It was a race. Palmer got his other arm out. He kicked with his weak legs,
twisted at the waist until his hips were free, was only in ten or so inches of sand, fucking close. A meter down, and he wouldve been buried. A few inches deeper, and he wouldve been trapped. He heard the stomp and crunch of sand in the distance as men were summoned from their tents. Palmer got up and ran, keeping the large tent between him and the rest of the camp as the men inside yelled at the others to fucking dig them out, to get out there and find that diver, to kill him fucking dead.
With his heart in his throat, a canteen sloshing a quarter full, his visor with the proof of his dive and discovery of Danvar gone, and hardly anything for his efforts but the life in the marrow of his bones, Palmer ran. He kicked sand in the darkness, keeping to the well-trod valleys where the shuffle of feet would make it hard to follow, and he fucking ran.
33 Not Happening
Vic sprawled forward in the sand, her leg on fire. Someone yelled that that was his sister goddamnit, dont fucking kill her. Feet stomped her direction. Vic could feel them coming, could feel a thrumming in the sand. But the thrum wasnt from the boots chasing her down.
The sand opened and swallowed her. Vic was too startled to take a breath, only just got her eyes closed in time. A regulator was pressed to her lips. She accepted it and took a deep gulp of air, felt the sand around her stay soft so she could breathe, could feel movement through the earth as she was hauled sideways like so much scavenge.
The regulator was taken away for a moment. She was left with only blackness and motion. The regulator was returned. Someone was sharing their tank with her. Vic clutched this person, knowing they had saved her, hoping it was Palmer. The agony in her leg faded to a dull throb, and the sight of Marcos head erupting filled the back of her eyelids and played over and over againa bang and a fountain of what she loved best about him, a profound hollow in the pit of her soul, so that when she was brought up through the sand and into the open air, she was unaware of this, didnt know she was out of the sand, couldnt feel the hot sun on her flesh, wasnt aware that there was air to breathe even as it filled her lungs, wasnt aware of anything but that Marco was dead.
There was just fact like an all-encompassing blackness. A cool pit in the center of her chest. Her cheeks were dry and dusted with sand, Graham holding her, calling her name, asking if she was okay, her leg coloring a dune like a sunrise.
Graham worked on the wound while Vic sat there numbly. She gradually realized that they were on the back of a low dune in the training grounds, where at least it was legal to use a dive suit. Though they were long past legality. People were trying to kill them. No find was worth this. Danvar wasnt worth this. Vic could feel the senseless violence of retribution attacks, that blank stagger when people mill about the dunes after a bomb has interrupted a funeral or a wedding or a queue at the cistern. Bang, and the world stops making sense. Bang, and mothers are wailing. Bang, and body parts mingle. Bang. Bang. Bang. The lucky make it out to mourn. For the lucky there is a click, a misfiring of fate, a dud of doom. Vic is there on that slope of sand, and Marco is dead. Life is capricious and cruel and totally fucking random and there is no hope of finding meaning in a nightmare. In a nightmare at least her enraged screams would come out a hoarse whisper, but Vic could not manage even that. Could not manage even a whimper.
Youre lucky, Graham said. He was winded. Was tying off her calf with a strip of her own bloody pant-leg, had torn it without her realizing. Missed the bone. Damn lucky.
She just stared at him. She could taste blood in her mouth. She hoped it was hers and not Marcos. Hers from falling face first into the sand, from biting her tongue. Dont let it be his.
I dont have air enough for both of us, Graham said. Not for long. And my suits not on a full charge. But we need to get you out of here. Theyre after me.
Theyre after Palmer, Vic said, thinking out loud. Her voice had returned, but it was distant, like it was being carried to her on the wind from some faraway place.
Yes, Graham said.
Do you think you can walk? I havent taken us far. You should get out of here if your leg is okay.
What about you?
Im going to bury those two. He said it like a man announces his intention to take a piss. And I can live in these dunes longer than they can search for me. If you want to stay here, I can try to snag a tank from the market. I know where theres an extra suit
The marina, Vic said. My suits there.
Graham nodded. I can get you partway. Theyll never catch you if you can stay moving. You should lay low for a few days. Get way out of town for a while.
Vic thought of her two brothers out camping. She wondered where Palmer was. Life had been simple and good an hour ago. Click. Boom. It cant happen like that. It cant.