No segregation seemed apparent in Pangnirtung. Not because Zielkkenhom had not tried, though. But because it was basically a town of Impures. Where only a handful of Naturals lived to clean the streets. All corralled uptown, away from the airport, but not so crammed as in the cities. But the same propaganda flyers and posters that littered the streets of the Impures back in Wessex mantled the homes and roads of Pangnirtung. It coiled my nerves. Because not even the far hamlets of the Arctic could flee Zielkkenhom’s clout.

The EF had used an island-hopping strategy during the war. And showered death to the seized islands of Baffin, Southampton, and Victoria. While it rained apocalypse in the Aleutians. But the locals resisted. Survived. Through snow and fire. Not a single Nunavummiuq perished. They did not lose their hope, the warmth that guided them through the polar night and the subzero temperatures. Though I did not know if only because the EF thought them not valuable enough to be killed. Or because the ice had strengthened them.

“They’re going to pay for what they did to you, Cerise,” I heard someone mutter, in tears. “I’m going to—” He leaned on the memorial and fisted it. Blasted my eardrums. Not because of his strength. But because of his eyes. Tsunamis that would spare no one. He had lost hope.

And people without hope were capable of anything.

I sprinted toward him, before he could not return, but someone bound my arms. A soldier? I would not die. I didn’t even look. If I did, they’d seem human. And I wouldn’t have defended myself properly. I stomped his feet as if I wanted to fissure the ground and elbowed him as if I wanted every rib of his to shatter. But he just hurled me to the back of a house. One whose triangular roof and sea proximity reminded me of my home in Wexford. And I was ready to stand, but gravity blasted my thorax when I saw who had thrust me aside.

Girgor.

“What are you—”

“Not the welcome I expected from the ungrateful bastard whose life I saved.”

“Did you save me because it was the right thing, or because you wanted an Earthly reward?” And then I remembered what he said about his son. Gravity compressed my chest.

“Soldiers, bambino.”

I peered ahead and saw them. How did I miss them before? Gieves Syndrome? The gravels? Something else?

“What are you going to pay, huh, sewer rat?” The soldiers punched the man by the memorial.

And were about to kill him.

But then I heard the second soldier tell the other one, “Stay here. Do not let him move. The stench of Naturals pervades, more so than usual.”

Did Eugenex enhance your sense of smell that much? And I pictured him shooting at us, killing us, but he did not step toward us. But before I could even inhale, he turned and targeted his rifle at us, but we skulked to another side of the house just before he spotted us. Or at least I hoped he hadn’t. But then I saw the sneer on the soldier’s face, that Enhanced sneer that made me want to kill them, and it didn’t help that the other soldier pounded the devastated man.

“Give me my daughter back!” the man hollered. More dead than alive by now. “She won’t be a—”

The first soldier bludgeoned him. And it took the Holy Spirit within me to stay put.

And then the second soldier stepped further towards us, took aim, placed his finger on the trigger, and fired. I glanced at the smile in his face, as if he were happy to kill someone, as if he had the right to take our lives, as if we were vermin to be squashed. And to him, we were definitely worse than vermin. At first my blood boiled, but then the Holy Spirit warmed me. I just had to pray for him. I just had to pray for them, that they found Our Lord.

And just then the bullet grazed my arm. Blood began dripping from it, but I remained silent. I thought that was going to be the end of it, but then the Esne soldier advanced toward us, just salivating to kill us, itching to use his abilities, because he couldn’t cause wanton destruction in an Impure place of residence. He would immediately recognize Girgor and I. Ice blasts sleeted through my veins. Only had five seconds.

But just before he found us, the first soldier called him and he returned. I thought I was going to take a deep breath, but that soldier just began bludgeoning the devastated man.

“I’ll tell everyone!” the man hollered.

They pounded him once. Twice. A few locals sauntered past the scene, and some didn’t even glance, as if the snow they trudged on was more valuable than a human life, as if countless Naturals had been pummeled right before their eyes. Flame blades seared my veins but the ice froze them when I saw a mom and daughter stare at the man being pummeled, eyes full of hurt. The mom in front of her daughter, protecting her. Both of them, making a gesture of disapproval at the soldiers. The locals did care. But fear froze them. They could withstand the ice. They could endure the snow. They could stomach the polar night. But fear trailed them, and they did not seem to mind. The fear that they’d be next if they stepped in. The fear that froze their warmth. But that I could understand. Not all soldiers were like Tygo.

