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  Unfortunately, my nurse is reticent. She’s more into scrubbing than talking. And she won’t let me interrogate the patients.

  It’s growing dark when the staff make their way down to the eating hall. The general mood is sombre, eroded. I catch a word here and there about lives lost in the ongoing battle of Tromsø.

  The female physician who attended Katvar enters with one of her two male colleagues. Spotting me, she veers in my direction and slides into the chair opposite me. Black shadows loom beneath her eyes and there’s a red line where the edge of her handkerchief mask has dug into her cheeks. Her hair is dirty blonde, her eyes bright blue and flat with fatigue.

  ‘If I told you your plane was ready to take off, would you be able to fly back to where you came from and get medical supplies?’ she asks.

  ‘There’s not much, but I guess it’s possible.’

  Her hand that’s moving a spoonful of food to her mouth pauses for a moment. ‘What could you get us?’

  ‘An MIT FireScope and a defibrillator. The MedKit you have already, I assume.’

  She sputters. ‘A FireScope and a defibrillator?’ Her voice carries through the hall and the clonking and chattering grows a bit quieter. But that might just be my imagination.

  She leans forward, blinks. ‘Really? That would… We could diagnose disease, we could… Are you sure you can get us those things?’

  ‘Y-yes.’

  She narrows her eyes. ‘But?’

  ‘How’s my friend?’

  ‘Stable.’

  ‘Like…he’s going to make it? No brain damage?’ I feel my face pull into a grin.

  ‘Like stable. He’s unconscious, but his vital signs are looking good. Anything else is guesswork. Now, about those supplies—’

  ‘How do you keep up communication with Tromsø? All the satellite comms…seem to be down.’

  She snorts. A fleck of meat lands on the table. She wipes it away and shakes her head. ‘You Sequencers are a spoiled lot. Never heard of radio?’

  ‘Right.’ Feeling stupid, I drop my head to empty my bowl.

  ‘So… About those things. When can you get them?’

  ‘I’m not going without my friend. It has to wait until he’s recovered.’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘He’s the pilot.’

  She leans so close to my face, I can see the small lines of dark blue that fan though her irises. ‘You mean Katvar, who’s supposed to be Ben?’ As she leans back, there’s no smile, no triumph in her expression. ‘The Brothers and Sisters of the Apocalypse have begun to drop leaflets from a solar plane much like yours. They are targeting cities. Tromsø, Narvik, Bodø. And Alta. Do you know what they’re spreading?’

  She makes it sound like I should know. ‘You think I’m with them?’

  Ignoring my question, she continues. ‘God punishes humanity by sending his four horsemen of the apocalypse — Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death. First, Pestilence, or if you will, the Great Pandemics. Then, War — the World Wars. Next in line, Famine — basically everyone who survived the wars has spent their shitty lives starving. And now, now comes Death. That’s what the BSA believe they’ve been chosen for. By God. That’s what they’re saying in those leaflets.’

  She empties her bowl and sets it down. ‘And where do you fit in?’

  Standing by a window, I gaze out onto the fjord, the black silhouettes of the mountains, the water glimmering faintly in the night. The wind is a constant here. The cold. The trees have learned to stay hunched. Not the people, though, it seems.

  I left the female physician — who still hasn’t told me her name, but then, I haven’t told her mine, either — where she sat. I need a minute to myself to digest what she’s told me.

  Erik’s propaganda is brilliant. I have to give him that. All during the Great Pandemics and the World Wars, religious fundamentalists gave everyone an earful on how angry God was with humanity, and that the apocalypse was here. They hollered it from every street corner, and painted it on every building. They’ve been using it to justify their killing and maiming and raping. Because they’ve been ordained to.

  And now, even though religion’s been banned, or at least frowned upon, everyone still remembers the four horsemen of the apocalypse. It’s what parents tell their kids, and teachers tell their pupils — that people used the tale of the four horsemen to justify endless suffering and death.

  Every child learns from a young age that religion has been the excuse for murder, abduction, torture, and genocide by countless generations. And that’s what Erik is using now — that deep-rooted fear.

