The Drowned Cities (Ship Breaker #2)(26)

Boot steps, coming close. Mahlia’s skin prickled, but she didn’t look up. The boots stopped right in front of her, standing in the blood, blocking her work. Soa. She was sure of it.

She steeled herself and looked up.

He stood over her, smiling slightly. “You got a problem cleaning up our blood? Think you’re too good or something?”

Mahlia shook her head.

“You sure? ’Cause I saw you making a face.” Soa knelt down and ran his fingers through the blood, lifting them up in front of her face. “You think you’re too good to clean up the blood of patriots?”

He reached out and slowly ran his fingers down her cheek, smearing her. “Think you’re too good for us?” he asked. “Think we’re just animals? That’s what you peacekeepers always used to say, right? Called us animals? Called us dogs?” He dipped his fingers in the blood again and touched her forehead. Stroking her with wet fingertips.

Mahlia struggled not to flinch at the soldier boy’s touch. It was what Soa wanted. He wanted her to act disgusted. Wanted her to act like she was above them. And if she did, she knew he’d kill her. Kill her for spite.

Soa didn’t even have a soul. He was just a snake looking for an excuse to bite.

“I don’t want to fight,” Mahlia said. “You want me to clean, I’ll clean. I don’t want to fight.”

“Don’t want to fight.” Soa laughed. “More of that peacekeeper talk.” He dipped his fingers in blood again, marked her other cheek. Gave her a sharp shove, almost a slap. “Got a surrender slogan for me? One of those peacekeeper sayings? ‘An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind?’ Some shit like that?”

Behind Mahlia, someone sniggered. Others were watching. All of them waiting to see what Soa would do next.

“Well?” Soa asked. “You got a surrender slogan? I’m waiting.”

She knew what he was referring to. When she was little, the slogans were everywhere, painted on the walls of the city. The peacekeepers paid local people to put them up, trying to buy some goodwill and make people think about how they’d gotten themselves into the mess they were in, but the pictures and sayings always ended up getting scrawled with militia and warlord battle flags, and eventually the peacekeepers gave up.

Mahlia cleared her throat, hunting for one that wouldn’t set Soa off.

“ ‘Disarm to farm’?”

“That a question?”

Mahlia shook her head. “ ‘Disarm to farm,’ ” she repeated. A statement this time.

Soa grinned, wild eyes. “Oh yeah. I remember that one. That was a good one. All those peacekeeper soldiers giving rice and corn and soybeans if you’d just turn in a gun. I traded them an old .22 for a sack of rice I was supposed to go out and plant. Firing pin was all rusted out, and you suckers still paid.”

“I traded a .45, didn’t even have bullets,” another said.

“What was their whole thing?” Soa asked the group. “Our girl’s having a hard time remembering.”

“ ‘Turn the other cheek,’ ” someone said.

“ ‘Beat your swords into plowshares!’ ”

“ ‘Only animals tear each other apart!’ ”

More and more slogans poured out, the good intentions of the peacekeepers turned into a grand joke that soon had every soldier boy doubled over laughing as they named slogan after slogan. Every saying the peacekeepers had used as they tried to quell the violence of the Drowned Cities.

When their mirth died, Soa stared into Mahlia’s eyes. “You peacekeepers thought we were stupid. Thought we’d just let foreigners take us over. Make us into slaves. But we knew what you were up to all along. We don’t roll over; we fight for our country.” Soa scooped his hand through the pooled blood and shoved his dripping hand hard into her face, smearing. “When we bleed,” Soa said, “you say thank you.”

Mahlia fought not to flinch, but it was impossible and Soa didn’t stop. Just kept smearing. “You like that, girl? You like that? You too good for our blood, huh, peacekeeper? You too good?”

“That’s enough, soldier.”

To Mahlia’s surprise, Soa broke off. She blinked blood from her eyes.

From his sickbed, Sergeant Ocho was waving Soa away. “Don’t let the war maggot rile you, soldier.”

“I ain’t riled, I’m just teaching her a lesson.”

The sergeant’s voice was dryly amused, but still it carried authority as he said, “I think she gets it.”

Soa looked like he was about to protest, but then he looked at Mahlia and made a face of disgust. “Well, she gets it now.”

“That’s right, Private. She gets it.” Sergeant Ocho waved him on. “Now go ask Gutty when that goat’s going to be cooked. Smells good.”

And to Mahlia’s surprise, Soa actually backed off. With a final jerk to her hair, he set her loose and headed toward the fire.

Ocho watched him go, then nodded at Mahlia. “Get yourself cleaned up, and then get our dead clean, too. They need last rites.” He looked at her seriously. “And keep your thoughts off your face. Soa’s dying for an excuse to cut you. I ain’t going to save your ass twice.”

Mahlia stared at the sergeant, trying to figure him out. He wasn’t human, but he also wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t hungry for blood, not like Soa or the lieutenant, but that didn’t make him nice, either.