Thirst No. 3 (41 page)

Finally, in the middle of the night, we turn a corner and find a small circular opening through which we see the stars. Minutes later we’re outside and enjoying the fresh air of a thick grove of trees. I estimate we’re at least six miles from Matt’s old house. We hike a hundred yards down a slope to what appears to be a tranquil meadow. But Matt surprises everyone, except me, when he tugs on the grass and it pulls away like a carpet. Beneath it are a series of long boards, and under them is the helicopter.

Matt has thought of everything. There’s a tall ladder the others can use to climb down. But now that we’re out in the open, even in the pitch dark, Matt urges us to hurry. I take him aside as the others climb in the helicopter.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

“Your mood has changed.”

He taps his closed laptop. “I’ve lost contact with my other copter. I have to assume it was shot down.”

I nod to the helicopter. “What sort of weapons does this baby have?”

“It’s no Apache.”

“We’ll ditch it as soon as we’re clear of the area.”

Matt is doubtful. “I’d like to get to Denver. I have contacts there. It will be easier for us to disappear.”

“We don’t know what kind of arrangements the Telar made to launch those planes. For all we know the governor of Colorado works with them.”

“Haru took a beating. I’m hoping he’s busy with damage control.”

“He’s busy looking for us. Ditch the copter quickly. That’s my advice.”

The helicopter has the clean oil scent of having been recently serviced. We take off straight up, and once clear of the trees Matt heads north toward Denver. Mountains rise up in front of us and he’s forced to climb, but like in Switzerland, he stays near the ground. For the most part we fly above the tree line.

There’s a harsh beauty to the rocky terrain. The barren soil has a rusty tinge to it, and I’m reminded of photos I’ve studied of the Martian landscape. But the illusion is destroyed by the small lakes we frequently fly over. Wide sheets of ice float on the surface of these isolated ponds, and I know the water must be cold.

We’re in the air an hour when an alarm sounds.

“What is it?” I ask, sitting beside Matt in the copilot’s seat.

“Someone’s trying to acquire us on their radar,” he says.

“Is it a jet? Are they near?”

“Just a moment.” Matt swerves behind a steep peak. The alarm stops. Matt slows into a hovering position. “For this peak to block their radar, they must be flying at a similar altitude. We’re being chased by a helicopter.”

“This type of radar . . . what is it?” I ask.

“Whoever they are, they’re trying to lock on weapons.”

“It’s the Telar.”

Matt nods, grim. “You were right. I should have set us down earlier.” The alarm comes back on. “Damn.”

I check outside the windows. “I don’t see them. And it’s hard to hear over our own rotors. How far back do you think they are?”

“Impossible to tell. They’re not showing on our radar. I suspect they’re in an Apache.”

“Any way you can beat them in a dogfight?”

“None.”

“Then the rest of us should get out.”

“If I land, it will be like sending up a flare to our position.”

“I’m not talking about landing.” I raise my voice so the others can hear. “We’re being followed. In a minute or two, we’re going to circle a peak and drop off their radar for a few seconds. Then we’re going to leap into one of those lakes below.”

“The water down there is close to freezing,” Seymour says.

“We don’t have the choice of a nice warm desert lake.”

Seymour understands. “You did this when you escaped with Joel.”

I nod. “It worked then, it will work now.”

“You’re going to have to time your jumps perfectly,” Matt says. “I can’t slow down, or they’ll guess what you’re up to.”

I speak in a soft voice to Matt. “You know what to do?”

“Leap out at the last second if they fire a missile.”

“Yeah. Try to be over a lake. You can stay underwater, hug the floor until they leave the area.”

“I’ll be okay, Sita. Just take care of . . . the others.”

“I will. Where should we meet?”

“Evanston. It’s a small town due east of here. 1244 Pine Street.”

“Got it. Good luck.”

“Same to you.”

Moving into the rear of the helicopter, I throw open the side door and huddle with the others. Charlie goes to complain, but I hush him. I need an unobstructed view of the night terrain. We’re doing close to a hundred miles an hour. The wind howls, and the gang presses closer together to stay warm.

“This isn’t as hard as it looks,” I say. “I’ll choose a lake deep enough to absorb our fall. The water will be cold, sure, it will be a shock when you hit the surface. But none of us will have to swim far to reach the shore. The cold can actually work in our favor. They can be straight above us and we’ll be invisible on their infrared scopes. The main thing is we jump when I say
jump. If just one of us hesitates, we can end up missing the lake and landing on rocks. Questions?”

