Mika Page 3

  ‘She’s a great kid.’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Bree.’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ Mika agrees.

  ‘Quiet though.’

  ‘She has some stuff going on,’ Mika says vaguely. Stan opens the tiny beer fridge. Apart from a couple of unidentifiable jars, Mika notes there’s no food in there. Mind you, Stan did say he’d worked three shifts in a row. Since the storm broke, he probably hasn’t had time to shop, or maybe he eats at the food stalls outside. He takes some sachets of powdered milk from a compartment in the door, pouring one into each of the cups, ready for the coffee.

  ‘Bit of trouble with her dad, huh?’

  Mika sees a flash from this morning, the man’s face, and his ruined, gouged-out eye. ‘Um...something like that.’

  ‘If you don’t mind me saying, you seem too young to have a daughter Bree’s age.’

  Mika laughs at that. ‘Oh, she’s not—’

  A brick caves the window in, the panes shattering in a rain of glass. The fragments hit the floor, tinkling like a piwakawaka. A stray shard glances off Mika’s face. She wipes it off. The back of her hand comes away bloody.

  ‘Shit!’ Stan yells as a man swings in through the gaping hole. He is dressed in black shinobi shozoko. Dark eyes scan the room for his target. Mika’s breath catches in her throat.

  What on earth?

  She needs to get Bree, and get the hell out of here.

  ‘Out the front!’ screams Stan, as if reading her mind. ‘Hurry!’

  But, recovering from his Tarzan-like swing from the roof, the brute has found his feet. He raises his gun and aims it at Stan.

  ‘Where is it, you cheating—?’

  Stan doesn’t wait for the rest. Two-handed, he picks up the coffee maker and pitches boiling black liquid into his aggressor’s face, blinding him. The man shrieks, throwing up his hands, dropping his gun. Stooping instinctively, Mika picks it up and runs for the door.

  ‘Mika!’ Bree appears in the opening, a dog cradled in her arms. Her face pales.

  ‘Run for the transport!’ Stan urges. The scalded man hurls himself at Stan, fuelled by pain and rage. The two men wrestle violently. Stan searches for a weapon.

  The stone adze.

  Mika watches, paralysed, as Stan rips it from the wall, bringing it down on his aggressor’s skull. It lands with a hollow crack, the noise finally wakening Mika from her stupor. She grabs Bree, and bustles her towards the door. They need to get out.

  Suddenly, Mika’s hair is yanked from behind. She’s pulled backwards, and twisted about bodily, where she comes face to face with a second intruder.

  ‘Go, Bree,’ she shouts. But she’s horrified to see Bree duck and run for the bedroom.

  No, the transport – head for Torua!

  But it’s too late. Bree’s in the bedroom and now Mika can’t flee. Not without leaving the girl behind. They’re trapped.

  Seeing her anguish, Mika’s captor smiles malevolently. He shows her his switch blade. It’s long and curved. Mika feels her breath leave her.

  She’s nobody. Whatever these men are here for, Mika knows nothing about it. She’s just an unfortunate witness, in the wrong place at the wrong time. But that doesn’t mean her captor won’t enjoy slicing her. His unhurried smile says as much.

  But she has the gun, held down low, following the line of her leg. Mika feels her fingers tremble on the trigger as her aggressor steps closer.

  She raises the gun and fires.

  And is thrown backwards into the wall by the gun’s recoil. Crashing hard, Mika has the wind knocked out of her. By the time she’s scrambled to her feet, her assailant’s blood is pumping red all over the concrete floor.

  Panicked, Mika searches wildly for Stan. His back to her, he’s rummaging inside the fridge.

  What are you doing? Forget the coffee, Mika wants to scream.

  But her voice is stuck in her throat.

  The first man is back on his feet, his hood slipping back, revealing a protective helmet. Not dead. Not even unconscious. The adze had bounced off the helmet, stunning him, but only briefly. Now he rushes at Stan a second time, like an enraged demon, his face and neck a mess of angry boils.

  ‘Stan, look out!’ Not expecting the assault, Stan is caught off-balance as the man slams into his stomach, ramming him backwards into the kitchen cabinets. Grunting, Stan attempts to wrench himself free, recoiling at the sight of the puckered blistering skin. Mika’s jaw drops as, silently, the man pushes a knife to Stan’s ribs. Stan’s eyes open wide. Beads of sweat appear on his forehead.

