Lokis gambit, p.151
Loki's Gambit, page 151
part #1 of I Bring the Fire Series
But he really doesn’t care. He’s just really glad when Steve slides Ruger off his back. And then they each take one of the fallen man’s arms over a shoulder and carry him toward the shore. More ops guys move around them, forming a protective circle, rifles ready. But no more whales emerge, and the ice stays firm. He hears Steve speaking into his radio, saying, “Get me Lewis!”
As if by magic a snowmobile glides silently to a stop about ten meters beyond them. “Stay there,” Steve orders. “We’re bringing him to you. Everyone off the ice!”
They pull Ruger into a copse of naked black trees just beyond the shoreline and lay him out on a thermal blanket on his back. Claire and Beatrice hover beyond the injured man; Valli and Nari are nearby; and so are Sigyn and Gerðr. Bohdi’s only half aware of them. His attention is riveted to a dark black splotch at the center of Ruger’s abdomen, a red-brown bloom of blood around it. Amy and one of the ops guys drops to their knees. Their fingers go to Ruger’s neck, but Amy’s eyes go to the black splotch.
When Amy speaks, her voice has a calm inflectionless, professional quality. “It looks like he sustained a perforation to the abdominal aorta.”
“Agreed,” says the special ops guy. “It looks like a piece of sheared rebar.”
Bohdi doesn’t know much about medicine, but he knows that’s very bad. “He’s going to die?”
Amy looks up at Bohdi. “He’s already dead.”
Running his hands through his hair, Bohdi turns away. He thinks he hears Claire start to cry. His own eyes feel hot. Steve puts a hand on his shoulder. “You did good.” His voice is tight. Bohdi’s legs bend beneath him. Maybe it’s from hauling Ruger’s weight, or maybe it’s just the feeling of helplessness coursing through him. Sitting on his heels in the snow, he runs his hands through his hair and takes deep breaths, his vision a blur of snow and camouflage.
“You need to change. Your clothes are wet.” He’s dimly aware of Mills standing above him. It takes a moment for Bohdi to process her words. And then he realizes his back is soaked, even though he doesn’t remember getting splashed. He shivers, the cold suddenly coming down on him as sure if he’d been dunked in ice water. Still squatting, he strips out of his shirt and undershirt and sees why they are wet—they’re stained with blood. He throws them to the ground and slips on the clothes Mills has proffered as quickly as he can.
His eyes flick to Steve. He’s running a hand over his jaw and looking out over the plain of ice. Bohdi follows his gaze. In the plain of snow the metal support strut juts upward, surrounded by a small island of broken overpass. There’s even a green traffic sign, dangling on a piece of twisted metal.
Voice tight, Steve says, “I take it the Gate has been closed on the other side?”
Claire shouts, “We came to warn you!”
Steve turns around. So many expressions pass over his face, Bohdi can’t read them all, but he sees fear and fury. “Why aren’t you at school?” Steve’s voice cracks just enough for Bohdi to understand it isn’t the voice of anger speaking.
Claire’s face crumples. “You don’t care!” She shakes her head. “You never care. You’re always leaving!”
Steve takes a breath with such force it sounds like a hiss. “We’ll talk about this later,” he says. He turns to the rest of the team. “We need to get to the command tent. Now.”
Claire stamps her foot, turns and runs into the trees.
“Claire!” Steve says, his nostrils flared, every tendon in his jaw and neck visible.
“I’ll get her,” Sigyn says quickly.
Steve doesn’t respond.
“I know what to say,” Sigyn says.
Steve’s body sags, and he nods.
Swinging her rifle back over her shoulder, Sigyn strides to one of the snowmobiles and slips astride it with so much self-assurance no one asks her if she knows how to drive. “We’ll meet you at the tent,” she says. Moments later she is gliding silently into the trees.
Chapter Twenty
There are not enough snowmobiles. Amy watches with admiration as Mills and Harding, apparently instructors in some hardcore cold weather survival training, turn a few saplings and duct tape into into a makeshift sled. The other guys tie it to one of the snowmobiles. They use the sled for Ruger’s body. Bohdi volunteers to sit with Ruger to keep him from rolling off. Amy gets to ride behind Larson again. Valli, Nari, and Beatrice also get to ride on a snowmobile since they don’t have snow shoes. The guys without a seat jog behind them.
