Subordinance

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

"What the—," I say, skidding to a stop on my motorbike. The ground ahead sinks into marshy swampland, mud and standing water giving off a rancid smell. The sparse patches of curling grass fan out into dragging weeds that float on top of the marsh, sticky and wet.

"Swamp land," the Quadrant Officer says, his bike sending up a cloud of earth as he brakes. "It's run off of what used to be the Mississippi River. The radioactivity from the Old War messed with the weather conditions and flooded the river." He nods over in the direction of collapsed and heavily water-damaged buildings. "That was actually a post-War town, but between the standing water and the radioactivity—it just wasn't a good combination." I wrinkle my nose, the putrid smell working its way into my mouth.

"I can see why," I reply, nearly gagging. He flicks his eyebrows upwards, his mouth twitching slightly. His unpredictable emerald eyes wink brightly in the sunlight. When he turns, I realize I'm staring and hastily shift my attention back to the nasty-smelling landscape.

I can't figure out why my cheeks feel so warm.

Planting my hands on my hips, I prop the motorbike up against the gnarled skeleton of a tree. "So," I say, stretching on my toes to see as far as I can. "Why'd they send us out here?" The blinking blue route on the data pod ends at the edge of the swamp.

"To check it out as a possible water source," he replies. "And if it is, whether or not to use it as a source of drinking water for us, or poison it and eliminate a water source for the Enemy."

"I wouldn't want to drink this," I say, sniffing the air and emitting a subsequent cough. The Quadrant Officer stands his bike next to mine and produces a pair of vials from his pack, one swirling with a translucent blue chemical and the other empty. He holds them up and jerks his head towards the swamp. Looking at the marshy land, back to my feet, and at the land again, I cringe. I unclip the tracking device on my waist and turn it off, tossing it on top of the packs so I don't get it wet.

"Let's get this over with," I say, starting forward and walking until I'm knee-deep in the brackish water. Pulling out vials of my own, I dunk the empty tube in the water and swirl it around, filling it halfway. The water around me sloshes as I wade to dry land, the bottoms of my pants soaking and my boots wet all the way through. They squelch as I walk towards the bikes, sitting down and pouring in the blue vial of liquid into the sample. The chemical dissolves slowly, mingling with the swamp water and producing a nasty blue-brown mixture. I cork it, shoving it in my pack to wait the half hour the chemical takes to determine water purity.

The Quadrant Officer has waded farther out, almost knee-deep in the swamp. He holds his test tube to the light, swishing it around before stopping it with a cork. I snort as he turns and begins to wade back, the brown water parting and sloshing around him.

When he finally wades up to where our bikes are parked, he shakes his boots out with a sticking, squelching sound. Wiggling my toes, a similar sound is made.

"Gross," I say, sliding my feet out of the muddy shoes and setting them aside. I strip off my drenched socks, turned brown with the swamp water, and hang them over a branch on the tree. I check my watch.

"We've got half an hour to kill until the water results are ready. Do you really want to ride back to the Base in wet socks?" He stares at his own boots, pools of water puddling around the soles.

"We might as well get a fire going and have lunch, too—why not hit two birds with one stone?" He sits down across from me, peeling off his own socks and tossing them over a branch. I take out a lighter from my pack and flick the switch until it sparks a blue, flickering flame. Tufts of dead grass catch quickly, lighting the larger branches of wood we’d torn from the tree behind us and quickly developing into a crackling fire, heat radiating from the flames.