There’s movement to my left and I turn, aim, shift my weapon at the last second as I see a human head bob up beyond the sea of Drau.
Too short to be Jackson. Someone else. The reinforcements Luka saw earlier. They must have been fighting one end of the mass of Drau while we tackled the other.
I almost shout in relief.
There’s a spray of light so bright it makes me see spots. Pinpoints of pain erupt on the side of my face, my neck, my shoulder. Luka’s body jerks against mine; then he stumbles, almost falling. Almost taking me down with him.
I get my shoulder under his, panic biting at me.
“Got him,” Jackson says, coming up on Luka’s other side. Before he can take Luka’s weight, he spins to the left, throws his knife.
It plants solidly between a Drau’s eyes.
Jackson leaps forward and pulls the blade free, then comes back and gets his shoulder under Luka’s.
“The boiler room,” he says, and I realize that somewhere in the past few minutes, we’ve worked our way back toward that room.
“We’ll be trapped.”
“We can pick them off as they come through the door.”
He half drags, half carries Luka backward through the door. I stay in front of him, offering cover, shooting, hacking, one step back and another until we’re all in the room.
Trapped.
I check Luka’s con. Dark orange tinged with red. His eyes are closed, his breathing shallow. Where’s he hit? Where’s he bleeding?
Everywhere.
Jackson stands in front of us and covers me as I unzip Luka’s vest, check his chest, his abdomen. Wounds, but nothing that’s bleeding too much. Then I see the shine on his black pants at the very top of his thigh.
“There’s an artery there,” Jackson says, tossing me his knife, hilt up. “Cut his pants. If the blood’s spurting, we’re in deep shit. If it’s oozing, it’s not as bad.”
I slash Luka’s pants, terrified of what I’ll find, expecting a spray of blood.
Instead, I find a trickle.
I exhale sharply. Then I set about slicing off a piece of his shirt, forming a pad, slicing off a second length, and tying it all down.
Luka’s lids flutter. His gaze sharpens. He glances down at the location of my hands.
“Hey,” he says. “If you wanted me that badly, all you had to do was ask.”
I snort.
He lifts his hand and shoots, taking out a Drau that was charging the doorway.
“Any closer and that shot would have hit my hip,” Jackson says.
“You’re welcome,” Luka says, trying to pull himself up to a sitting position against the pile of ratty cushions. Third try’s the charm. Panting, he sends me a pained grimace.
I leave him there and move to Jackson’s side, my weapon cylinder humming as we take down any Drau that fill the doorframe. We may be trapped in here, but it’s a pretty good bet we can hold them off out there, at least for a while.
Stalemate. I’ll take it, for now.
“We need a location on the other team,” Jackson says. “It’d be nice if I knew how many there are and exactly where our backup’s positioned.”
“The Committee’s not telling you anything?”
“No.”
I cover Jackson as he peers around the doorjamb, then steps through, motioning me to move forward.
There’s a girl just to the right of the door. Her back is to us, light brown hair falling over her shoulders. She takes out a Drau with a spray of light, the weapon in her hand smooth and metallic and jellylike.
“That’s the girl who helped me on the last mission,” I say, recognizing her posture, the way she moves, the set of her shoulders.
“Go,” he says. “I’ll cover you and Luka from here.”
I dart forward so I’m with her, side by side.
A Drau comes at me, moving too fast. Terror claws at me. I fire. It fires. Pain erupts all the way up my arm. My fingers go numb and lax and my sword clatters to the floor.
I lift my cylinder, but the Drau’s gone.
Point for Miki.
I squat, retrieve my blade, and realize the hall’s clearer now. Three Drau run away toward the far end. The girl sprints after them. She’s close enough to shoot, but she doesn’t. Just like last time.
The pain in my arm makes me feel woozy. I force my unresponsive fingers to close around the hilt of my sword. With a groan, I lift it, but I won’t be using it—not with this hand, not anytime soon.
“Miki,” Jackson says, grabbing my good arm and dragging me back toward the room where Luka’s holed up.
“Is it over?” I whisper. “Do we make the jump now?”
He shakes his head.
So there are more Drau here somewhere. We need to smoke them out.
Jackson stops in the doorway and aims his weapon down the hall at the fleeing Drau. They’re almost at the end now. He doesn’t shoot. The girl’s in the way.
He curses under his breath.
She stops dead, spins back toward us. Her hair obscures her face, then settles to her shoulders.
“No,” she says, the inflection familiar.
My world jerks to a stop.
I’ve seen a close-up of that face framed in brushed nickel.
I’ve seen those features on rows and rows of clones as I pulled out tubes and turned off machines.
I’ve spoken to this girl in my dreams.
I’ve seen those eyes. Green. Lizzie green.
