeway.
All this for someone who had drawn the soldiers who had burned down her home. Someone who had done nothing but take since her arrival.
Annoyed at her inability to balance the scales, Seven decided that a small gesture was better than none.
“Your pack,” Seven said, a little further along the trail. “Give it to me.”
Zolaluz argued, but her resistance was futile. Lifting it from her back, Seven tied the straps at her own waist, adding the burden below the pack that she already shouldered.
Plenty of grumbling from Zolaluz ensued, punctuated with pleas to give the load back… but Seven noted with satisfaction