Earth Thirst (The Arcadian Conflict) - By Mark Teppo Page 0,99
the raid, and she wouldn't mind a decent night's sleep before we start running again.
After Mere turns in, Phoebe and I assess our arsenal. The villa is set back from the main road that winds through the Valle de Elqui, and so we don't worry about being conspicuous as Phoebe opens the trunk of the car to reveal three aluminum cases.
“When did you start following us?” I ask as I open the first case on the right. Foam padding with slots for four pistols and extra magazines. Only three of the four slots are filled. I can guess where the missing pistol is.
“Pudahuel,” Phoebe says. “I didn't bother with Rapa Nui.”
“Why?” I ask as I tug one of the pistols out of its foam slot. A CZ 75. The gun is in pristine condition, and it seems small in my hand.
“P-01,” Phoebe says, reading my confusion. “The Czech Republic has been making guns again. Has been for more than a decade.”
I remember the arms markets near the end of the twentieth century. The CZ was a Czech gun, created by a pair of brothers, but its design was a state secret. They couldn't sell it in Czechoslovakia, and so all of their production was focused on the international arms market. At some point, the Czech government started to have second thoughts about being labeled as arms dealers in the historical record, and gun exports stopped.
I couldn't help but think of Kirkov as I held the gun. He had carried a 75 as well, though his had been one of the older models. Forged barrel with steel slide and frame. Ring loop on the hammer. Much heavier in the hand. The weapon of an old soldier.
I put the pistol back in its slot. It's not the right weapon for me.
“You didn't get off the plane in Rapa Nui,” I say as I open the next case, getting back to the question I had been asking. “Why?”
“It's an island,” Phoebe says, “in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.”
Her explanation brings a smile to my lips. “Had enough of islands?”
“You weren't going to stay long,” Phoebe says, ignoring my jibe. “Santiago was the obvious next stop.”
The second case contains the parts for a sniper rifle. Another Sako, judging from the skeletal frame of the stock. “There's a garden on Rapa Nui. Mere says you swam all the way back to Australia. Wouldn't the garden have been restorative?”
“There is no garden on Rapa Nui,” Phoebe says. “There hasn't been for two hundred years since you killed the steward.”
“You knew?”
“Of course,” she says. She sighs, seeing my expression. “How could you have forgotten? It wasn't that long ago.”
“It…” I stop. How could she know? Had she been there? If so, why had Mother let her keep the memory and take it from me? “Phoebe, do you know what happens when we go into Mother's embrace? She takes some of our memories away.”
A strange expression crosses Phoebe's face, something almost like fear or revulsion. “Why would you let her do that?”
“I… I don't have a choice. At least, I didn't,” I say. “Wait. Are you saying that you remember everything? How is that possible?”
“I've never let Mother embrace me, Silas,” Phoebe says.
I sit down heavily on the edge of the trunk. “Never?”
She looks at me, and the revulsion flashes across her features again, though in its wake what is left on her face is a growing anger. “You were there when I died, Silas,” she says. “You let them put me in the ground and let Mother embrace me.”
“I was,” I say, saddened that I can't recall all the details of how Phoebe had become an Arcadian.
“I never wanted to forget what happened,” she says. She flips the car keys at me, and I catch them awkwardly. She turns and walks off without a word. Not toward the house, but toward the trees that line the road. She moves gracefully and efficiently. Not in a rush, but moving away from me in the most expedient manner possible.
I sit there and watch her go, trying to figure out what centuries of hate would do to a person. How old was her body? I wondered, doing the math. How fractured was her mind? But it wasn't. Of all of us, I realized with a start, she might be the least damaged.
* * *
The third case contained grenades. A mixed dozen of flashbangs, concussive, and incendiary. More than enough to cause trouble. While I wander around the villa, waiting