Cress

Mindless as a wild animal I twisted and lunged, clawed and kicked, trying to wrench free of the savage grip of gloved hands as I was hauled forward off the porch and down the steps to the yard.

There was laughter, somewhere. Taunting. "Oooh! She's got spite, fellas! Spite!"

And then the gravel bit into my palms and knees as the man with the ion rifle threw me headlong to the ground.

Coughing, I pushed myself up until I was kneeling, and glared around at a ring of male faces, all of them leering and shiny with sweat in the firelight.

My heartbeat thundered so hard my chest ached with it. I knew what men hopped up on violence could do to a lone woman, but if they were busy with me, maybe they wouldn't see Jimmy and Beckett. Maybe the boys would have the sense to get away.

I lifted my head, pulled ashy spit from my throat and hurled it at them. There was more laughter and one of them danced forward to jab at my back with the nose of his revolver hard enough to bruise.

The man with the ion rifle came walking around to stand in front of me. He heaved a sigh, and looked down, regarding me like I was nothing. Garbage stuck to the bottom of his boot. "What's your name?"

I tipped my head back and stared right back at him. He wasn't the first to look at me like that. Slowly, I smiled. I was never the cowering type anyway.

He sucked his front teeth and opened his mouth to say something more, but then stopped. Frowned. Swiveled around to face the house.

"Look what I found!" called another voice, and my stomach dropped to the ground, ice running through my veins as Beckett came around the end of the porch, his hands up, his face pale. Jimmy walked along behind him, blood smeared from a split lip and a nasty cut on his cheek.

"No!" I growled, coming up off the ground, scrabbling toward the nearest man, only to be grabbed by another and flung back down like a ragdoll. One of them stomped on me, kicking me in the ribs, in the stomach, wherever he could get at, the fat toe of his boot punching the air out of my lungs and doubling me into a ball.

"That's enough, Larris," the man with the ion rifle said. "I can't question the dead."

The kicking stopped and I lay there, gagging and hurting, gulping at the air.

"Sit her up. And bring those boys over here."

Hands fumbled through my clothes, yanking at me, and then I was made to unfold enough to sit up, and Jimmy was shoved down beside me, Beckett next to him, the three of us in a sorry little line.

Beckett was sniffling, trying hard not to cry.

The man with the ion rifle surveyed us each in turn. I could feel it, even though I wasn't looking at him. Just those big black boots with their fancy silver buckles, and ammo loops all up the sides.

"A few days ago, I lost something. Something very valuable."

The boots crossed my line of sight, thunking in the gravel. Mercenaries wore boots like that. Da had worn boots like that. I hugged my throbbing ribs and grimaced as a cough sliced through me.

The man with the ion rifle kept talking. "Now... the man I work for, he wants his valuables back. So I have been in pursuit of it, and I have pursued it straight to your barn. It should have been inside, but upon searching, it was discovered that it has gone to ground somewhere. So... I would ask... as the owners of this premises... where you think this thing... this valuable thing... could have gone?"

Silence.

The boots came to a halt in front of me. Then, again, slower and a little louder: "Where... is... the... Mech?"

"Why should we tell you anything," Jimmy spat. "You're just going to kill us anyway. Might as well get it over with."

I shook my head, trying to get my gloriously brave idiot brother to shut up.

"Huh. See... I think you will tell me," the man with the rifle said. Quietly. Like he was discussing the weather. Then he drew a sidearm from a hip holster, pulled the slide back, and aimed it at Beckett's head. "I think you're going to tell me exactly what I want to hear —"

A bullet tore through the man's outstretched hand, sending the revolver flying. The report rang out a split-second later, and all of the men went scrabbling and ducking for cover.

Instantly, I shoved Jimmy toward Beckett. "The water trough, run!"

Jimmy didn't ask. He just grabbed Becks, and the two of them started for the big metal tub at the end of the paddock fence. I didn't wait to find out if they made it. I lunged to my feet and headed straight for the lean-to, using every last inch of my long legs to eat up the ground between me and the wavering outline of the gopher.

