The Steam War (The Steam War #1)

Chapter 3: Evacuation

A woman sat on a dark leather seat inside of a military helicopter. She hunched forward, her shiny black boots tapping rhythmically to the tune that was stuck in her head. With the chaos now minutes behind her, she'd had time to think over the mission again and again, replaying it in her head, trying to decide how well they had done. The girl in front of her began stirring, fluttering her eyes with a flash of pain.

"Get me out of here," the girl said, her words slurred and mumbled. The makeshift cast wrapped around her head sported a growing red wave on her left temple, covering her dark-brown hair. The girl's eyes were brown and foggy, dazed from receiving a hit earlier.

The black-booted woman could not understand English but took a guess at what she was trying to say. Instead of relaxing the belt loops that bound the girl down, she tightened them further, constricting the girl's already weakened body. The girl had shown her strength previously, and she wasn't about to let it happen again.

Cigarette smoke puffed out of the black-booted woman's mouth as she stared at the child in front of her. Minus the cast, she wasn't unhealthy looking, considering her... circumstances. Very tall, as well.

"Where are we? Get me out of here!" the girl demanded again, this time attempting to kick free from her restrictions. She made no progress, but even if she could break free, they were in a moving helicopter. They would reach their destination no matter what.

"Presque lá!" the pilot said. "Almost there!"

"Do you guys speak any English!?" the girl yelled, "or are you German speaking Nazis?"

The black-booted woman raised her eyebrows at the girl and laughed. She heard "English," "German," and "Nazi" all in the same sentence and realized why the kid was struggling.

"Nous ne sommes pas Nazis," she replied. The girl, of course, could not understand French. The only language she knew was English, with some Russian swear words to spice it up.

"Nous arrivons à Brass Isle, pour votre sécurité."

What language is this? The girl pondered, her foggy vision slowly returning to normal. More smoke puffed out of the black-booted woman's mouth, the spindly tentacle of gray connecting with the roof.

The loud spinning of the blades slowed down as the pilot started the helicopter's descent, and the metal bird touched down with a thud. Nobody moved until a man boarded. He resembled a character straight out of a movie, with a firm black suit, sunglasses, and a clipboard in hand.

"Greetings, patient 24599," he said. Then, he turned to talk to the black-booted woman, who nodded and left the helicopter, never letting her eyes wander from the girl.

"We here at Brass Isle are deeply sorry about the trouble and chaos you received on the other island," the man promised. "I promise we'll take much better care of you." He released the girl from her restraints and sat down next to her, taking the spot that had been the hostile, black-booted woman's. He stared down at his clipboard for a while, then clicked his pen and cleared his throat.

"I must ask you what your name is," he confessed. "It seems your last doctor left that out on the forms." He seemed disgusted to mention her doctor. To be fair, she couldn't really blame him.

That wouldn't change her mind, though. Who was this man to intrude on her like this? She'd been taken from where she lived and put in a helicopter with a hostile woman, and now she was being interrogated by a man in a suit. The girl would not let this man call her by her normal name. He did not deserve it. She did not deserve this place. She wanted to go back to where she belonged.

"Marie," she lied, surprised at how difficult it was to talk. She felt as if her lungs had been shattered and her voice stolen. With a grunt and heavy breathing, she added, "I want to go back."