“I can’t swim,” Charlie says.

“How old are you, Charles?”

“Two hundred years.”

“Then it’s time you learned. You’re Telar. Paddle with your arms and kick with your legs and you’ll be fine.” We round a narrow peak and I see a lake two miles up ahead. Luck seems to favor us. The radar alarm falls silent. I point out the door. “That’s our lake. Shanti, take my hand. We’re going first. Teri, hold on to Seymour, and follow us. Charlie . . . try not to drown.”

Seconds go by, the lake draws near, sprinkled with thin sheets of ice. Most of the surface is exposed, and I can see the lake floor. It looks plenty deep—I’m not worried. Shanti’s fingers are cold in my warm palm. I hold on to her because I feel she’s the most delicate.

“Scared?” I say to Shanti.

“A little. I’m glad I’m going with you.”

I speak to Teri. “This is like the Olympic finals all over again.”

Teri shivers. “This is worse.”

We pass the edge of the lake. Matt slows slightly.

I raise my voice so everyone can hear. “Shanti and I will jump on the count of three. Teri and Seymour will follow immediately. Then Charlie. One . . . two . . . three!”

I yank Shanti out the helicopter and switch her into my
arms as we fall, cradling her like a child. Matt has brought us in low, fifty feet above the water. The short drop is not a problem—it’s our forward momentum. In the last instant, I pull Shanti close to my chest and turn to absorb the impact.

We crash through a layer of ice and plunge down twenty feet. The ice is only an inch thick, but it’s fortunate I hit it first. At this speed, it feels like a brick wall. The water’s practically the same temperature as the ice. There’s pressure, too; I have to pop my ears. But Shanti flashes me a thumbs-up in the icy darkness. She knows I will take care of her.

I steer away from the sheet of ice, and we reach the surface in seconds. Shanti can swim, but I insist on towing her on her back. In less than a minute, we’re safe on the shore. But I have no time to warm her limbs. I hear moans coming from farther out on the lake and know Teri’s in trouble.

“Stay here,” I order Shanti as I run and dive back in the water. I reach Teri and Seymour quickly, but the situation is not good. Seymour is struggling to keep her head above the water, and Teri appears to be in shock.

“We separated in the air,” Seymour gasps. “She hit the ice. I think her leg’s broken.”

Teri’s right leg is not merely broken, it’s shattered. Even in the night, in the black water, I see her thigh bone has pierced the skin. She’s bleeding heavily. I fear the femoral artery that runs the length of the leg has ruptured. If that’s the case, she doesn’t have long to live.

“I need to take care of her,” I tell Seymour. “Can you make it to shore on your own?”

He shivers badly. “I can make it. Don’t worry about me.”

Turning Teri on her back and slipping my arm around her chest, the same way I did with Shanti, I pump with all the strength in my legs. I’m so frantic to reach the shore, I send out wide waves across the lake. Shanti and Charlie are waiting for me where the rocky soil and the cold water meet. I stand upright and sweep Teri into my arms. Charlie points to the side of a nearby peak.

“There’s a cave up there where we can take shelter,” he says, pulling out a pocket lighter and handing it to me. “It’s deep—you can light a fire and no one will see you. I’ll collect driftwood and meet you there in a few minutes.”

“Thank you, Charles. Please hurry,” I say.

Holding Teri tight, I run to the cave, leaving Shanti behind. It has been used before by backpackers, but that was years ago. There are a few thin logs and dried branches buried in the back. Setting Teri down, I gather what wood I have and light it. The yellow light and feeble warmth are enough to wake Teri from her daze. I kneel on her right side, and she opens her eyes.

“Alisa,” she says, groaning in pain. “It hurts . . . I’m so cold.”

“I know, honey. You’ve broken your leg. But I can help you.” I tear her pants leg in one swift stroke and examine her wound more closely. The break is ugly; the ends of the bone are jagged. She’s
bleeding heavily, but I suspect the femoral artery has not ripped in half, or she’d be dead already. Still, for her to be losing this much blood, it must have some kind of tear in it.

“I’m sorry,” she moans. “I tried to hit the water. But there was ice. Ouch!”

