Chapter 3: High Water, Pt. 1

She picked the stitches out herself. A glance into a pool of water revealed a scar forming, a glaring red indent in her weathered brown skin. It wasn’t infected. 86 hadn’t taken her eye. She was lucky.

Ruins lined the old highway, headstones of a dead civilization. They’d moved carefully, often at night, hiding during daylight and taking turns sleeping — or dozing, in Lily’s case, with her finger on the trigger guard of a rifle she didn’t know how to fire.

In two and a half weeks he’d said eighteen words to her. Not all at once. She’d said twice as many back.

Spring had ambushed them. It rained pitlessly, and as the snow melted the scrubland turned into a swamp. Rivers swelled and burst their banks.

This particular river had bisected the highway, cutting and undercutting the road until it collapsed. Fifteen, maybe twenty feet to the other bank. It could be hours or days before they found a place to ford.

Lily watched the impatient current from the edge of the road. Noxious yellow foam ringed the waterline like froth on the mouth of a rabid dog.

She probed the inside of her cheek with her tongue. “We’ve gotta get over.”

74 peered down, hand on his rifle sling. The water rushed by with a muted roar. “Can you swim.”

“Well…” Lily booted a rock into the water. “No.”

He continued on along the bank, like that settled things. She made an obscene gesture at his retreating back as she followed. Why had she been so scared of him? He was just rude.

Ahead of them the sun was setting, turning the haze blood-red. A bad omen. The damp had gotten into Lily’s bones and her leg ached. She did not allow herself to limp.

Up ahead, 74 froze. He looked back the way they’d come. Then he took a knee and tucked the butt of his rifle into his shoulder.

“What,” she said, crouching down next to him.

74 blinked at her, like he’d forgotten she was there. Then he pointed with two fingers.

Lily saw only rusted girders held together by dry brown vines, and a few overgrown humps of rubble. The remnants of a bridge, vanishing into the haze.

Beyond them, some ruins; a featureless shape in the growing haze too far behind them for detail. They’d passed it without incident. Lily had tripped over a piece of rebar.

Then she saw movement.

Little specks moved over the rough terrain in an uneven line. Grey uniforms. Lily tried to remember: had the ground been soft? Had they left tracks?

She shivered with an electric thrill of fear and fought the urge to flatten herself against the ground like a beast.

The Coalition was coming.

“You said they went back east.” Her voice was strained.

“They don’t want you,” 74 said, scanning the surrounding debris and hillocks with the suggestion of a frown. “You can go.”

Oh, could she? How kind of him. Lily cinched up the straps of her pack and rose, stiffly.

Her boot left a depression in the earth that almost immediately filled with water. She stared at it.

An Operative lay dead behind them, and Lily was guilty by association. Those Regulars had probably already seen two sets of prints, and would hunt her forever once they got done killing 74.

And of course there was the matter of revenge. Not just for her face.

She looked up at him. “I’ve never fired a rifle before.”

He stared back at her like she’d grown an extra head, like the rabbit he’d shot two days ago.

Lily thumbed the strap of her weapon. “Just a pistol.”

“Same principle,” 74 said, still staring. “Aim and pull the trigger.”

She pointed to a half-buried chunk of concrete, slick with green and white droppings. Behind it the ground sloped down to the river.

“There,” she said. “The sun’s in their eyes. Do you think they saw us?”

74 blinked again. Lily was starting to recognize the different kinds; this one indicated surprise.

“No,” he said, dropping down behind the cover. Kneeling, he propped his rifle on the concrete and sighted down the road.

Lily wedged her rifle butt against her stomach, drawing the charging handle back with both hands. She propped the weapon up to examine the unfamiliar surface.

“Don’t engage,” 74 said. “Unless they see us.”

She regarded him levelly. He blinked twice, and looked away; hopefully that indicated embarassment.

They waited in silence. Damp and cold seeped into her clothes. The rain softened and turned to mist.

Maybe they would get lucky.

The Regulars’ uniforms blended in with the washed out browns and charcoals of the landscape. They were close enough now that Lily could hear voices but not words. The world was blue and cold.

“…on the road, maybe,” one of them was saying. “I lost it back there.”

“So find it again,” another answered. “Quick, he’s coming.”

74 was peering over the concrete lump.

“How many,” Lily breathed.

Horribly, she saw a tremor pass through his hands and into the rifle. Brief, but unmistakeable. “Sixty-three.”

She shook her head emphatically.

“Operative 63,” 74 whispered. He returned his attention to the sights. “He’s mine.”

He opened fire without waiting for a response.

The Regulars scattered, shouting as they haphazardly returned fire. A bullet ricocheted near Lily’s head, scattering chips of concrete and sending her ducking with a curse.

74 didn’t flinch. He fired mechanically without pausing or seeming to aim.

Screams. A barrage of answering gunfire. Lily pressed her back to the rubble as clods of dirt fell away under her feet, into the rushing water.

Movement to the right. A Regular broke cover and sprinted—

Recoil numbed Lily’s shoulder. Her ears rang and her head was filled with a distant roaring.

Hot brass bounced off her arm as she racked the charging handle back.

The soldier bled out onto the rain-slick moss. The river snarled behind them and no one else fired. Nothing moved.

Then, into that awful stillness: “Surrender, 74.”

The words did not echo or ring out; they fell flat, as if made of lead. 74 flinched and tucked his rifle to his chest, gathering himself—

Lily threw herself at him, knocking him against the barrier before he could vault it. Bullets zipped over their heads again. “Are you insane?”

No, she realized, as he looked back at her. He was terrified.

He ejected his magazine, checking the rounds before slamming it home again, getting ready to move.

Lily chanced a peek around the pitted concrete and caught a glimpse of black before a desperate volley sent her falling back.

She wrestled her pack off her shoulder and fumbled through it until her hand closed around cold metal. Egg-shaped.

“No,” 74 said. There might’ve been a hint of alarm in it.

The hail of bullets faltered.

Lily pulled the pin, pitched the grenade, and tackled him backwards into the water. The explosion was the last thing she heard before the river grabbed them.

Deeper than she’d expected. Cold. Mud in her mouth. Lily was dragged down and slammed into something and lost her grip on 74, lost the breath she’d been holding, lost all sense of direction.

Water stabbed her lungs like knives. Her head broke the surface. Then the undertow dragged her back down and devoured her.