Guide You Home
Chapter Twelve
"Look! Can you name that one?"
The little blonde girl scrunched up her nose, concentrating as she watched the tiny creature flitter above the bird bath in their tiny backyard.
"It is a grey wagtail, Mama," the little girl said, her voice expressing delight. She grinned, glancing towards her mother. "That was too easy!"
The woman smiled as she resumed preparing the ingredients for dinner. She glanced out the window again, nodding her head in the same direction as before. "And that one?"
The child turned her head, pressing her nose against the cold glass from her vantage point; perched alongside the mixing bowl on top of the kitchen bench.
"A bullfinch! No, wait…" she said, pre-empting her mothers correction as she squinted hard. "A crossbill!
The woman laughed, tossing cabbage and diced beetroot into the large pot sitting on the stove. "You are too clever for your own good, moya lyubov."
The little girl grinned at her mother as she sat; propped up against the kitchen wall and clasping her hands within her lap. Her thick blonde hair fell in waves against her pale skin and her legs dangled over the edge of the kitchen counter. The woman leaned forward affectionately, tucking stray tendrils behind her daughter's ear.
She sighed in spite of herself, running her eyes fondly over the child's delicate features. She was going to be a heartbreaker.
Another bird approached the bird-bath and the little girl's green eyes followed it's movements. It seemed to suspend in mid-air, before dropping gracefully onto the edge of the concrete bowl.
"A garden warbler!"
The woman nodded, turning the stove on low and dusting her hands against the apron she was wearing. She smiled.
"Very good! What do they love to eat more than anything?"
"Berries!"
She reached forward and tickled the youngster under the armpits, delighting in watching the child squirm and gasp with laughter.
"Yes. Berries." She swept forward and lifted the little girl off the bench, setting her down on the cold stone floor. "You will soon be teaching the teachers, dorogoy."
"Will Mishka be home soon?"
"Da. Now go and set the table for dinner. Your father will be home soon, too."
"Okay, Mama."
The little girl bounced away, her hair flying along behind her. Katja checked her watch, aware that there would probably be about an hour overlap of 'family time' before she started her shift at the meat-packing plant. Weekdays were always hectic but at least they were financially better off than most. The recession had hit hard and there were many living without the bare necessities.
Katja quickly changed into her work uniform, putting on a thin layer of make-up and wrapping her hair into a tight bun. She fastened a net around her head and returned to the kitchen, greeting Mishka as he slunk through the front door after his afternoon play date. He dropped his school bag to the floor and climbed into his seat at the kitchen table, asking what was for dinner.
"Borsch," she replied, smiling as her husband also entered the kitchen. Pyotr greeted her with a kiss, before removing his boots and jacket. He approached his daughter as she sat with her nose buried within a book on the small sofa. Planting his lips against forehead, he wandered towards the bathroom to rid himself of the dirt and grime from the mine.
They sat down to eat, trading laughter and stories about their day. As the plates were cleared, Pyotr rounded up the children for their baths as Katja threw her handbag over her shoulder. She blew them kisses as she departed into the night, bracing herself against the cold sleet that had begun falling onto the street below.
A sob escaped Linka's lips as she turned her head, blinking back tears. The pillow was damp against her cheek. The Russian's lips trembled as she struggled to get her breathing under control. The image of her mother's face was still etched in her memory and she moaned, squeezing her eyes tightly shut.
She tried to raise her hand but her movements were slow and almost surreal, as if she were tied underwater. She opened her eyes, blinking. The room seemed blurry with random shapes and colours converging but not forming anything meaningful. It was dark but a warm glow bathed the sheets she appeared to be lying under.
Linka swallowed, her mouth dry as her eyes darted from side to side. Her heart rate increased and she clenched her fists against the sheets, suddenly frightened. Her remaining senses were heightened and everything about this place seemed alien to her. She breathed in the smell of disinfectant and she heard strange beeps and machinery quietly humming around her.
Where am I?
Her fingers scraped against soft hair and she raised her head slightly, sweeping her fingernails over someone's forehead and rough cheek lying pressed against her ribs.
She felt movement and caught a flash of red as the figure shifted in his sleep, before resettling himself with a sigh. The thumping in her chest subsided as she settled her palm against the side of his face, feeling his breath tickling her skin.
Wheeler.
Linka groaned, attempting to raise her other hand. This time her sluggish brain was able to synchronise the movement. She took a shuddering breath as she wiped away the tears that had been tracking down her face as a result of her dream. The blonde tried raise her legs. She gasped as a flare of intense pain shot through her lower limb.
The Russian cried out as the tears began to flow again. She gripped Wheeler's hair within her fingers and pulled, desperately trying to wake him.
