Paolo Bacigalupi - The Drowned Cities

“Was that me?” he asked again, but before she could answer, he straightened, surprised.

“Check out her eyes!” he called. “Got us a collaborator, here! Pretty little peacekeeper girl.” Mahlia tried to bolt again, but he yanked her back and pulled her into a tight embrace, twisting her arm so hard it almost dislocated.

“Not so fast,” he whispered in her ear. His voice had gone cold, dripping with new menace. Before, she’d been a toy to him; now she was something less. “I got plans for you, castoff.”

Castoff. His words ran through the rest of the soldier boys like an electric current. Peacekeeper. Castoff. Mahlia knew how this would go. First there would be screaming and then there would be blood and then at the end, if she was lucky, she would be dead.

She fumbled for her knife, but with her good hand twisted behind her back, it was pointless. Seeming to sense her intention, the soldier pulled out her knife. Brought it up to her neck.

“What you doing here, collaborator?”

Mahlia felt sick. Already, a part of her mind was preparing for what was about to happen. It was going to be just like when the Army of God got hold of her. Different army, same story. They were all the same, in the end.

“What’s a peacekeeper girl doing way out here?” he asked. “This town protecting you?” Mahlia didn’t answer. She struggled to twist loose, but the soldier was bigger and stronger. “Why don’t you answer? Huh? Someone get your tongue? Or you just stubborn?” A pause then. “Castoff think she’s too good to talk to us?” The knife came up to her cheek, touched her lips. “Here. Lemme get that tongue out.”

With a wrench of panic, Mahlia almost tore free.

“Hold her, boys!”

Hands seized her, pinning her arms, gripping her head, forcing her to stare at the soldier who loomed over her. Dirty fingers forced her mouth open. Mahlia tried to bite them.

“Wooo!” the soldier shouted gleefully. “Castoff’s got some spirit!” But he didn’t let up. He pinched her cheeks until her mouth opened. Slid the blade inside. Mahlia tasted steel against her teeth.

“Didn’t know there were collaborators hiding out here,” the soldier said. “Thought we cleaned you all out.”

“Lay off her, Soa.”

At the new voice, the soldier glanced over his shoulder.

“Just getting answers, Lieutenant.”

A new shadow rose out of the darkness. Angular, hollow-cheeked. Tall and skeletal. Pale as death. A pink scar split the man’s nose, ragged. Gray eyes and wide pupils.

“What answers are you getting?”

“She won’t say.”

“Then we don’t have answers, do we, Private?”

“I ain’t started cutting, yet.”

“So you’re starting with her tongue?”

“Gotta start somewhere.”

There was a pause. For a second Mahlia thought there would be violence between them, but then the lieutenant just laughed. He laughed and Soa grinned, and she didn’t know if it was all a joke, or if they were going to start cutting, or if it was a game, or if this was just the beginning of the cat and mouse that would still end with her blood in the dirt.

The lieutenant shone a tiny hand-cranked LED light in her eyes. Bright and painful. She squinted. He lowered the light a little and leaned close to study her with his gray bloodshot eyes. She guessed he might be in his late twenties. Experienced. Twice as old as some of his troops. A real Fates-playing old war dog.

“I’ll be damned,” he said.

Soa was nodding. “Castoff, right?”

Mahlia summoned her voice. “I ain’t Chinese. I’m Drowned Cities.”

The lieutenant pinched her cheeks between clawed fingers. Turned her head this way and that while his troops kept her from struggling.

“Half,” he said. “For sure, you’re half. And you’re the right age, all right. Some peacekeeper nailed your old lady, left you behind.” He cocked his head. “Don’t got much use for collaborators.”

His gaze went to the village. “Don’t got much use for places that keep collaborators, either. Someone needs a lesson.”

“Leave her alone!”

At the voice, Mahlia’s knees almost buckled with relief. Doctor Mahfouz was pushing between the soldier boys. Familiar salt-and-pepper beard, broken eyeglasses tied together with bits of kudzu fiber that he had woven himself. Short and slender in comparison to some of the soldier boys. Nut-brown skin and gentle eyes and pure determination as he forced past the soldier boys, ignoring the danger he was in. It was as if he didn’t even notice that he was surrounded by boys with guns and scars and a hunger for violence.

But they noticed him, all right. One of them grabbed him. “Slow down, doctor man. Traitors ain’t your business. You get back to doctoring.”

Doctor Mahfouz didn’t even slow. He just turned to the lieutenant, speaking with absolute authority.

“Lieutenant Sayle, that girl is my assistant, she is no traitor, and if you want your soldier to live, I need her help. Now leave her alone. We deal in healing and peace, here. If you want our best efforts, you will do the same. Those are my rules, in my house. We don’t deal in bloodshed here.”

The lieutenant’s gaze went from Doctor Mahfouz to Mahlia.

“That right?” he asked her. “You know doctoring? Got some Chinese medicine up your sleeve? Peacekeeper fix-me-ups?”

Mahlia opened her mouth but didn’t know how to answer. Anything she said would encourage him. She closed it, just waiting to see what would happen, knowing she didn’t have any influence. It was up to this Lieutenant Sayle and whatever decision he’d already made. She was alive or she was dead. Whatever she said to this UPF lieutenant wasn’t going to change a thing.

The lieutenant smirked. He waved her through with a mock bow.

“Doctor-girl, huh? All right. Pull my sergeant back from the Fates, and we’ll see how you do.”

Mahlia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She shook off soldiers’ hands and made her way to Mahfouz, but as she passed the lieutenant, he jerked her close.

“If my sergeant dies,” he said, “I let Soa start cutting. He starts with that leftover hand of yours, then he does your feet, then he just keeps going, till you’re nothing but a worm in the dirt. Got it?”

Mahlia stared straight ahead, waiting to be let free. Careful not to say anything at all. He shook her. “You got me, castoff?”

Mahlia kept her gaze forward, nodded once. “I got you.”

“Good.” He let her go and turned to the rest of his troops. “What are you all staring at?” he bellowed. “Get back on perimeter! Gomez, up above! Pinky, you too! Alil, Paulie, Snipe, Boots… patrol. Van. Santos. Roo. Gutty. Yep. Timmons. Stork. Reggie. Scout the town. See if we got any more castoffs. Maybe we got a whole nest of China rats we don’t know about.”

The troops saluted and scattered, rattling weapons and ammo, boots stamping across the grasses, acid bottles bouncing, machetes gleaming as they were drawn. Doctor Mahfouz swept an arm around Mahlia’s shoulders, drawing her through the activity.

“I’ll need your hand and eyes.” He waved ahead. “It’s not impossible, but there is work.”

He led her into his open surgery, and Mahlia gasped. Blood ran all across the cracked concrete of the building’s open lower floor.

No wonder the soldier boys were crazy. Four bodies lay before her and blood ran from them in a river. Two looked already dead for sure; another had a leg ripped open, tourniqueted, but he looked so pale she doubted he would last long, even if he wasn’t actually dead already.

Only one young man remained. His chest was covered with crimson sopping rags, but he was conscious.