Fog (6 page)

I have. And I’ve slapped at the buggers a million times already. It hasn’t helped at all.
 

‘They can give you nasty infections,’ he continues. ‘Combined with this heat and humidity, you won’t last long. It’s not a problem on Itbayat because the stiff breeze blows mosquitos away from our camp. But here, it is. In the morning, I want you to check your clothing for inhabitants, make sure every scratch and every mosquito bite is clean and healing well. Make sure you do that daily.’

‘Now, I’m itching.’

He grunts a laugh, ties his hammock between two trees, and spreads the mosquito net over it. I set up mine between one of his trees and the one next to it. He’s talked about Dengue fever before. Although the disease is life-threatening in only a small portion of infected people, it would render me vulnerable in combat. You just can’t aim well when you run a high fever.

‘We’ll have to pack up before sunrise,’ I mumble when I roll up in my suspended bed and take off my night vision goggles.

‘I’ll wake you. Sleep now.’

Runner and his quiet commands, they work better than anything. I slow my breathing, and imagine the wiggling of leaves in the breeze high above me, and then I drift off.

———

When I wake up, he’s already sipping water from his canteen and re-analysing the images Kat transferred to his SatPad before we left.
 

‘Here, I found these next to the stream.’ Runner holds out two yellow fruits. I’ve never seen this kind.

‘You sure they are edible?’

‘Yes. I also refilled your canteen. Give me a minute, then I’ll brief you.’

I drink the cold water and watch Runner.
 

‘Jin-Shui Observatory.’ He points to the map on his SatPad. ‘This is where the last BSA attack was reported before we lost contact with our Taiwanese Sequencers. Fifteen kilometres away as the crow flies. The difficult terrain will make it an eight to twelve hour hike.’

‘How many Taiwanese did they kill?’

‘Approximately three thousand Taiwanese, Chinese, Philippinos, and Japanese lived here before the BSA arrived. Ben and Yi-Ting didn’t scan the entire south half of the island, so there might be people left. But we can’t be sure.’

My teeth pierce the skin of the fruit and sweetness explodes in my mouth. ‘Do you have a theory why the observatory appears undamaged?’ I ask, wiping my chin.

‘There’s nothing on the footage, which doesn’t mean it’s perfectly untouched. Damage of the structure seems minimal, though.’

I drink the last sip of water and sit down next to him.
 

‘We’ll follow this ravine until we reach an elevation of at least one thousand five hundred metres,’ Runner says, his index finger trailing across a greyish river bed that winds up along green mountains. He stuffs the SatPad into his ruck and stands. ‘We’ll leave in thirty minutes. I’ll prepare camouflage while you wash. One hundred metres down the river, a group of large trees protects you from view.’ He nods up at the sky. ‘Never forget the satellites. We’re safe only when the cloud cover is thick.’

When I make to leave, he adds, ‘Collect a few handfuls of chestnuts from the trees down there. They are sweet and can be roasted.’

Taking care to slip from tree cover to tree cover, I walk down to the small stream. Water is hopping over stones and whispering down the mountain. I pluck a few leaves off a chestnut tree and shed my brown cotton pants and sweatshirt. I never wear short sleeves, my skin makes for a repulsive sight. There are freckles on my shoulders and my chest, on my upper arms and very lightly on my lower arms as well. The dots are interrupted by crisscrossing scars that are more sensitive to touch than the unblemished skin surrounding them. If anyone saw this, they would probably retch.

I scoop up a handful of the reddish clay from the side of the stream, then walk a few steps and sit down in the water that feels wonderfully refreshing in this hot, humid weather. I rub the chestnut leaves over my hair and skin then wash the thin layer of foam off. A layer of clay is next. My fingertips rub the gritty stuff into hair and skin, working my way from head down to my chest. I rarely look at myself, but the changes my body has gone through in the past year are undeniable and rather unsettling. My breasts seem to be in the way all the time, the soft orange hairs in my armpits and between my legs tickle and amplify my body odour. When I was a child, I washed once a week. Now, I have to wash every day to not stink like a mix between a rotting pear and a fox. Sometimes I wonder why the others don’t crinkle their nose at me. But maybe it’s just me being repelled by my own smell?

