“Shouldn’t we be just making a break for it, while that monster is distracted?” Jimmy, another senior Perfectionist, muscled his way forward. He was the enormous man with the spiral scar across his hairless scalp, who had searched Mouth and Bianca at the White Mansion. “Why are we playing games instead of just getting the fuck out of here?”
The other five vehicles were following Jimmy’s idea, barreling at top speed away from the jagged patch of exposed ocean, toward the waiting Command Vehicle. But the ice ripped open in the space between the rumbler and two of the troop transports, propelling massive chunks at their armored sides. The tip of the squid’s tentacle pulled one of the transports down into the ocean, twirling with the measured elegance of a coffee server at the Illyrian Parlour. Then another.
“That’s why,” Alyssa said. “Any other questions?”
Jimmy’s brow furrowed, so that the sharp end of his scar pointed at one glowering eye, while Alyssa executed a three-point turn, and then coasted the vehicle across a thin sheet of permafrost that seemed to tremble as they passed over it.
* * *
“I don’t trust either of you smugglers,” Jimmy was saying to Mouth in a chatty tone, like he was discussing an unsatisfying meal. Jimmy was so tall and wide he had to hunch over inside the troop transport, and his arms kept bumping against the sides. “We should have left you behind in Argelo.”
“I wish you had,” Mouth said.
Some of the leaders of this expedition, like Nai and Sasha, had wanted to ditch Mouth and Alyssa, or even put them to death for the stunt they tried to pull with Sophie. But Bianca was still convinced that their smuggling experience would be invaluable when (if) this expedition reached the walls of Xiosphant. Mouth still felt bound by the promise she’d made to Bianca at the White Mansion, even though this invasion seemed like a worse and worse idea. At least Mouth had managed to spend some time answering Professor Martindale’s countless annoying questions before they left, so whatever happened to her, the memory of the Citizens could be preserved.
The giant squid extended its reach farther over the ice, feathers curving outward as they searched for the other caches of protein. The other three lorries had stopped moving, probably hoping the squid would ignore them if they made no vibrations, but they rested on undulating promontories of ice.
The whole back of Mouth’s troop transport was full of people chanting, Oh fuck fuck shit fuck, or spilling bodily fluids on the floor. The stench gave Mouth a crushing headache. Alyssa was humming something that Mouth couldn’t make out at first, then she twigged: it was that song about the Decapitating Sisters, the two women who could snick a man’s head off before his thoughts even reached his gun hand, the pair of them a coordinated neck-severing machine of such beauty that people risked death to watch them work. Alyssa spun the lorry on its axis and scooted away from the tentacle as she broke into the chorus: “And oh, the heads, the heads, the heads, the rolling heads as they danced.”
Alyssa had already gotten them past the two fast-expanding holes that the squid had made, and they were gliding forward, with their engines stilled. “Shit,” Winston breathed. “We’re gonna make it after all.”
The fleshy tip of the squid’s long arm landed right in front of the ATV, blocking their path. Blotting out the rest of the world, even. The frond-shaped growth wriggled, almost playfully, and its huge feathers undulated in the wind.
“You had to say that,” Alyssa grunted at Winston as she squeezed their brake lever, as gentle as soothing a baby.
* * *
Jimmy fumbled for the thick gloves that would allow him to operate the flamethrower, which was housed in a small alcove next to Mouth’s seat. “Gonna teach that thing a lesson, send it back where it belongs.” His nostrils flared and his mouth stretched out.
The ground underneath the ATV heaved and buckled, and the spire-sized tentacle turned in a lazy half circle, as if groping for its prey.
“Don’t use the fucking flamethrower when we’re already on broken ice,” Alyssa shouted.
“Don’t tell me what to do. I’m going to finish this.”
“Mouth, don’t let him use the fucking flamethrower.”
Mouth was already placing her body between Jimmy and the flamethrower controls. Jimmy balled his fists, and Mouth tried to shape her body into some imitation of a fighting stance. “Step back,” Mouth said, “I don’t want to hurt you”—as if that was even a possibility. Jimmy took a swing at her head, and she ducked just in time, and then his knee connected with her thigh. Mouth had no room to dodge, and her hands wouldn’t even organize into fists.
A clanging filled the compartment, like one of those endless bells in Xiosphant, and Jimmy landed in a heap at Mouth’s feet. Alyssa had whacked him in the back of the head, right at the center of his swirl of scar tissue, with a metal spanner.
“Gravestones all over the world have ‘Should’ve Listened to Alyssa the First Time’ written on them.” Alyssa made sure Jimmy was still breathing, then glanced at Mouth on her way to get the environment suits. By the time Mouth had her helmet and gloves on, Winston had joined them and was getting suited up.
“Any other volunteers?” Alyssa called out, and all of the men and women strapped into seats just looked at the soupy floor. “You know, I’m starting to understand why you complain about city people,” she whispered to Mouth.
“So what’s the plan?” Winston asked as he clicked his helmet into place.
Alyssa stuffed meal rations and a few explosives into a big duffel bag, which she handed to Mouth. “We’re going to use the flamethrower. Just a different way than Jimmy had in mind.”
Soon they were trudging through the sightless wind, away from the number-seven troop transport and any hint of warmth. Mouth had the flamethrower perched on her shoulder, and she’d handed the bag full of supplies off to Winston. This suit had much higher-grade night vision than the ancient gear the Glacier Fools had used, but her visibility was only a bit better.
The Citizens used to send young people into the night, with a rope tied around their waists to let them find their way out again, and leave them long enough to experience this unbearable disorientation, so they understood the importance of family, the significance of the people who see and understand you. “Absolution,” the Citizens had called that moment of returning to the group after stumbling alone—meaning that the group was accepting you back into its embrace, but also that you understood how absolutely terrible life was without that warmth.
You could mistake the resting tentacle for a natural formation, like a ridge in the snow, from the murky view in this night vision. The transport resembled a misshapen hillock, as a thickening coat of ice covered it, and Mouth wondered if the engine would even run after sitting still too long. Even with the suit, Mouth felt the chill air draining the life from her body. But Alyssa had gotten a jostle back in her walk, even with the effort every step cost.
“You’re in a good mood,” Mouth said between shivers. “All this time you kept saying you never wanted to travel again, but you’re having the time of your life.”
“Eh,” Alyssa said. “This is a lot different than our usual slog, and the goal is something more than just moving some junk from one city to another. Bianca was right when she said these cities are both screwed unless they work together, and y’know, this feels like an excellent cause.”
Alyssa turned her helmet to face Mouth’s. Maybe she was smiling, hard to tell.
Mouth kept seeing Alyssa’s swagger out here on death’s icy threshold, and having two reactions at once. She was happy for Alyssa, and grateful that she’d taken charge and figured out a save. But also, Mouth sensed that something had changed between the two of them, the culmination of all of Alyssa’s attempts to fix Mouth back in Argelo. Alyssa had wanted her own crew, people she could count on who shared her goals, and now she’d found that by joining this slapdash invasion. Maybe Alyssa just didn’t need Mouth anymore.
They had gotten far enough away from the transport, and Alyssa set about building a pyramid of rations, and setting tiny charges at key points, with fussy artistry. “It has to smell like food, and smolder for a while without melting through the ice,” she muttered. From the flamethrower, she removed the fuel tank, which she splashed around her pile. One of the explosives had a crude timer, which they turned to its furthest setting: a picture of a zebra.
“Beautiful.” Alyssa seemed to want to stand and admire her own sculpture, but Mouth tugged at her sleeve. By now, the cold had seeped into their joints, hindering their range of motion.