“Naturally. I’m not stupid.”
He swallowed and asked, “So what were you plotting over here in the snowfall?”
“I was figuring that I’d crouch-walk to the building where the Sisters are filming, borrow one of their two remaining cameras, and crouch walk to the helos for up-close shots of faces.”
“I’m in. We have two sets of IR oculars, so I’ll position two of the men to provide cover and distractions if needed.”
“No firing as part of the distractions.”
“How about a rock fall and a dead crow thrown at a cockpit transparency.”
“Now you’re using military lingo,” I said.
“Sounds sexier than windshield,” he said.
“Let’s do it.”
“Set your morphon for twenty minutes from now,” he said. “The men will be in place at that time. And for the close in work, you’ll have backup.”
If any backup could find me.I pulled away from him and touched my morphon, setting a timer. Helmet snugged firmly in place against the cold, I rolled to a squat, my legs folded down. I began the duckwalk in the general direction of the buildings. In the whiteout. With no visual, or any other kind, of references. Instantly, I knew this was stupid.
I also knew that Enrico was behind me, my back-up, crawling through the path I was making in the snow. I had avoided all the people at the mine. All of them but Jagger and Tomika, and even then I had worn gloves. My nanos wanted to make thralls, so it was easier to keep my distance than to fight temptation twenty-four, seven. But I had known Enrico was nearby. Had known Cupcake and Amos were close. Where, in general, Mateo was most of the time, as in, somewhere that-a-way. But Enrico was mine. He was following me to keep me safe,to protect me against all harm. I stopped and waited for him, pivoting to face my rear.
In the white, he was suddenly just there, his head hidden beneath a snow-caked motorcycle helmet, his dark eyes visible behind a smeared faceplate. His eyes went wide. “I followed you,” he said, beneath the roar of the wind.
I flipped my face shield back to shout. “So I see. How’s your situational awareness?”
“North is there,” he said, pointing. “The large pond is there and the smaller one we used as bait is there.” He shifted his finger in different directions, his Italian-accented voice lilting and certain. The Italian was my fault, from the burger chips I had used on him when I re-transitioned him from Clarice Warhammer to me. It had been the only way to save his life.
“And the buildings where the Sisters plan to film from?”
“There,” he said instantly, pointing in a different direction from where I was headed.
“And the mines we planted?”
His mouth turned down. “Too close.”
“Get us to the buildings without blowing us up.”
He smiled as if I had crowned him king. A thrall with a job for his queen.Bloody hell. He stood and walked around me, leading off in the direction he said was safe. I could trust myself and my sense of direction or I could trust Enrico. If I got him blown up his father would kill me. I knew that. I let him lead because we all had our skills; a sense direction wasn’t my strongest suit.
It took what seemed like forever, though the travel, on my part, was much easier following behind Enrico the snow-plow. A weathered wall appeared out of the white and I leaned against it, blowing hard, my throat aching in the cold air, my thighs on fire. “Good job,” I gasped to him.
Through the snow-crusted bike helmet face shield, he gave me that blinding smile again, as white as the snow.
“Do the Sisters who Tomika brought know you?” I asked.
“Shashina does. We made love last night under the clouds.”
That was more information than I wanted, but he was a thrall. He aimed to please and I had asked an open-ended question.
“Get her attention,” I said, “and see if she’ll let us come inside.”
Enrico vanished and was back moments later, motioning me inside.
The unexpected warmth hit me like slap in the face. Better than HQ with its snow wall, this spot was blocked from the wind, the air heated by human bodies close to freezing instead of twenty below. It wasn’t big enough for four people but I dropped to my butt and leaned against the wall I used on the other side. The building, maybe once a storage area, had a partial ceiling and roof, a pile of broken furniture, disintegrating file cabinets, electronics with rat nests in them. Carpet. Dry carpet. It felt almost hot under my butt. The room hadn’t seen a coat of paint since the first time it was painted, drywall tape and spackling visible beneath the thin coat of drab, dirt brown.
The Sisters had drawn weapons on me. I pulled off my helmet, revealed my face, and the weapons lowered. My ears burned at the change in temps. If I had skipped the protection and not worn the helmet, my ears and nose would probably be frostbitten by now.