As they’re going up the hill, they hear a gunshot echo through the trees. Steve’s voice immediately comes over the radio in Amy’s ear. “Sigyn, what happened?”
Sigyn’s voice crackles back. “A bear charged us. But we’re fine. Nice rifles, by the way.”
From where she sits behind Larson, Amy sees Steve’s body sag.
“We’ll be at camp in just a few minutes.” Sigyn says, and then the radio goes silent.
When they arrive at camp, Steve starts giving orders for getting gear for the people who have arrived from Earth. While he’s busy, Amy walks over to where Bohdi is sitting on the sled. He’s sitting cross legged, Ruger’s head on his lap. Someone, maybe Bohdi himself, has crossed Ruger’s hands over his chest and closed his eyes.
Not looking up at her, Bohdi says, “I couldn’t save him.”
Amy looks at Ruger. The blood from his abdominal wound hasn’t yet started to freeze.
“No,” she says. “But you brought him back.”
Head bowed, eyes obscured by long black lashes, Bohdi snorts. “I’m sure he’s comforted by that.”
Amy remembers Bohdi going into shock when he killed the Einherjar in Asgard, their shared dismay over the spiderlings’ screams in Nornheim, and how brave it was of him to lug Ruger over the ice. She would have been terrified if she was in his shoes… and probably wouldn’t have been strong enough.
She kneels down beside Ruger and Bohdi. “You know,” she says, “science knows a lot of things, but they really don’t know what consciousness is. There is plenty of evidence from people who have been clinically dead, but revived, that consciousness hangs around, even after the heart stops.”
Beatrice comes over and stands on the other side of them, Fenrir at her side. For once, Fenrir isn’t whining for food, and Beatrice doesn’t snip at Bohdi.
“That sounds very new agey,” Bohdi says, softly. “Where is the evidence from, psychics out to steal people’s money?”
“No,” says Amy. “From the research of doctors in the field of resuscitation medicine.”
Bohdi looks at her sharply.
She shrugs. “You can read about it in online—” She stops herself. He can’t read it online; they’re in Jotunheim. Her stomach sinks. And they’re unlikely to be going home soon.
“So he might be hanging around and watching?” Bohdi says.
Amy nods. “Yes. And I’m sure if he is, he’s grateful to be with his friends.”
Bohdi looks to her again; this time his expression strangely vulnerable.
A movement in the trees makes both of them start, and Beatrice spins around, flamethrower upraised. Amy lets out a breath, and her body relaxes. It’s just Sigyn, gliding into camp on her snowmobile, Claire wrapped in a thermal blanket behind her. Steve goes over to them. He hugs his daughter and pulls away. Not meeting his eyes, Claire nods and say something too quiet to hear. Steve pats her shoulder and then stands up and says, “Patel, Lewis, Larson, Berry, Gerðr, Cindy, and Nicholas to the command tent. Victor, you can stand guard outside. Everyone else, get ready to move out.”
Bohdi looks down at Ruger and doesn’t move. Claire, still wrapped in a thermal blanket, crunches over to them through the snow. Putting her hand on Claire’s shoulder, Beatrice leans down so she’s nearly at Bohdi’s ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll look out for him. He helped save my life back there.”
“He was nice to me, too,” says Claire, she sniffs, and then starts to cry.
Amy looks up to her grandmother and hopes she sees the gratitude in her eyes—that she is alive, and that she is being kind to Bohdi.
Gently lifting Ruger’s head, Bohdi slips off the sled and steps backwards. Just before Amy rises, she touches Ruger’s hand and silently thanks him for saving her grandmother. Despite what she told Bohdi, she doesn’t know if he hears, but she hopes he does. And then she follows Bohdi to the command tent. It’s a long white structure with an arched roof. As they walk there, other members of the special ops team nod respectfully at Bohdi. One of the guy even slaps a hand on his shoulder and says, “You military?”