  ‘This is not what the Brotherhood agreed, Aspen!’ the man hisses.

  ‘It wasn’t my agreement,’ Stan says, his chest heaving in defiance. Over the man’s shoulder, Stan’s eyes swivel desperately to Mika.

  ‘We’ll see what headquarters think of that. But first, I think I can change your point of view.’ Mika watches in horror as the intruder repositions his knife. ‘What do you reckon, Stan, will this help you see things our way?’ He draws a line of blood beneath Stan’s remaining eye.

  Mika supports herself against the wall. This time, when she fires, she’s prepared for the recoil.

  Chapter Four

  BREE REACHES Torua first. She scrambles up the side and dives through the hatch, her anxious face lingering above the rim like a watchful a possum, as Mika and Stan race to catch up.

  ‘We’re here. It’s okay.’ Mika groans as she struggles inside. She hasn’t had time to check for damage, but already she’s aware she’s in for some serious muscle pain tomorrow.

  As Stan moves to follow her, Mika hesitates. ‘I’m not sure I can help you any more than I have.’

  Frozen halfway up the side of Torua, Stan drops his eyes, the cybernetic prosthesis wobbling. ‘I’m sorry. I had no idea they’d come to my place. But I’m begging you to let me go with you.’

  Behind him, the large reinforced doors of the warehouse swing closed. A heavy metal beam slides into place, securing the residents from further intrusion. There’s no welcome for them here. After today, perhaps not even for Stan.

  ‘Who were they? What did they want?’

  Stan shakes his head. ‘I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Then I can’t let you come.’ Mika moves to close the hatch.

  ‘Wait! It’s not that I don’t want to tell you. I’m not ashamed, or anything. I do what I have to do. It’s just that you’ll be safer if you don’t know.’ A window is closed, internal shutters clicked shut, the noise quieted. The warehouse is in lockdown. ‘Look, you’re not from here,’ Stan goes on, a hint of desperation in his voice. ‘It’s evident you don’t know this place. I can help.’

  Mika feels Bree’s gentle tug on her pant leg. Sighing, she turns, leaving the hatch open, and descends into the control room.

  Stan closes the hatch behind him. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Just so you know, if taking you in means I don’t complete my journey, I’ll make you regret it.’ Mika knows the threat is meaningless. If she doesn’t complete her journey, the regret will kill her.

  Stan sinks into one of the empty seats. Bree, still holding her small captive in one arm, grabs the first-aid kit, delivering it to Stan with a shy smile before joining Mika at the front of the waka. Ignoring her own injuries, Mika pulls Torua away from the warehouse, heading in no particular direction, just one she hopes will confuse anyone with plans to follow.

  ‘Calculating...’ The warm tones of Kuia’s voice break the quiet. Eyes drooping low, Bree strokes her prize until it falls into a contented sleep on her lap.

  ‘Can you take the wheel? I need to put Bree to bed.’

  ‘No probs. Just give me a moment to screw my leg back on.’ Mika tries to hide her shock as Stan gives his prosthetic a final check, ensuring there are no bent rods or clogged cogs, then twists it back into place, mid-thigh on the left side. ‘Cheap parts. The joint always gives me trouble.’ There’s a click and a whirl, and Stan gives a satisfied grin as he rolls down his pant leg and m
oves to take Mika’s place at the controls. ‘Las Vegas, right? Mind if I let your GPS off the hook? I know the way.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Mika gathers Bree into her arms, the dog cupped in the girl’s lap. She stomps to activate the lower hatch, and descends. Below, she tucks Bree into bed, the dog curled beside her. Bree’s expression flickers as Mika tucks the blankets under her chin, as if she’s walking somewhere between dream and nightmare.

  ‘Sleep well, sweetie,’ Mika whispers. She leaves the light on low and returns upstairs.

  ‘So?’ Stan’s question reminds Mika that she’s lost and alone here. Even the ghost of her kuia in the GPS is quiet.

  She inhales deeply. ‘My name is Mika Tāura. Mauao is my mountain, Tauranga Moana is my ocean and I am far from home. Ngāti Ranginui is my iwi, and Aotearoa is my tūrangawaewae. My people need me to get to Las Vegas. There is no choice. I have to meet someone, someone who knew my father. I have to give him a message.’ Mika pulls her jacket tighter around her shoulders, and folds her arms across her chest. ‘But when I arrived, the storm meant I missed my connection. And without a guide, I don’t know who I’m supposed to meet.’