“I saw you ship them to Nanisivik,” the beaten man hollered.

Thrice. Four times. Red tainted the snow, and the man writhed in a sea of his own blood. The mom and daughter now stepped away. Their eyes about to tear up. Guessed because they could do nothing. Because no one could do anything against Esneas there. There were no bridgers to protect them, no districts to keep them safe. And no Tygo to keep his comrades in check. To the rest of the country, Pangnirtung was just a small town veiled by perennial ice, a rural hamlet whose inhabitants did not exist.

I was about to go help the bloodied man, but a local spotted me. Inuit-looking. Tanned-skinned. I guessed a couple of years older than Girgor, as he did not seem to march with discomfort, but more tired out, as if he was just waiting for death to relieve him, for a liberation that would never come. Not until he had suffered enough.

I leaped back to the wall of the house, hoping, praying nothing happened, but I was flexing my knees, and reading my fists. If only I had my pocketknife. The local had seen the traitor. And a Knight. Two terrorists. The law said he had to alert the soldiers of our presence. Lest he willed to perish. Anyone would have done so. I saw it on my mind. But I would not die. Not without a fight. I peeked at the soldiers one last time, hoping to catch a weakness. And the polar night evaporated the snow that drowned my veins, and the water that froze my skin. The local who had seen me just strolled by. As if Girgor and I did not exist. As if we were mere snow.

Warm fear. Not frozen as I thought. His way of resistance. The Baffin way. He needed it. They needed it. So they’d survive. And would not suffer a fate worse than dying. I couldn’t be any different. I may have not lived through snow and ice, but I had lived through water and fire, not through cowardice and passiveness. I just stood up and stepped ahead, but someone hauled me back and I crashed into the snow.

“What is the problem with you?” Girgor said. “Do you want them to kill us?” He was completely dry. Must have taken an armor suit from one of the soldiers back at Zee Gevangenis.

“They’re going to kill him,” I said. “How can you … how can we … how can I let someone die?”

“We are not letting anyone die,” he said. “We are being prudent and sagacious, and sometimes that means taking a less than perfect decision.”

My veins twisted. My stomach churned. I thought about staying still. I thought about protecting our lives, but I just took a glance at the soldiers again.

The bloodied man lay dead on the snow.

“Leave his body,” the first soldier said. “So no one dares to speak.”

“Now to find the Naturals I smelled.”

“Enough,” the other one said. “You know Lt. Nabritt’s orders. Oughtta head to the base.”

The second soldier sighed, though he still peeked at our direction one last time. “Fine.”

They marched to the airport and blasted off north. I would follow them. Despite Girgor’s complaints. But before I could even step ahead, Girgor said, “You do that and we die.”

“What’s wrong with you, Girgor?” Took the Holy Spirit within me not to jab him. “You’re a Knight of Malta. Your oath is to help those in need. And there are people in need right ahead of you and you don’t want to help them because we might die,” I said. “I know what happened to you. You didn’t get arrested on purpose. Your brigade ditched you for not fulfilling the oath of the Knights.” I did not feel the ice anymore. Not that much. “They sent who knows how many to a base in the middle of nowhere. When people are supposed to be quarantined. That won’t end well. Julius and his sycophants are plotting something. Both of us know so.”

My own words coiled my heart, until it no longer pulsed; squirmed my lungs, until they no longer breathed, because I was probably infected as well, because I was supposed to be quarantined. Was I infecting everyone?

Had I?

How could I give them courage? If I would infect them all.

“Your friend’s right, Cael Cavanaugh,” the local who did not accuse us said. “You’ll only get yourself killed. And all of us.”

Hi, my fellow bridgers! Thank you so much for reading The Last God. It means a lot to me that you took time to read my story. Being able to share this story with others has been an amazing experience.

I will appreciate your comments and reviews because my work is intended for you. I invite you to share this experience in social media through the links below. Every single review or share matters.

Thanks again for reading. May God bless you. Have a great day!