Marie snorts. “Don’t be stupid,” she says. “We’re from Bava.”
“We know about the amnesty,” Selvie responds. She is along the opposite canyon wall, covering Bellara and myself with a rifle.
Marie opens her mouth, then shuts it again. Her eyes fall on me and she shakes her head in disbelief. I want to taunt her, to tell her the ambush did not work, and that her new friends will think she has betrayed them, and that her amnesty will not be honored. I want to tell her she is a traitor, and I want to kill her with my own two hands.
Slowly, carefully, Marie takes the submachine gun off her shoulder and sets it on the ground. She takes a few cautious steps forward.
“She’s a Changer,” I tell Bellara. “Don’t let her get closer.”
Bellara fires a warning shot that ricochets off the stones at Marie’s feet. I’m not so sure it was meant to be a warning shot, but she reloads and holds her fire.
“We just want to talk,” Marie insists. I am impressed at her ability to remain calm. My own blood is racing, and I feel we are on the cusp of a terrible last stand, with Marie’s Changer and infantry rushing into the canyon while we all slaughter each other.
“I don’t trust you,” I croak.
“Teado, you don’t know what’s going on. Come here and speak to me.”
I decide not to tell her that I am unable to move. I look across the canyon to Selvie, who shakes her head. We have no way out; we have missed our chance at a safe retreat. I wonder if we can take Marie captive, but dismiss the thought. She would kill us all in close quarters.
Her weapon still on Marie, Bellara stands up from behind cover and walks across the canyon. I can hear a whispered consultation with Selvie and the others, and then she returns to me.
“What is happening?” I ask.
Bellara doesn’t respond. I can see Selvie setting down her pistol. She comes out of hiding and heads toward Marie. “We’re going to talk,” Bellara finally answers.
“Don’t trust her,” I repeat.
Bellara is tight-lipped.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“For what?” Bellara asks. We both watch Selvie cautiously cross the corpse-ridden ground.
“For everything. For falling out of the cargo plane. For stumbling on those traitors, and telling them our location. I’m sorry I won’t get to see you dance.” The words tumble out, and I’m not sure what part of me is speaking. I can barely move my lips.
“Don’t be a fool,” Bellara says. “We’ll get out of this.” I can tell she does not believe it.
Selvie and Marie stand several paces apart. Selvie is tensed to run. Marie seems relaxed. They speak for minutes, and Selvie shakes her head each time Marie gestures. The gesturing becomes more desperate, until at long last Selvie gives a tired nod. She follows Marie and both figures disappear from view.
“It’s a trap!” I say, trying to struggle to my feet. Bellara holds me down, though I am so much bigger and stronger. I try not to pass out from the effort of fighting her, until sweat covers my face. Only Selvie’s reappearance takes the fight out of me.
Selvie jogs back into camp, her face animated. She is followed at a cautious distance by Marie, and several soldiers behind her. They are all armed, and one of those soldiers is Martin, her cousin. My hair stands on end.
“Put your weapons down!” Selvie orders. “They are friendlies. Everyone put your weapons down!”
This time Bellara isn’t able to keep me down. I surge to my feet. “No! It’s a trick, don’t let them…”
Selvie throws herself toward me. “Teado, you must calm down. It isn’t a trick!”
Before anyone can make sense of the confusion, Marie and her men are among us. My friends are disarmed, and Marie crosses the distance to stand beside Selvie. She looks down at me with what I take as a look of arrogant pity. I summon all my reserves and take a swipe at her.
Martin Changes before my blow can land. He catches my arm and clamps me by the shoulders, wrestling me into submission with a distressingly small amount of effort. Several soldiers gather around me and, despite my calls for Selvie and Bellara not to be tricked, I am forced from my hiding spot.
They half carry, half drag me to the mouth of the canyon. I can see Benny still smoking off on the plains, and the destruction left in the wake of the ambush, battle, and my own counterattack. There are about forty new motorbikes down beyond the runway, and I see Marie’s men combing the battlefield. Despite their betrayal, they are still wearing jackets with the Bava militia patch on the shoulder.
A gunshot rings out on the plain. Another follows it. There is a scream, and I look to see that Marie’s men are executing the enemy wounded.
I turn to look over my shoulder, confused, and find Marie standing beside me. She has a satisfied look on her face.
In the distance, a tall plume of smoke rises from the enemy air base.
“What has happened?” I ask Marie—the last words I am able to speak before consciousness finally fails me.
The nurses tell me that I am in a hospital in Bava. It does not look like a hospital—the walls are too clean, the ceiling is intact, and the lights do not flicker. I am in a single room, and it feels tiny and isolated compared to the rows of wounded I have seen in other hospitals. They claim it is a hospital for very important people, and that it is in the southeast corner of Bava where it was spared the worst of the bombing.
I do not know whether to believe them. I remember the overheard conversation between Paco and Marie, and the fight, and the bodies of my friends. I feel as if I cannot trust anything, even my own senses.
I do not feel like a very important person.
I am human again. My body is covered in cuts and bruises, and I have broken an arm and a wrist, but I seem to have avoided any permanent damage.
I have vague memories of being carried, then transported by car, then by plane, and once again by car. The nurses speak my language. They seem far too kind. I wonder if this is some kind of trick, and demand to see Selvie and Bellara. The nurses claim not to know either of those names.
I am too worn out, my body still weak from blood loss and starvation, to fight them. I sleep through the night, and wake again to daylight. A figure sits beside my bed, and at first I take him for a nurse.
I tell myself, upon a second glance, that my eyes are playing tricks on me. Rodrigo sits in a rickety wheelchair. His head and chest are wrapped in white bandages, and his arm is in a sling, but his eyes are open, staring at the pages of a book clutched in one hand.
I must make some kind of noise, because he turns toward me and his thin face lights up. “Teado!” he says. “They told me you were awake, but I did not dare to hope.”
I lick my lips, and try to remember what Bellara has told me about seeing through illusions. This is a trick. It has to be. Rodrigo was barely alive when I pulled him from Benny’s wreck. I reach out, and Rodrigo puts aside his book to take my hand in his, then kisses my knuckles. It sounds like Rodrigo. It feels like Rodrigo. It acts like Rodrigo.
“You’re alive?” is all I can manage.
“I am at that, my friend,” he responds with gusto. “They tell me that a Changer pulled me from the wreckage, so there is someone out there who I owe a debt, but…” He makes a gesture as if this mysterious wizard has disappeared into thin air. His smile is lopsided, and disappears for a moment. “Benny, I’m afraid, did not survive the crash.”
I want to reach across and slap him for mentioning that machine before our friends, but I know it is just in his nature. “Your wounds?” I ask.
He squeezes my hand and pulls back. “Paralyzed from the waist down,” he says, slapping one thigh. “An enemy bullet. These useless hunks of meat will never operate the pedals again.”