  ‘Maybe your guide’s still waiting for you?’ Stan suggests. ‘We could check, and if the person is still there, then I’ll leave. But...’ His voice trails off and Mika can’t tell if he’s making a decision about what to say next or if he needs all his attention on the road. He narrowly misses a rubbish tin rolling in the strong winds.

  ‘You can help me get to Las Vegas?’ Mika needs to be certain.

  ‘If I can’t find your guide, I promise to get you close.’ Stan moves into the co-pilot chair and Mika seamlessly takes the driver’s seat. She scans the saved lists in the GPS and chooses her first destination. The place where she was supposed to meet the guide.

  ‘Calculating. Go straight five hundred yards. Take the first left,’ says the confident voice of Mika’s kuia. Mika doubts she would have found her way back without the GPS, the storm has caused so much damage. The rain has slowed to a continuous drizzle, but dark clouds still swarm in the heavens, leaving little chance for the last of the day’s light to penetrate. When they approach the meeting point, Stan and Mika strain for a sign of her guide.

  ‘Wow, that looks serious,’ Stan says, indicating the wreckage on the traffic island. It’s the transport Torua collided with earlier. The transport carrying Bree. The remains of the vehicle have been shunted to the side of the island. No other vehicles are in sight.

  ‘That’s where I found Bree,’ she whispers, the words loud and careless in the cab.

  ‘The little girl? She’s not yours?’ Stan says.

  ‘No...’ Mika pulls up, stopping the transport close enough for them to examine the wreckage. A faulty power pack. Petals of twisted metal burst outward from the centre of the hood, the fire long since extinguished by the storm, leaving a blackened husk of smouldering steel. It’s a shock to see it again. Mika’s relieved that Bree’s asleep.

  ‘It was an accident,’ she says. ‘I didn’t see the vehicle in time. We collided, and their transport couldn’t withstand the strength of my waka. I didn’t want to leave Bree with the body of her father. I was taking her for medical treatment. I wasn’t prepared for the storm. I didn’t know what else to do.’ The words tumble like a prayer waiting to be answered.

  ‘No one’s here.’

  ‘That’s not surprising. I’m a day late.’

  ‘Yes, but if your guide was local, they would’ve known about the storm. They would have expected you to be late. So, why didn’t they wait?’

  ‘After we collided, and I discovered the body, and Bree, I just wanted to get the girl away from here, somewhere safe. Maybe when the guide saw the collision, he thought the same thing.’

  Stan’s eyes widen. ‘Hey! Do you think maybe Bree’s father was your guide? Maybe they were coming here to meet you?’

  Mika slumps. If that’s the case, not only has she destroyed Bree’s life, but she may have ruined Huia’s chances.

  ‘Hey, sorry. Look, let me check it out. Maybe there’s something inside the transport that will tell us.’ Stan gives Mika’s shoulder an awkward squeeze, and before she can protest, he’s outside Torua, waving at her from the traffic island.

  Numb, Mika watches Stan through the windscreen as he struggles against the wind. He leans inside the twisted transport and moments later the hatch clangs and he’s back inside, shaking the rain from his hair and coat, and re-joining her at the front.

  ‘Well, do you want the good news, or the bad news?’ Mika looks at him, dazed. ‘Right then, let’s start with the bad. I think our man there was waiting for you, but not for the reason you think.’ He lets his words register, then passes over a series of renditions. Faces of people about Mika’s age: mostly women, some men, all of them resembling Mika, and Huia, but none of them an exact match.

  ‘What are these pictures? Where did he get these? Why would he have them?’

  ‘You recognise them?’

  ‘They could be my family, but they’re not, not quite.’ Mika flicks through the faces, peering at each one in turn. It’s as if someone has made genetic models of what Mika might look like.

  ‘I think they wanted to be sure.’

  ‘Sure of what?’

  ‘That you were the right person. The person they needed taken care of.’ Mika’s jaw drops as understanding dawns.

  ‘You mean, an assassin?’

  ‘I’m only guessing, but I think they only wanted half the deal. Whatever it is you brought with you.’