"Yankee?" she sobbed, further distressed by the sound of her own voice. It sounded utterly unfamiliar to her, rough and croaking. "Wheeler?"
Her bottom lip quivered as Wheeler raised his head and looked at her, blinking sleepily. He ran his hand over his face and sat up immediately; his hair sleep-flattened on one side and sticking up in all directions on the other. He reached out for her with a relieved smile.
"Hey babe," he said softly. "Welcome back to the land of…"
"Where am I? What has happened?" Her eyes were wide and fearful as she clutched at him, pulling him closer. "I don't…I can't…"
Wheeler looked on, alarmed as she grabbed his shoulders and again attempted to pull herself up into a sitting position. She cried out, clutching her abdomen as he steadied her gently back against the pillows.
"Hang on," he said, reaching for the remote control. Linka felt pressure against her back and shoulders and realised the bed was automatically raising her until she was sitting upright.
The girl's face paled further as her gaze settled upon the bulky shape beneath the blanket, hiding the pins and stainless steel rings attached to her lower left leg.
"What is this?" she cried, gesturing to her leg. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, her breathing uneven as her body began to tremble. "What has… Why am I…"
Wheeler quickly vacated the chair and sank down beside her, tossing his uninjured arm around her shoulders. He pulled her towards him, pressing his lips against the side of her forehead. Linka had begun hyperventilating and he laid his cast across her thigh in an effort to steady her.
"We're in a hospital in Jo'burg, Lin," he whispered. "We were hit by a missile and you fell outta' the Geo-Cruiser."
She didn't reply but he felt the muscles in her back tense up against his arm. She shuddered, tucking her head against his neck.
"I don't remember anything," she croaked, shaking her head. Linka clutched the sheets within her fists and her eyes met Wheeler's worried glance. "It hurts."
He nodded. "You've broken your leg pretty badly, babe." He paused, before continuing. "And I'm afraid your spleen's taken a permanent vacation."
"My spleen?" Her hand dropped to her lower stomach and she winced, feeling the surgical dressing under her hospital gown. "Oh god…."
She felt Wheeler readjust his position as he shuffled himself further onto the bed, folding his leg at the knee and propping it between her back and the pillows. He settled himself against the headboard and brought his other leg up to rest against her uninjured limb.
"You also hit your head on the way down. Had some swelling on the brain, but luckily no spinal damage."
Wheeler's arms wrapped tightly around her waist and she settled back against him, sniffling every now and again. They sat in silence for a while as her breathing became slow and steady again. Her gaze was drawn towards the cast lying across her thigh.
"You have broken your arm?" she whispered, lifting his cast and turning it over in her hands.
"Yeah," he replied, wriggling the fingers peeking out from beneath the plaster. "Stuffed my shoulder up too."
"Are the others all right?"
"Yep. They've gone home but'll be back tomorrow. Your family are here too."
"Oh."
Linka sighed as Wheeler reached for her hand, running his thumb in lazy circles around her palm. Her head dipped back against his shoulder and he pressed a kiss against her forehead.
"You scared the shit out of us, babe," he said, feeling Linka relax against him. "We couldn't find you."
"I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice thick and sleepy. "I really do not remember anything…"
"Probably for the best."
He could see that she was fading. Linka's eyes were closed and her breathing was becoming heavy again. He pushed a clump of hair away from her forehead and trailed his fingers down her cheek. A hint of a smile briefly graced her lips.
"Will you be here when I wake up?" Her voice was barely audible.
"If cranky Nurse Ratchet doesn't find me here? Then yeah." Wheeler pulled the blankets over their bodies, feeling comforted by her closeness and warmth. "Go back to sleep, babe."
She made a small, unintelligible sound in response and he knew she had already slipped away into dreamland. Wheeler watched her for a moment, noting her eyelids twitching and her cheeks beginning to gain some colour.
The American yawned. He threaded her fingers between his own and finally closed his eyes, feeling at peace for the first time in days.
He slept deeply for the remainder of the night, only waking when the day shift staff found them the next morning.
Linka stretched her arms above her head, smiling fondly as her grandmother fussed over her hospital bed.
"I am fine," she said, wincing slightly as the old woman leaned over her to tuck in the blankets and inadvertently bumped the plates surrounding her leg.
"Let her worry, Linka," Mishka said, rolling her eyes with a chuckle. "It gives her something to do."
"Are you in pain?" Her grandmother's accent was thick as she switched to English, peering down at Linka worriedly.
"Nyet, they are giving me regular pain relief, Baba," she said. "Honestly, I am feeling well enough."
"Where is Wheeler?" Mishka asked, offering her an apple. She shook her head, still unable to eat hard foods. Her throat felt like sand-paper, an after-effect of the tubing forced down her windpipe during her sedation.