Jackson makes a choked, horrified sound.
Too short to be Jackson. Someone else. The reinforcements Luka saw earlier. They must have been fighting one end of the mass of Drau while we tackled the other.
I almost shout in relief.
There’s a spray of light so bright it makes me see spots. Pinpoints of pain erupt on the side of my face, my neck, my shoulder. Luka’s body jerks against mine; then he stumbles, almost falling. Almost taking me down with him.
I get my shoulder under his, panic biting at me.
“Got him,” Jackson says, coming up on Luka’s other side. Before he can take Luka’s weight, he spins to the left, throws his knife.
It plants solidly between a Drau’s eyes.
Jackson leaps forward and pulls the blade free, then comes back and gets his shoulder under Luka’s.
“The boiler room,” he says, and I realize that somewhere in the past few minutes, we’ve worked our way back toward that room.
“We’ll be trapped.”
“We can pick them off as they come through the door.”
He half drags, half carries Luka backward through the door. I stay in front of him, offering cover, shooting, hacking, one step back and another until we’re all in the room.
Trapped.
I check Luka’s con. Dark orange tinged with red. His eyes are closed, his breathing shallow. Where’s he hit? Where’s he bleeding?
Everywhere.
Jackson stands in front of us and covers me as I unzip Luka’s vest, check his chest, his abdomen. Wounds, but nothing that’s bleeding too much. Then I see the shine on his black pants at the very top of his thigh.
“There’s an artery there,” Jackson says, tossing me his knife, hilt up. “Cut his pants. If the blood’s spurting, we’re in deep shit. If it’s oozing, it’s not as bad.”
I slash Luka’s pants, terrified of what I’ll find, expecting a spray of blood.
Instead, I find a trickle.
I exhale sharply. Then I set about slicing off a piece of his shirt, forming a pad, slicing off a second length, and tying it all down.
Luka’s lids flutter. His gaze sharpens. He glances down at the location of my hands.
“Hey,” he says. “If you wanted me that badly, all you had to do was ask.”
I snort.
He lifts his hand and shoots, taking out a Drau that was charging the doorway.
“Any closer and that shot would have hit my hip,” Jackson says.
“You’re welcome,” Luka says, trying to pull himself up to a sitting position against the pile of ratty cushions. Third try’s the charm. Panting, he sends me a pained grimace.
I leave him there and move to Jackson’s side, my weapon cylinder humming as we take down any Drau that fill the doorframe. We may be trapped in here, but it’s a pretty good bet we can hold them off out there, at least for a while.
Stalemate. I’ll take it, for now.
“We need a location on the other team,” Jackson says. “It’d be nice if I knew how many there are and exactly where our backup’s positioned.”
“The Committee’s not telling you anything?”
“No.”
I cover Jackson as he peers around the doorjamb, then steps through, motioning me to move forward.
There’s a girl just to the right of the door. Her back is to us, light brown hair falling over her shoulders. She takes out a Drau with a spray of light, the weapon in her hand smooth and metallic and jellylike.
“That’s the girl who helped me on the last mission,” I say, recognizing her posture, the way she moves, the set of her shoulders.
“Go,” he says. “I’ll cover you and Luka from here.”
I dart forward so I’m with her, side by side.
A Drau comes at me, moving too fast. Terror claws at me. I fire. It fires. Pain erupts all the way up my arm. My fingers go numb and lax and my sword clatters to the floor.
I lift my cylinder, but the Drau’s gone.
Point for Miki.
I squat, retrieve my blade, and realize the hall’s clearer now. Three Drau run away toward the far end. The girl sprints after them. She’s close enough to shoot, but she doesn’t. Just like last time.
The pain in my arm makes me feel woozy. I force my unresponsive fingers to close around the hilt of my sword. With a groan, I lift it, but I won’t be using it—not with this hand, not anytime soon.
“Miki,” Jackson says, grabbing my good arm and dragging me back toward the room where Luka’s holed up.
“Is it over?” I whisper. “Do we make the jump now?”
He shakes his head.
So there are more Drau here somewhere. We need to smoke them out.
Jackson stops in the doorway and aims his weapon down the hall at the fleeing Drau. They’re almost at the end now. He doesn’t shoot. The girl’s in the way.
He curses under his breath.
She stops dead, spins back toward us. Her hair obscures her face, then settles to her shoulders.
“No,” she says, the inflection familiar.
My world jerks to a stop.
I’ve seen a close-up of that face framed in brushed nickel.
I’ve seen those features on rows and rows of clones as I pulled out tubes and turned off machines.
I’ve spoken to this girl in my dreams.
I’ve seen those eyes. Green. Lizzie green.
Jackson makes a choked, horrified sound.