  He doesn’t need to drop bombs to strike terror into the hearts of people. That would be a waste of good explosives. No, dropping pieces of paper with a dark fairy tale on them is enough.

  Cursing, I push at the nearest door and walk into the teeth of the wind.

  Twelve

  Pretending I’m on a casual walk and not recon, I pull my fur hood over my head, stuff my hands into my pockets and saunter around the hospital building. Three wings, three storeys. A lot of open space, and no cover taller than knee-high shrubs. Still, in the dark, as long as no one is using night vision, this could even work. But Katvar would have to be able to walk, or better yet, run.

  Fuck, I wish I had my rifle on me. On the other hand, if I’d brought it from Bear Island, it would now be Female Killer Machine’s toy.

  And I’d made a mistake telling Bear Butt we’re Sequencers from Greenland. With the BSA attacking Tromsø, the real Sequencers can’t be far. And if they hear that two Sequencers from Greenland have just landed a solar plane in Alta, they’ll grow suspicious, because they’ve just lost a solar plane on Svalbard. They probably even watched me kill their men, and feed one of them to our dogs. And because Greenland is — or was until a few weeks ago — BSA territory. I doubt any Sequencer has voluntarily set foot on Greenland in the past decade and lived to tell the tale.

  If shit hits the fan, Katvar and I will need an escape route. Better two or three, with plenty of hideouts along the way.

  Puffing clouds of condensation, I turn into Alta’s empty streets. You can’t even call them streets, really. Where snow has been pushed aside, the northern lights skitter over asphalt pulverised by countless freeze-thaw cycles, revealing stretches of naked rock. Flat buildings are coated in withered plaster, peeling paint, lichen, and moss. The houses look tired. As if holding a roof over people’s heads is exhausting enough, let alone providing a cosy place anyone would want to call home. Many of the broken windowpanes have been replaced by thick reindeer skins. Light is leaking around their furry edges. Nature has taken over.

  I like it better that way.

  As I scan for bashed in basement windows, abandoned apartments, and storage rooms, I consider contacting the Sequencers. I used to be one of them. We’re still on the same side, want the same thing: to get rid of the BSA. But I would have to prove that I never betrayed them.

  Flavours of cold metal bite the back of my mouth as memories of the battle of Taiwan hit me full force. All the lives lost: Yi-Ting, Ben. Runner. And Kat.

  My boots scuff across frozen gravel. I come to a halt. What precisely did Kat tell her contacts about Erik and his ability to manipulate the Sequencers’ satellite feed? She never let us know. And she was so ready to blame me for all that went wrong.

  What if…

  I grow hot.

  Kat was the communications specialist for our small force on Taiwan. She was openly distrustful of me from the moment she learned that Erik — head of the BSA — was my father. Or sire. Or whatever one calls a sperm provider who never even bothered to say hi.

  The first time I saw that man’s face was when Kat pulled up the visual from Ben and Yi-Ting’s recognisance flight over Taiwan’s BSA camp. My first thought was, “So that’s where I’ve got my stupid orange hair from.”

  And then I’d wanted to puke. The man who had managed to pull factions of extremists, rapists, and murderers into one organised group was
my own father? What an epic fuckuppery.

  But what if Kat never did inform her contacts of Runner and my suspicions: that Erik, a former Sequencer and satellite specialist, was both the leader of the BSA, and the one who gave the BSA access to and control over the global satellite network? The network the Sequencers believed to be exclusively their own?

  What if she told her contacts her own theory: that Erik had switched sides, and that I — his daughter — had showed up on that same island to join my father and get my friends killed?

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I pull in a deep breath. So much can happen, and I have to plan for every eventuality, have to guess what all those eventualities might be. Can we expect protection from anyone here? I shake my head. First rule of survival: Never expect help. Second rule: Never trust strangers.

  If the Sequencers should hear that two of their own were in Alta, without assignment, would they send someone to check?

  Yes, definitely.

  We’ll have to get out of here as soon as Katvar is better. Get our aircraft, fly back to Bear Island, fetch our stuff. And then we’re off to nowhere. The Sequencers can kiss our imaginary asses.

