14
Safi runs into the building, and we run after her. "Who's coming?" I ask.
"Vilor, I think. A lot of them. Vehicles. Two-wheeled, mostly, and some larger machines."
"That's Vilor," Rak says tersely. "What do we need?"
"The food, the water. Whatever you brought with you. We have to leave now." She punches in the code to her room. Rak grabs our pack and the jugs of water. Alik seizes his travel bag, and Safi stuffs a few extra items and pieces of clothing into her own pack. I scoop the burner, pot, utensils, and food into a blanket and pull the corners together in a makeshift bundle. My hands move more slowly than I want them to, my fingers thicker than usual.
"Go, go!" Again that shrill note of anxiety in Safi's voice. No, not anxiety. Terror.
"How far away?" says Rak.
"Not far." She swears as we clatter down the steps. "I should have been checking more often. I was distracted with the fuel and with this one, chattering nonstop." She points at Alik.
"You can thank me that we have the fuel we need to get out of here," Alik says, flinging the front door wide and holding it open for the rest of us.
"Don't think I don't know what you were planning," Safi yells at him, racing to the COB and swinging her pack onto the floor by the front seats. "All those questions about how the machine works, how it handles? You were planning to steal it."
"Only if I had no other options," says Alik.
"Just for that, you sit in the bin with the fuel," says Safi. "Zilara, with me, and Rak to the perch. Stow your things wherever you find space. Oh, dung-rats! I forgot Spawn."
"We're not bringing that monster with us," I say, circling the COB. I wedge the bundle of food and supplies into the bin and climb up to my seat.
"No, he'd chew us to pieces. But I'm not leaving him here in chains, either." She unhooks the chain from the jacanal's neck. He snaps at her and slinks off to a shady corner of the yard to sulk.
Safi swings open the metal gate, props it with a chunk of broken sandstone, and runs back to the machine. Unlike my clumsy clambering up the side of the monstrous vehicle, she knows just where to step, and her feet propel her up to the driver's seat in seconds.
"Find something to hold on to," she says. She grips the big lever between us and throws it upright with effort. The patchwork beast underneath us rumbles to life. "Zil, push that button. No, the gray one. Yes, that." I press it while she flips another switch, checks a gauge.
Growling and lurching, the COB jolts backward and then grinds forward, massive treads kicking up sand and pebbles. I pull my goggles over my eyes; then I twist my hair into a knot and tuck the ends under the goggle strap, at the back. A stretchy band would be better, but at least this keeps the hair off my neck.
Slowly the COB grinds towards the gate.
"We're not getting away from anyone in this thing," I say.
Safi's jaw tightens. "Wait until we get clear of town."
"Are we going to fit through the gate?" I squint at the space.
"No."
I clutch the bent metal arm of my seat as the COB rumbles faster, louder, angling for the gateway.
"Hang on!" Safi yells.
Another lurch, and a whine from the engine, and a jarring crash—the sheets of metal wall shriek as they crumple and collapse.
"This is very uncomfortable," yells Alik over the noise. I turn back to look at him. He's seated between the red fuel canisters and the packs, being bumped and battered with every jerk of the COB. His bag is tucked between his knees. "I feel that I should point out, again, that I'm the reason we have enough fuel to escape."
"Stop complaining," says Rak. "You got a gun?"
"Yes."
"Have it ready."
"Zil, check my bag," Safi says. "Front left compartment. You can have the gun since I'm driving."
We're rolling down the narrow street, crunching debris under the treads and bumping over stones. Except for a few shocked residents, there's no one in sight. "I don't see any Vilor," I say.
"They're coming fast." Safi clips the words. "Get the gun ready. No stun mode at this distance—put it in standard mode and shoot to kill."
I swallow the fear clogging my throat and lean over to dig the gun out of the pocket of Safi's bag. It's a smaller model than Rak's, but chunky and heavy, with a holo-sight attachment tied on with wire and some dark adhesive holding in the charge cartridge. "Is this thing safe to use?"