Gunfire erupted behind me, answering shots popping from the fire, but I kept moving, somehow knowing the Mech was going to do whatever it took to let me get to where I was going.

There wasn't much of a plan at all, just get the gopher away from the fire, get the boys in the gopher, get gone. I winced, hissing at the roiling, billowing heat of the flames rolling out of the barn. The light was so fierce I had to squint, and the last few yards I ran blind, tears streaming from my eyes, the air searing my mouth and nose. Then abruptly I crashed into the door of the gopher. I swatted at it, fumbling madly for the pull. There was a sizzle when my skin met the smooth metal of the handle, but then I wrenched it open and was inside the cab, sliding over the hot leather of the seat and groping for the starter chain.

One yank. The engine kicked like a stubborn mule, the gears wallowing, the belts soft. "Come on... " Another yank. The gopher sputtered and went still again.

Terror clawed at me. I was going to die. The fuel tanks were going to overheat any second, and I was sitting right there on top of them, frying myself crispy. "Start, you flaighan beauty, start!" I hauled on the starter chain again.

With a grinding rasp, the gopher roared to life. A high-pitched crazy-woman laugh burst out of my parched throat. Without even looking through the front glass, I released the flywheel, slammed the steering lever all the way forward, and sent the big old army vehicle rumbling out the open end of the lean to and into the yard, toward the water trough.

Shots pinged off the armored side panels of the doors and the cargo bed. The right-side window shattered into thick, jagged shards, letting in a sudden gust of cool night air. Cringing as low as I could, I steered more by guess than by sight, not caring what I plowed down or ran over on my way to the boys. There was a wooden crunch – one of the fence rails – the gopher bounced and rocked and I pulled to the left a little to get clear. The trough. If that was the fence, the trough had to be right there— I popped up just in time to avoid ramming into a thousand gallons of water, launched myself out the door, and went pelting forward around the curve of the tub. I could see Jimmy sitting there, bent over, and at first I only thought he must not have heard the gopher. "Jimmy, come on, come on! We gotta —"

He looked up, his eyes round. He was holding Becks like Becks was a baby, cradling him close. "He's shot. Cress. I... he's shot."

I fell to my knees beside them, and for too many heartbeats the whole world stopped moving. Bullets flew behind us, zinging and thwacking into the bulk of the gopher and the water trough, but nothing was hitting us. Everything was quiet.

Then Becks let out a thready little sound of pain, and I came jolting back into reality. I shook my head. "No. No. We're taking him to Doc Starling. Come on."

I pulled at Jimmy's arm, at first just trying to get him to move, then helping him to his feet, holding Beckett's head as we staggered and hunched around the water trough to the gopher.

I got the boys in on the passenger side, then squeezed around between the front and the trough, and was just about to climb up to the driver's seat when the Mech came limping out of the barn, hobbling toward us, one arm hanging useless, his left leg dragging. A round tore into him, and he turned, lurching backwards as he took aim with what looked like one of those fancy ion rifles the men had been carrying. Whoever had been firing at us quit.

I didn't even think, I just yanked on the release line and let the tailgate fall open.

"Get in back!" I shouted and hauled myself up stepladder into the cab, slammed the door, threw the drive lever forward, and cranked the steering shaft hard to the left.

There was a jerk as the cargo bin dipped, taking the Mech's weight, and then we were jolting down the drive.

"Hang on, Becks. Hang on," I barked, ratcheting into second, then third, then fourth gear, blessing the old Coalition engineers for their determination to make everything war-resistant.

We got as far as the first bend, down by the greenoak grove, when we came up on a string of heavy vehicles parked across the road, blocking everything up without even so much as a spanner to squeeze through.

Swearing under my breath I hit the brakes, bringing the gopher to a stop as headlamps popped on, and the dazzle of bright lights glared at us.

There was movement beyond the lights.

Slowly, four men stepped out into the road. Four men, with rifles at their shoulders.