Bohdi’s spine straightens and he says, “Yes, Sir. Marines.”
The guy gives his shoulder another pat, and says, “Good man.”
And then they continue walking to the tent. Sigyn is standing just outside the door, blocking their path. She’s holding her hand outstretched in front of her, palm up.
“Is something wrong?” Lieutenant Larson says.
Sigyn tilts her head, holds out her hand and says, “I would like to shake your hand, Lieutenant.”
“What?”
“Please,” she says.
Their way into the tent blocked, Amy and Bohdi draw to stop beside the two.
“Ma’am, with all due respect, this isn’t—”
Sigyn spins to the tent. “Gerðr, will you come out here and shake this man’s hand, without your magic-blocking hat or bracelets!”
“What is it?” says Steve, emerging from the tent. Gerðr pokes her head out beside him.
“Maybe nothing,” says Sigyn. “Gerðr?”
“What’s going on?” Larson says. “Sir, I don’t really have to—”
Gerðr takes her hat off and slips off her bracelets, and Larson falls silent. To Amy, she doesn’t look any different than she did a moment before: blonde-white hair, too pale skin, her figure obscured by military fatigues. But Larson’s jaw drops. Steve looks pointedly at the sky, and Bohdi covers his eyes with his hand. Someone whistles. A guy who is walking by drops the gear he’s carrying and just stares slack jawed.
Gerðr holds out her hands. Larson peels off both his mittens, lets them drop into the snow, and puts his hands in hers. Gerðr’s eyes go to where their hands are joined. She turns to Sigyn, eyes wide. “Yes.” Releasing Larson’s hand, she goes back into the tent. Larson’s jaw drops and he staggers back, looking vaguely confused. Then he scoops up his mittens and plows into the tent. Steve follows him.
“Is she gone now?” says Bohdi.
“She went back into the tent,” says Amy. “It’s lined with Promethean wire.”
Sighing, Bohdi drops his hand.
Sigyn steps out of the way to let them pass. They step into the tent. The ceiling is over six feet high, but even standing dead center beneath its arched roof, Steve has to stoop slightly. He is with Warrant Officer Berry and Nari, leaning over a table where a paper map is laid out. One of the guys, Redman, drew the map in pencil based on information they’ve pieced together from balloons, drones, and telescopes. The lines are alternating thin and thick, with shaded areas for forest, and notes in a strikingly neat hand. It looks like something you’d see at the beginning of a fantasy novel. Amy reaches toward it, mesmerized by its simple beauty, but stops herself for fear of smudging the crisp graphite lines.
“The Prometheans sold you out,” Bohdi says, shocking Amy into the present. “Someone knew there was a Gate, that you were going, and they had the clout to send in the National Guard and drop the bridge on it.”
At the table’s head, Nari says, “I sensed Freyja’s magic … I think she may be impersonating Gennie Santos.”
There are collective intakes of breath around the room. Steve straightens as much as he can beneath the low ceiling. “Dale, does he know?”
Bohdi’s shoulders slump. “He knows you were in danger … he was with us, and argued with Gennie—Freyja, but he was shot … he fell …” He bows his head. “I don’t think the bridge fell on him though, he was too far back.
For a long moment Steve says nothing. He stands absolutely still. When he speaks his voice is almost a whisper. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
Bohdi nods. “Everything was normal, mostly, except for Claire, and Fenrir. And then your emails started bouncing …” When Bohdi is done with the whole harrowing tale, Amy thinks everyone in the tent, even the stalwart, expressionless Larson is slouching, as though bowed by an invisible weight.
Berry speaks first. “Keyif?” Amy looks at the Warrant Officer. Mills had explained to her that Warrant Officers are special. They don’t have the rank that a regular officer does, but they have more respect among the regular guys—they earn their rank through experience, and “the school of hard knocks.” There are two Warrant Officers on this trip: Harding is a communications specialist, Berry’s specialty is tactics. He’s not much taller than Amy, but he’s broader. His hands are huge, and his face is weathered.
Bohdi shakes his head. “I don’t know what happened to Keyif.”