"He was dragged back to his room first thing this morning," she said, glancing towards the door. "He is not permitted back until his discharge papers are signed."
Mishka laughed. "Poor guy. He has certainly been through the ringer."
"How so?" she asked, glancing at her grandmother as the older woman ran a brush through her long blonde hair. Her breath caught as the bristles hit a snag. "Bozhe moy, Baba. I am capable of combing my own hair!"
Linka's brother shrugged, watching Baba with amusement. "Well, lets see if I have this right. He broke his arm, severed tendons below his shoulder. Was shot at, beaten up by one of your enemies and still managed to find the girls and free them."
The blonde's face paled. "Kakogo cherta? He did not tell me all of this. And what girls?" she queried, frowning with confusion.
Mishka took a bite of his apple and sat back, crossing his leg over his knee. "I'm sure your friends will fill you in."
Linka gritted her teeth as Baba began braiding her hair, separating sections and folding them tightly against her scalp. She gasped as her head was forced towards her grandmother's body. "Ouch! Chto bolit, Baba!"
"Hey," Wheeler said as he entered the room, waving his discharge papers in the air. "My 'get outta jail free' card finally arrived."
He dropped his bag beside Mishka's chair and dragged a seat over from the empty bed beside Linka. Wheeler slumped down into it, a mischievous look on his face.
"Hello, Yankee," she said, her face lighting up as she gave him a small wave.
"The others are on there way, should be here within half an hour. Want some yoghurt?" he asked, reaching into his pocket and tossing the container into Linka's hands. "Thought it'd be okay on your throat."
She gave him a warm smile, accepting the spoon he passed to her. "Where did you get this?"
He winked at her and grinned. "Chatted up the food and beverage chick. I think I've eaten my body weight in ice cream and pudding already…"
Linka muttered something under her breath but she grinned nonetheless, opening the lid and dipping her spoon in. She swallowed gratefully, savouring the taste and texture. She was starving.
"Playing hairdressers?" Wheeler teased, watching Linka's head bob from side to side with the force of her grandmother's french braid.
"Da. She will be spoon-feeding me by lunch-time," Linka muttered as the woman carefully plaited the bottom section of her braid, fastening an elastic band at the base. She turned and frowned up at her grandmother. "Are you planning on applying my make-up, too?"
The elderly woman chuckled, cupping her granddaughter's face in her hands and planting a kiss on top of her head. "Nonsense, child. When you look your best, you will feel your best. Isn't that right, Wheeler?"
The American laughed and shrugged, glancing up at his beautiful colleague. "Not much there that needs improving on, in all honesty."
Linka flushed prettily, rubbing her thumb over her bottom lip as her Grandmother made a small sound of delight in Wheeler's direction. "You are a charmer, Amerikanskiy mal'chik." She stepped forward and ruffled his hair affectionately before returning to sit on the edge of the hospital bed.
Linka's eyes settled on Wheeler from across the room; watching on quietly as he chatted easily with her brother. Her gaze swept up towards the scarring dotting his forehead, oblivious to the fact that her grandmother was addressing her in Russian.
Her attention returned when she heard Mishka snort, placing his hand over his eyes.
"I am sorry?" she asked, peering at her grandmother's questioning face. The older woman gestured once again towards Wheeler and repeated her question in their native language. Linka's mouth dropped open and her face turned beet-red.
"Nyet, Baba," she hissed through gritted teeth, ignoring Mishka's laughter and refusing to meet the confused expression on Wheeler's face.
The uncomfortable situation quickly dissolved when Ma-Ti rushed through the door. He gave a cry of relief when he saw Linka and was quick to throw his arms around his teammate. Ma-Ti embraced her tightly, touching her cheek affectionately as Kwame and Gi entered.
"You had us all very worried," Ma-Ti said softly. "Next time you decide to sky-dive out of a plane, take a parachute, Linka!"
The Russian laughed, smoothing the sheets against her thighs as Gi approached, her face tense and fretful.
"Oh god," Gi gasped, leaning over and throwing her arms around her best friend's neck. "Oh, you look so pink and healthy!"
"What colour was I before?" Linka wondered aloud, a crease forming in her brow. She smiled as Kwame leaned in and pressed his lips against her forehead. He settled himself against the wall beside Wheeler, nodding towards Mishka in greeting.
"You were blue when they brought you in," Gi said as an involuntary shudder passed through her. "Do you remember anything?"
"Nyet, I do not," she sighed, leaning back against the pillows and focusing on her brother as he rose to his feet.
Mishka smiled, placing his hands gently on his Grandmother's shoulders. "We will leave you to catch up," he said, smiling at the group as he led his charge out into the corridor and towards the cafeteria.
The Planeteers watched them go; their voices low and hushed as they filled Linka in on the events of the past forty-eight hours.