  With a map of our immediate surroundings in my head, I make my way back to the hospital in search of Katvar.

  I find him on the second floor, not far from the operating room. He’s in a small room with eight other people. A narrow aisle cuts through makeshift beds of reindeer skins. A greenish glint from the northern lights reflects off a row of IV bottles hanging upside down on the wall. I shut the door and let my eyes adjust to sudden darkness, then tiptoe around sleeping bodies to kneel next to Katvar. Touching my fingers to his cheek, I feel his warmth. Only then do I dare check his pulse and breathing.

  The thrum of his heart echoes mine.

  He’s alive.

  My hands slide to his neck, and down his arms to his hands, checking his temperature. His fingers are a bit cold, so I spread my anorak over him and sneak under his furs, gently wrapping my body around his to keep him warm, taking care not to jostle his other arm with the IV in it. With my hand on his chest — on the slow and steady beat of his heart — peace settles into me. Katvar has food, shelter, and medical care. He will be fine. He has to be.

  My gaze rests on his profile that’s softly illuminated by northern lights. The scruff on his jaw has grown longer than he finds comfortable. If I can find a sharp knife, I’ll shave him tomorrow.

  ‘You will be okay,’ I whisper. ‘You are brave and strong.’

  Doubt sneaks in. What if he’s sustained brain damage? Would he want to live? What if he never wakes up?

  My eyes begin to burn. I can’t think of that now. I can’t. ‘Rest, my love. I’m here. You are safe. I’m not leaving you.’

  Fear constricts my throat. How can he eat anything if he’s not waking up? He can’t live off IVs alone, can he? Clenching my jaw, I get a grip on myself.

  ‘I miss you,’ I say softly and kiss his cheek, the corner of his mouth, his lips. ‘Don’t leave me yet.’

  There’s a small movement of his lips, like a butterfly beating its wings against my mouth. I kiss him again, cautiously, hoping he’ll kiss me back, even just a tiny bit. But there’s nothing. No sign of life but his breath feathering my skin, his heart beating under my hand.

  A tear slips from my lashes onto his cheek. I wipe the moisture away and press my face to his shoulder. ‘It’s okay. You need to sleep. I’ll sleep a bit, too. Right here. I’ll keep you warm. Don’t leave without me.’

  Dawn creeps through a window. Tape criss-crosses cracked panes, holding the pieces together. My gaze searches Katvar’s face for signs of improvement, for any indication that he’ll wake up and be healthy.

  Sounds seep through the door. Voices and footfalls.

  I catch small bits of conversation, but can’t make anything of it. Probably doctors or nurses talking about patients. Then I hear a man’s voice, sharp and annoyed, ‘I’ve just told you — we didn’t send anyone to Greenland!’

  Someone answers but I don’t understand the words. A door opens not far from our room. Heart in my mouth, I look at Katvar, knowing this is goodbye. Cupping his face in my hands, I brush a kiss to his lips and whisper, ‘You are safe. They want me, not you. I’ll lead them away. And…and I swear I’ll come back. I’ll come back for you. I swear it on my life.’

  I peel myself from the bed and pick up my anorak. There’s nothing on him now that connects him to me. Except…the drive. It’s useless now. Just a trinket. But I can’t risk leaving it on Katvar or taking it with me. If they find it on us, it’ll prove what we did. They have no reason to search him as long as they don’t suspect him. Or do they? Would they search everyone in this room? The whole hospital?

  I slip the leather string with the drive from around his neck, unsure where to hide it. I step to the window. There’s no handle to open it. I run my fingers around its frame. Shit. The thing is screwed shut.

  The thump of heavy boots on concrete is approaching quickly. Ten seconds until they’ll open this door and find me. I scan the patients in the room. All men. One of them lies slack-mouthed in a puddle of bloody froth — Greasy Beard. I climb over another patient, yank at a corner of Greasy Beard’s blanket and sneak in next to him. I push the drive far under his back, then rub and pinch my skin around my eyes, hard.

  The door swings open.