“It’s okay, Teri. You’re going to be okay.” I pull off my shirt and tear it into long strips. I tie three around her leg, at the top, near her hip, using the material as tourniquets. Immediately the blood flow slows, but it is nowhere close to stopping. Part of my problem is I don’t know how much blood she lost in the water. I fear it was a lot. She’s deathly pale, and for a human who usually has a powerful pulse, her heartbeat is weak. My daughter is an Olympic champion, after all.

I cannot help thinking she is mine.

I cannot bear the thought of losing her.

“Listen to my voice, Teri.” I put my left hand over her forehead and gently touch her wound with my right hand. “Just listen to what I say. You might feel a magnetism in your forehead. That’s okay, it’s a healing energy, it will help take away the pain. Now close your eyes and imagine the pain is dissolving as your body does everything it can to fix your sore leg. This is a very old practice. We call on the body to heal itself, and the body responds. Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” she mumbles, as if from far away. Her eyes are shut, and her breathing has taken on a better rhythm. Even her bleeding has slowed, but it has not stopped.

“Feel yourself fill with a warm yellow light. It’s like the light of this fire. It’s your fire, the fire of your life. It’s the same fire that gives you the strength to run fast and far. Let this fire heal your leg.”

“My leg,” she whispers.

“Good, you’re doing good,” I whisper. But my psychic abilities can only help her so much. She needs surgery, and she needs my blood. Careful not to open her wound further, I slip my right fingers in the cut and feel for her pulsing artery. What I find devastates me. The trauma of the break has caused her artery to balloon. Besides having a slight tear in the artery, it’s on the verge of popping. If that happens, she’ll bleed out in seconds.

Quickly, I remove my fingers, bite the tip of each one so my blood drips out, and slip them back in the wound, around the injured artery. The small tear responds to my blood. I feel it struggle to knit together, to close. But the balloon portion of the artery pounds harder. The bubble of tissue grows. I don’t understand it. It’s like a portion of her body accepts my blood, while another portion rejects it. I’m not sure what to do. Pulling my fingers out, I sit back on my legs, my left hand still covering her forehead.

“How do you feel, Teri?” I ask gently.

Her eyes stay shut. She speaks in a faint whisper.

“Pain . . . Cold . . . Love.”

I wipe away a tear. “You feel love?”

“I love you, Sita. I know that’s your real name.”

“I love you too, Teri. You’re going to be okay.”

“I feel . . . dying.” Her voice fades. “Death.”

She passes out. Carefully, I press the ends of her bone together and push them back in her leg, trying above all else not to add to the pressure on the artery. Then I take my remaining two strips of cloth and tie them around her leg, directly over the wound, hoping to hold the bone in place. Later, if I decide to give her more blood, I can remove the bandages.

Shanti and Charlie enter the cave carrying armfuls of what looks like driftwood. I have them put half on the fire and save the other half for later.

“Where’s Seymour?” I ask.

“He’s coming,” Shanti replies. “He barely made it to shore. He’s cold.”

I turn to Charlie. “Go help him. Carry him if you have to.”

Charlie runs out the cave. Shanti sits on the other side of Teri.

“How is she?” she asks.

“Not good.”

“Will she live?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you use your . . . powers to help her?”

Shanti knows I’m not human. But she doesn’t know what I can and cannot do. “I’m trying. But I don’t know if it will be enough.”

“We have cells. They’re still working. I can pick up a signal outside. We can call for help.”

“The Telar will pick up any call we make to a hospital.”

“But if it’s a choice between Teri dying—”

“I know, Shanti, I know. Let me think for a minute.”

Charlie soon returns with Seymour. My old friend is shaking badly. We stretch him out beside the fire. He has a bad case of hypothermia, but he’s not injured. He points a trembling hand at Teri.

“Tell me,” he mumbles.

“Her leg is smashed. She’s lost a lot of blood. The artery in her leg is about to pop.”

“Fix her,” Seymour says.

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You can,” he insists, before he blacks out.

Time is not on Teri’s side. I have decisions to make. Standing, I ask Shanti to give me her cell, and I hurry to the cave entrance. From there I try to call Matt. He has two cells on him at all times. Two cells that can withstand incredible punishment without failing. The connection between our phones and his is secure. It can’t be intercepted. But I can’t reach him on either of his cells. That is bad. It means his helicopter was probably shot down, with him in it.