Berry nods. “He would have been watching the southern perimeter by the bus station. If he survives, and reports to our superiors … ” He doesn’t finish the thought. On the table his hands ball into fists.
Amy swallows. Would whoever ordered the destruction of the overpass kill Keyif outright?
Sigyn says softly. “I don’t think all the Prometheans sold you out.”
“Explain,” says Steve.
Sigyn’s eyes go to Larson. “Because someone has made Larson, and all of his companions, magical.”
For a moment there is absolute silence in the tent. And then Larson shakes his head and actually smiles. “No, Ma’am. I am not magical. I’m not like you or … ” His eyes flick for a moment to Gerðr. He shakes his head again, and says, “No, Ma’am.”
“It is true,” says Gerðr. “I felt it too.” She says it with her head raised, looking down her nose, as though observing a bug.
“And the other men as well,” says Sigyn. “I first sensed it this morning, when Mr. Berry was helping me with my gear.”
The grizzled veteran at the table steps back from the table. “Errrr …” he says.
Sigyn continues. “But I thought I was imagining things. And then Harding’s hand brushed mine a few minutes ago and I became suspicious.”
“There was more serum leftover. It was confiscated,” Amy whispers. She turns to Larson and Berry. “Did you receive inoculations in the last week?”
Berry absently rubs his shoulder. “We were told it was to combat alien viruses and bacteria.”
Gerðr lifts an eyebrow. “It help with that,” she says in her slightly broken English.
Larson stands up straighter. “Well, I can’t lift rocks or spaceships with my mind,” his eyes flick to Gerðr. “Or see the future—”
“Us either,” says Nari. “That would be quite a trick. Only a very experienced magic user could perform telekinesis, and no one can really see the future.”
Larson blinks at him, mouth slightly ajar. Amy wonders if she should explain the cultural reference, but then the Lieutenant shakes his head and says, “This is extraneous conjecture. We need to focus on what we do now.”
“Agreed,” says Steve.
Larson lifts his head. Eyes on Steve, he says, “Sir, we have some explosive ordinances. We can blow those pieces of bridge up on this side of the Gate, and then we can blow up the rubble on the other side.”
Amy’s eyes widen. “That might work. Bohdi has a theory that a Gate is actually more of an envelope in space time, a sort of magical event horizon. Just because it’s closed over there, we still might be able to open it and blow it up from over here!”
Bohdi’s chest puffs up a little. “You have enough explosive power to blow up the collapsed overpass?” His lighter flickers and his face becomes animated. “I have some experience in explosive ordinance disposal … which was mostly blowing things up, and—”
“We don’t have that kind of power,” Berry says. “We might clear the mess on this side of the Gate, maybe—but not the rest of the overpass on the other side.”
Amy sees the air leaving Larson’s chest. “We have to try!” he says. “We have to warn people about what’s happening.”
Amy’s heart rate quickens. “If Odin has a contact among the Prometheans he has to know we are in the Wastes. They are looking for us, and they will find us soon. There are other paths back to Earth … ” Though not direct routes.
“You believe we should find another way back?” Steve says.
Amy looks around the tent. All eyes are on her. She thinks of the whales, the ice, and the number of troops Odin will have at his disposal. They didn’t escape Odin last time because of the trolls, or even Beatrice’s flamethrower … they escaped because Odin didn’t want a public-relations disaster. He may have been able to justify his attacks on the embassies in Eastern Europe on their countries’collusion with Dark Elves … but so far the U.S. government’s hands are clean, never mind how long that might last if a proxy war begins. Her eyes go to the door of the tent—there will be no one to witness their deaths here. “Yes, I think finding another way would be better,” she says.
Steve’s eyes go to Gerðr and the two Asgardians. “And your analysis?”
“The same,” says Sigyn. Nari nods. And Gerðr says, “My king may help, too. He knows Gates even I don’t know.”
Amy’s eyes go quickly to Gerðr, something nagging at her mind. Before she can get a word out, Larson says, “Respectfully, Sir, these—people—are not Americans. Their interests do not align with ours.” Amy remembers the guys in the van, looking to Larson before following Steve’s orders and she shivers.
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