  ‘I didn’t bring anything with me...’ Mika protests. But then she has another thought. ‘What about Bree?’ She sucks in the name, as if to hide the girl from danger.

  ‘A side business?’ Mika’s incomprehension must show in her face because Stan extrapolates: ‘Organ donation. Big business here in the United States. Especially over the past couple of decades, since B-Cell’s miracle cure for diabetes backfired.’ Stan’s face twists into a sneer. ‘Of course, it’s all fine and dandy if you’ve got money – you can replace limbs and eyes, get yourself the best prosthetics you can afford, the corporate giant does a nice line in top-end artificial limbs – but once you reach organ failure, that’s it. Unless you can source a living organ, you’re dead...’ He trails off, his voice softening. ‘Some parents, if they’re down on their luck, will sell their kids on. You know, you probably saved your own life as well as that little girl’s. You’ve both been pretty lucky. Maybe you have a guardian angel.’

  Mika thinks of Huia, sending her aroha across the ocean, and nods. Right now, she feels fairly floaty herself. All this, it’s unreal. Her guide sent to kill her? Bree an organ donor? How is it possible? But then, if she considers the evidence...

  ‘I checked Bree over after the accident,’ she replies. ‘She’s covered in needle pricks and bruises. Old bruises.’

  ‘Yeah? I guess that confirms it. Explains why the kid’s so quiet. Poor thing has been kept as a living spare part. Well, that settles it,’ Stan announces. ‘You’ve saved us, so now we’re going to help you. Shall I drive?’ Stan’s enthusiasm seems slightly misplaced – doesn’t he realise that Mika’s killed three people today? Okay, so she did it by accident, or in self-defence, since it turns out all of them had intended to kill her, but still, it’s small comfort.

  Suddenly, Mika feels heavy. The voyage, her mission, Bree, Stan, even the dog. It’s all too much. Mika just wants to curl into a ball and sob. Exhausted, she lets Stan take over.

  The thrum of Torua’s heart lulls her into a fitful sleep, full of intangible images and whispered warnings. Through it all, Mika hears Huia begging her to be strong.

  Chapter Five

  IT’S A LONG DRIVE ACROSS the country from New York to Nevada. For most of the first day, they jostle for space in amongst a convoy of transports escaping the storms. Stan drives, every half hour or so erupting in a fit of expletives as blocked roads and traffic jams force him to make detour after d
etour. Mika keeps reminding him that he shouldn’t curse in front of Bree, but after the third or fourth time, she gives up. Given what they suspect of Bree’s history, perhaps a few swear words aren’t the end of the world. Mika imagines the girl has seen and heard far worse.

  By the second day, the amount of fallen trees and strewn debris lessens and the only delays are regular comfort stops for the dog, and a layover for pizza. Finally, late afternoon on the third day, Stan drives Torua into an Arizona reservation.

  A gaggle of children crowd around the exotic transport, impeding their progress. Stan is forced to stop in the dusty courtyard only a few yards inside the entrance.

  He laughs. ‘This is the end of the road.’

  They clamber down, Bree with the puppy – who she’s named Paddy – tucked under her arm. The children swarm her, all wanting to pet the puppy. For a second, Bree hesitates, her face full of anguish. She crushes Paddy to her, who yelps, then she takes a step towards Mika. Mika gives her shoulder a squeeze.

  ‘It’s okay. They’re friends,’ she reassures her. She nudges Stan for confirmation.

  ‘Oh yes, you and Paddy are quite safe here,’ Stan says, giving Bree’s hair a ruffle. He turns to one of the older children, a girl. ‘Arlene, why don’t you take Bree down to the river? She’s been stuck in the transport for three days. Show her the rope swing. Or if she’s feeling brave she might try a tube ride. I’m sure she’d like that. Maybe later on, you could bring back to us? We’ll be with the professors.’

  The girl grins. ‘Okay.’ Mika watches as Bree is guided away by the children.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ Stan says, his prosthetic eye winking out of turn. ‘Arlene’s a good kid. She knows what it’s like to be lonely. She’ll look after Bree. Come on, there are some people I want you to meet.’

  Mika follows Stan into the community. Clustered together at this end of the reservation, the houses are mainly traditional adobe style, and are a hodgepodge of sizes, some with wooden or corrugated iron roofs. Brightly coloured washing hangs from lines swung between the poles of the buildings. The place is busy, and many of the people know Stan.