Iron Seas 03 - Riveted

and even rabbits can’t hide when it comes. I have to face it.”
    “Not today.” Determined, he reached for her coat. “Not tomorrow.”
    “David—”
    “Not today, Annika,” he repeated through clenched teeth. “Not tomorrow. Not any day, as long as I still live.”
    Shoving her into the coat, he wrapped her in a scarf and strapped on the pack. No dragging her through the entrance this time. Hekicked down the side of the dome, hauled her onto his back. She was still strong enough to cling to him.
    Every step was an effort. The nanoagents made him stronger, but the strength couldn’t last with nothing to fuel it. He trudged on anyway, fighting past the burning ache in his chest, the muscles that shook when he stopped to rest. A few minutes after noon, her arms fell away from his shoulders. David’s heart didn’t beat again until he felt her thin pulse. Abandoning the pole, he reached behind, bent over and held her against his back. He trudged on.
    There was nothing but the next step. The next. And the next. Nothing but moving on. The light faded, but filled with the memory of her falling asleep on the snow, of the terror when he’d been unable to wake her, he didn’t dare stop to build a dome. Darkness fell.
    His breath was a constant scalding scrape through his throat. His skin was on fire, dry and tight. Too many layers, too many clothes. He stopped to unbuckle his overcoat. Annika slipped from his back, and he cried out, turning to catch her before she fell. Realization roared through him with her soft moan.
    He’d been seconds from taking off his coat, from stripping out of his clothes. Jesus.
    The fever. But he couldn’t stop. He had to go on.
    Sliding his arms beneath her shoulders and knees, he lifted her up again, against his chest. God, she was so heavy. But there was only one more step. One more.
    The next. And the next.
    The moon rose, burning against the sky. David glanced up, saw the round face staring down at him with a fishhook smile. Laughing, laughing. He blinked, flipped his lens, and it was just the moon again, the shadows of the craters standing in sharp relief against the gray. Annika’s head lolled off his shoulder. He paused, felt for her pulse. They still lived; there was still hope. He trudged on. As if oiled, the moon slid down the sky. Faerie lights danced in thedark. The witches and trolls, released from the Underworld by the eruption, prancing through the snow. He laughed with them, a rasp through his parched throat. Far ahead, mangy forms slunk through the night in a single line, not showing on his thermal lens but their shapes clear.
    Dogs. They were trying to hide, but he could see them. A grin stretched his dry lips.
    He’d kill one now, and feed it to Annika, and everything would be well. The dogs came closer. Not barking but growling all around him, the moon growing brighter, brighter, huffing down the back of his neck, shaking the ground.
    Not the moon.
    David turned and found a monster. Too astonished for fear, he stared up into the terrible face. He hadn’t believed that anything came from the fissure eruptions, but there was no other explanation for this. Steam poured from giant nostrils, icicles hanging in the ragged beard below. White fur formed a thick ruff around its enormous neck.
    A ruff. Perhaps it was a royal troll.
    He laughed wildly, until it huffed again and squatted, ejecting a burst of steam. David stumbled back, almost lost his balance.
    Almost lost Annika.
    His grip tightened, and he steadied, cradling her against him. His vision wavered. He shook his head, tried to clear it.
    The monster vomited his mother from its chest.
    He stared, disbelieving. His mother. Her beautiful face was softer now. Not broken and bleeding, and she wore a coat of fur and homespun trousers instead of a nightshirt stained with crimson. Gray streaked her black braid.
    But his mother was dead—and he suddenly realized why she was here, traveling in the belly of a monster from below.
    “You can’t have her,” he whispered.
    “David Ingasson—”
    “No!” he shouted, backing up. “You can’t have her!”
    Another woman joined her, her face ghostly pale. “Annika!”
    “You can’t have her!”
    His mother came forward, her dark eyes shimmering. “You must give her to us.”
    And rip out his heart? A desperate howl tore from his chest, a prayer to the gods that shredded his raw throat. He fell to his knees in a cushion of snow that froze his thighs and crept