I think of Sandra and how she kissed all my secret places. She must have found my flavours quite delicious, because she didn’t seem to be able to get enough of me into her mouth. I loved to feel her soft skin and hair, but other than that, I didn’t feel much. In my heart, I mean. I wonder how love might feel. What does Yi-Ting feel for Runner? I wish I could step in between the two, just for a second, to learn what this love thing is — to taste it. In my head, the word “love” has the flavours of earth and wind and fire, mingling with my own imagination of what it might be like to feel this deeply for someone.

I bend down to wash my feet, taking care to clean the soles and the gaps between my eight toes. I quickly got used to the loss of the two small toes on my left foot. But I’ll never forget how I lost them. The unconscious Runner was wrapped up in a tent, the bite wound on his neck septic, and I was trapped up to my chest in a frozen river, both rifles wet, and a large pack of hungry wild dogs just behind us. I made it out of the river eventually and walked for who knows how far until Katvar and his sled dogs found us. My limbs were so frozen that my two toes couldn’t be saved.
 

I touch the small dog pendant at my neck. Katvar had carved it from a wild boar tooth, put it on a leather string, and given it to me when we said goodbye. He’d told me in his mute way that he liked me. Does he feel love? Or rather,
did
he feel love? Was it hard for him to let me go? I doubt he’d felt much, because we didn’t even kiss. All that had ever happened was a touch of his fingertips to my lips. Besides, I don’t miss him, and wouldn’t one miss the other when there’s love between two people? But maybe I’m unable to miss or love anyone. I don’t even miss my parents. I miss
things
, like the reservoir and the turbines I used to fix. But I don’t miss people. Maybe Cacho recognised this coldness in me and thought that I would make an excellent sniper. Maybe he thought I could kill without conscience.

I gaze down at my hands, where a pool of water shows my reflection. With a shiver I slap it in my face, rinse the clay off my hair and body, and leave to get dressed and collect chestnuts.

Runner sits where I left him. But now his face is darkened by a large hat made of palm leaves. White teeth flash in a smile. ‘Make yourself one as well. We want to look like trees from above when we don’t wear our ghillies. I’ll wash now, then we leave.’

A waxing moon illuminates the round top of the observatory. Two broad solar wings spread on either side, its base held aloft by a thin cushion of fog: a monster insect about to pounce.

Runner and I are high up in two different trees about fifty metres from one another, so we get two different angles and cover more area. The small button in my ear receives his voice and transmits mine. Tonight’s mission is to observe only. But both our rifles are loaded and ready to engage the enemy. This would be my first encounter with the BSA and the prospect makes me nervous. But I try to control myself. There’s no room for fidgety, girly shit. Besides, this observatory appears as if no one has been here for days, if not weeks.

‘Tell me what you see, Micka.’ Runner’s voice sounds in my left ear. ‘Main entrance.’

My night-eye has been pointed at the observatory’s main entrance for more than an hour now, and I see absolutely nothing conspicuous.

‘A door, the locking mechanism appears broken. The handle has been taken off and put on again, it seems. There’s a blackish stain around a new-looking lock. So obviously, this too, has been replaced.’

‘Describe what you see in the immediate vicinity.’

‘Do
you
see something? Because then you can just tell me, you know.’ I wonder if he’s at his teacher-pupil game again.

‘I’m not sure if what I observe and conclude is correct.’

‘Oh. Okay. Door frame and adjacent building structure, twelve o’clock: no damage, not even the vine that grows there seems to be touched. Going down to nine o’clock and six o’clock: no damage, no obvious disturbance of that same vine and wall. Going up from six o’clock to three o’clock: black stains at about three thirty, possibly from ricocheting bullets. No apparent blood stains, though. Three o’clock to twelve o`clock: nothing notable, just clean white plaster and a sign with Taiwanese letters and underneath in English, “Jin-Shui Observatory.”

