Replica (Replica #1)(21)

“Leave her. Leave her.” 72’s voice, when he whispered, was raw with panic. This time Lyra didn’t resist, didn’t even argue. 72 was going elbow over elbow into the tangle of growth. She crawled after him as fast as she could on her stomach. The ground trembled under the weight of the soldiers’ boots as she fought deeper into the growth. Pine needles grabbed her face and arms and scored tiny cuts in her skin. She was too scared to look back. She was certain they would be heard, crashing through the grass, but the soldiers were loud, calling to one another in a rapid patter she didn’t understand.

Then the trees released them into a heavy slick of puddled mud and water: they’d reached another sudden opening in the land, a place where the marsh became liquid. 72 slid into the water first and Lyra pulled herself in next to him just as a beam of light swept over the bank where she’d been. She slipped down to her chin, gasping a little, certain they must have heard her, and then submerged herself to her eyes. The beam of the light continued sniffing along the mud like something alive. Twelve inches from her, then ten . . .

“There’s a trail here,” one of the men called out, crashing through the growth, kicking aside the spindly branches lit up by his flashlight. Lyra knew they were finished. “Looks like something crawled out this way.”

The light inched closer, touching the water now, so close to her nose she drew back. . . .

“Found it.”

The light froze where it was. If it had truly been an animal it would have been close enough to lick her. Then the soldier on the bank turned and retreated in the other direction.

“Dead or alive?”

“What the fuck, alive.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

How many were there? Three? Four? It was so hard to tell. How many were out there in the marshes with their lights and boots and heavy guns?

Cassiopeia spoke up one more time, faintly now. “Help me.”

“Awww, Jesus Christ. There’s blood all over the place. It got a bullet in the back or something.”

“Might as well put a bullet in the front, too. No way it’s gonna make it all the way to base.”

“Are you kidding? You know how expensive these things are to make? Might as well take a dump on a hundred grand.”

Beneath the surface, something slick and heavy brushed Lyra’s arm, and she stifled a scream. She wondered if even now there were alligators circling them in the dark, or snakes with sleek black bodies and poisonous fangs. High above them the stars glittered coldly in a perfectly clear sky.

“Damn it. All right then. On three?”

“You’re kidding, right? It’s bleeding. That’s how it spreads.”

“Not unless you eat them, you dumb shit. What’s the matter? You hungry?”

More laughter. There were definitely three of them. At least three. For the first time in her life, something black and deep and hateful stretched out of Lyra’s stomach. She hated them. She hated that they could laugh and that they were afraid to touch Cassiopeia. She hated their easy way of talking. She hated that she could look like a human, and yet she was not a human, and they could tell.

But just as quickly as it had come, the hatred passed. She was cold and tired and scared. She had no energy to be angry, too.

At least the soldiers were going, and leaving Cassiopeia behind after all.

“It’s already dead,” one of them said. “See? Let one of the cleanup crews get to it tomorrow.” There was the sound of a boot against a body, several hard thumps. Lyra sank down another inch in the water, as if she could flood the sound from her ears.

If there were alligators in the water, they could chew off her feet and she wouldn’t notice . . . or maybe her feet were already gone, maybe the pain had numbed her . . . the idea was so awful it struck her as funny. She might be standing there on two stumps, bleeding out into the swamp like Cassiopeia.

“It’s all right. They’re gone now.” In the darkness 72’s features were softened. Then she realized she’d been laughing out loud, laughing and shivering. The men were gone. The marshes were silent and still except for another helicopter that took off in the distance and swept out toward Barrel Key. She waded out of the water after him, slipping on the mud.

“What if they come back?” she asked, through the hard freeze in her chest. She knew it couldn’t really be cold. 72 didn’t seem cold at all, and the nurses had been complaining only yesterday about the awful heat. The cold must have somehow been inside, lodged in her chest like the piece of metal that got Cassiopeia in the back. She wanted to go and look at Cassiopeia, to make sure she was really dead. But she was so tired.

“They won’t be back,” he said. “They’ll finish searching the marshes, but they won’t come back, not for a while at least. Lie down,” he said, and she did, so tired that she didn’t even pull away when he lay down next to her. Already she was half-asleep, drowning in a tangled liquid dream. But when he put his arms around her, she jerked briefly awake.

“The human body,” he said, without letting go of her, his voice low and sleepy, “is full of nerve cells.”

“I know,” she said, reassured, “ten trillion of them.”

She was asleep again, and dreaming of ten trillion nerves lighting up like stars against a bloodred, pulsing sky.