  I press my face onto Greasy Beard’s chest and squeeze out a heart-wrenching sob. I make my shoulders shake. Make my fingers rake through the man’s filthy hair. Make myself not look at Katvar one last time.

  I’ll come back for you.

  ‘What happened here?’ That’s Physician Guy’s voice.

  Producing a hiccup, I cry, ‘He died!’

  A hand settles on my shoulder and squeezes softly. ‘I’m…’ Physician Guy pauses. He knows I’m lying. He knows this is not the injured man he examined in the hangar. ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ he says then, and I can’t believe he has. I can’t believe he’s lied for me. For Katvar.

  ‘Thank you,’ I whisper, and mean it.

  ‘Someone wants to see you.’ He makes his voice sound light, but we both know it’s for show.

  Nodding, I stand and face two men, their assault rifles casually slung over their shoulders. One of them walks up to Greasy Beard and frowns down at the dead man. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Ben. I’m Sandra.’

  He tilts his head at me. ‘We heard you flew in from Greenland?’

  I give him a nod.

  ‘Mike?’ the other Sequencer says. I can hear it in his voice. He’s recognising my face.

  ‘We don’t know of any assignment on Greenland,’ Mike says.

  The other guy pulls out his SatPad and logs in.

  I kneel and cradle Greasy Beard’s cold hand in mine. His fingers are stiff. ‘He said that’s where we have to go. Something about…’ I look up at Mike, trying to ignore the other Sequencer’s frantic tapping on the SatPad’s screen. ‘Something about the Espionage Unit.’

  Mike’s face grows cold. So he knows about the Espionage Unit — a unit that’s not even supposed to exist. Strange, given the Sequencers’ constant fight with the BSA. I’m sure each organisation has long infiltrated the other.

  ‘Mike.’ The other Sequencer waves him over. They stare at the SatPad for a moment, then at me.

  I look at Greasy Beard and imagine it’s Katvar’s face I’m seeing. I can’t allow myself to look at him now. It hurts not to.

  A muzzle meets my temple. ‘Mickaela Capra, you are arrested for treason and murder.’

  ‘Whoever gave you that information lied.’

  To no one’s surprise, they ignore my statement. ‘The Council wants you for interrogation,’ Mike says.

  I can’t wait to get them away from Katvar, but I’m aware of Physician Guy standing just behind me. He might be getting doubts now that he’s heard “murder” and “treason.” But I’m depending on him to keep Katvar safe, and so I say, ‘You must be BSA, th
en.’

  Mike blinks slowly, then bursts out a bark of laughter. A fleck of spittle hits the floor. ‘We’re Sequencers.’

  ‘Funny that it’s you arresting me when it’s the BSA I betrayed. I was their prisoner for two years. When I fled, I butchered their second in command. Do you want to arrest me for that?’

  Physician Guy must have stopped breathing, because I don’t hear him making those little huffing noises anymore.

  ‘You are working for the BSA. We have proof.’ Everything about Mike’s face is blunt. Blunt jaw. Blunt gaze. Blunt nose.

  ‘A woman? Working for a bunch of rapists? Do you even hear what you are saying?’ This, too, I say for Physician Guy’s ears. As long as he doubts the Sequencers’ credibility and motives, Katvar should be relatively safe.

  I hope.

  ‘You will come with us now.’ The other Sequencer jerks his head toward the door, and bumps his muzzle harder against my skull.

  ‘Don’t you give a shit about killing an innocent man? Or what did you plan to do about the physician standing right behind your target? Bend the path of your bullets?’

  He angles his gun just a little. As though he can barely bring himself to care about collateral damage.

  ‘I want to say goodbye to my friend,’ I lie.

  The not-so-blunt Sequencer, let’s call him Blondie, has enough of my shit. His jaw muscles bulge. Mike, though, seems completely bored. And that’s why I nearly miss the quick movement of his arm.

  His fist hits my chin, sending me to the tips of my toes.

  Blood spurts from my mouth. Fucking amateurs.

  His next punch knocks me out cold.

  Part Two

  Hell is empty and all the devils are here.

  William Shakespeare

  Thirteen