‘Moving on to the stairs in front of the main entrance,’ I continue. Runner’s calm breath is barely audible in my earbud. ‘The ground is concrete or some other solid material, so there are no footprints to see, no signs of explosions or blood stains. They might have washed it off, though.’

‘Why would they do that?’

‘No idea. Rain could also have washed it away, if there was blood at all. But the monsoon isn’t due for another month, maybe two.

‘Possible. Go on.’

I gaze at the entrance and can’t brush off the feeling that something is not quite right. The steps leading to the observatory seem normal, the landing, too. No sign of a fight except for the two black stains at the door and directly next to it.

‘Micka?’

‘Give me a moment.’

The vegetation. What’s wrong with the vegetation? ‘Runner, you said this happened two months ago?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can a plant grow one metre in two months?’

‘Some can, reed for example, bamboo can grow even faster. A few vines, maybe.’

‘Okay, then there’s nothing suspicious about that entrance.’

‘Tell me what you see.’

‘Several vines stretch across the landing,’ I answer. ‘The plants are approximately one metre to one metre twenty long. Another two or three stretch across the second step below the landing. When people use stairs, they make sure it’s clear so they don’t trip.’

‘Funny,’ Runner says.
 

‘Why is that funny?’

‘Because I see the exact same thing here at the side entrance. They are probably rigged.’

‘Shit. How do we get in?’

‘We won’t. If they put trip wires on the stairs, chances are that they rigged the doors, too. We’ll install our earbuds on the outside of the building, so we can at least listen to their conversations when they approach. Then we pick the tallest tree at a crest and install the amplifier.’

‘Hmm.’ I shift my rifle and scan the white walls of the observatory. ‘I’m a pretty good climber; we talked about it. Why don’t you want to give it a shot?’

Runner hesitates. ‘The walls are too smooth; no hand- or footholds.’

‘I see one here and there. I think I’ll manage. Only problem is…’
 

‘What?’

‘Can’t do it at night. I need to see where to put my hands and feet. The night-vision goggles are too clunky; I can’t press my face to the wall, or see anything that’s less than ten centimetres from my eyes.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, dude. Listen to your apprentice.’ Does he think I’m an imbecile?

‘Okay. Retreat now. We’ll discuss this back at our camp.’

Well past midnight, after we’ve gone through our plans for the following morning, we are huddled up in our hammocks and I find myself exhausted, but unable to sleep. The night is not as black as the previous one. The foliage gently sways back and forth over the clear and starry sky. My mind races around the briefing, the texture and surface of the building’s walls I’ll be scaling in a few hours, the vines that really are traps, and the possibility of blowing up both of us. My first mission and I tremble like a poplar leaf.

Experience tells me that it’s not always a good idea to start a conversation with Runner when my nerves need calming. But lying here silently, listening to my own fidgeting, the tapping of his fingertips against his thigh is unbearable. ‘Do you miss your daughter, Ezra?’ I ask cautiously.

The tapping ceases. ‘Yes,’ he answers and begins to hum a lullaby. I watch the leaves play with the wind and listen to Runner until my heartbeat grows calm.

‘She was eleven months old when I saw her for the first time — a chubby and happy child just learning to walk and talk and grasp what it means to be one’s own person. When Kaissa sang her to sleep that night, I wondered… I wondered what sense my life makes, being so far away from her.’

‘You love her,’ I whisper, surprised.

‘I do. She’s my daughter.’

‘I meant Kaissa.’

‘When I was young, I thought I loved her. But I soon learned it wasn’t love, but something more akin to teenager hormone derangement. She and I like each other; we are friends, most of the time.’

‘Why don’t you stay with her? With your daughter?’