"No idea," Safi says. "I've only fired it a few times, for practice. But compared to getting caught by the Vilor, anything is safe."
Checking the location of the safety switch, I cradle the gun in my lap. None of us speak for a few minutes.
Heat presses like a heavy hand on the back of my neck. Sweat trickles down my chest and oozes in my armpits and at the juncture of my thighs. The jerk and rumble of the machine jars my bones and teeth as we cross a ridge of hardened earth. People turn to watch as we pass, their faces swathed, masked, or goggled against the sun and sand, bodies draped in loose clothing—faded shirts, wide-legged shorts, long skirts. Their goggles and billowy clothes give them an alien cast—but they're human like me, men and women and teens and children, and they're about to be ravaged and slaughtered if Safi is right about what's coming.
"We have to warn them," I say.
Safi doesn't take her eyes from the road. "They won't believe you."
"I don't care." I stand up, wavering, and catch the rim of the windshield to keep myself stable. "The Vilor are coming!" I yell. "You have to hide! Find weapons! Run! Fight!"
The figures watch me, some with squinted eyes, others with blank goggle lenses. They don't run, or hide, or prepare.
I call again, the same words. Behind me Alik snorts with laughter. There's a thump, and a cry of pain. "What was that for?" Alik says, angry.
"Laugh at her again." Rak's voice is a threat, a tense warning.
I keep yelling to the bystanders, but none of them act. They only stare.
"They don't believe you," says Safi. "You're a stranger, and you're riding in this monster, and you're with me. That's three reasons for them to think you're insane."
I slump back into my seat. "They're going to suffer, because of us. We brought the Vilor here—me, and Alik."
"I don't know who they're after, one or both of you, or neither," says Safi. "But the Vilor don't need an excuse to attack whenever and wherever they want."
"Friends, we've got trouble," shouts Alik.
I whirl around. Through the haze of dust roiling in our wake, the street stretches behind us, lined with shops and shacks in two dull-colored rows, narrowing in the distance until they break off where the dunes take over. Beyond that point, far away, black specks and puffs of sand mar the smooth lines of the desert.
"Safi, can this thing go any faster?"
"Once we're clear of the town," she says through gritted teeth.
We aren't the only ones who have seen the approaching specks on the horizon. People at the fringes of the street are speaking louder now, moving faster, like molecules heated and energized. Safi cranks the lever another notch, and the COB kicks up more dust as we move faster. A man darts across the street right in front of our oncoming treads, and Safi screeches a curse at him.
The buildings roll past on either side, the end of the street coming nearer. Empty desert ahead. Almost there.
"Get ready!" Safi shouts.
Propping the gun between my legs, I brace my feet on a metal bar and grip the arm of my seat. I glance back at Rak—he's looking at me, dark eyes narrowed. I can't read his expression.
The last shacks on the outskirts of Ankerja roll past. We're clear.
"Here we go!" Safi's fingers dance over buttons, and she jams the lever all the way down. With a roar, the machine surges forward, its treads grinding over the sand, propelling us ahead, faster and faster. Wind rushes past my cheeks, loosening strands of hair.
I glance back again, to the street we just left. People are running into buildings as the distant shapes
of the Vilor materialize, growing darker and larger much faster than they should. Whatever vehicles they're riding are incredibly fast—much faster than the COB.
"We're not going to make it. They're going to see us getting away," calls Alik. "Can't you make it go faster?"
"This thing wasn't made to carry four adults plus fuel and luggage." Safi's voice barely cuts through the roar of the machine's engine. "And I didn't plan on being chased out of town." The COB is picking up speed, though, and my heart jumps with hope that we've escaped.
And then, from the left, two vehicles zoom across the sand, angling for us. Each double-wheeled machine carries two riders—one crouched at the steering bar, the other standing behind, massive gun raised and ready.
The Vilor must have planned a multi-pronged approach, coming into Ankerja from different angles. And the ones entering from this side of town are trying to cut off our escape.
"Two more on the other side," yells Alik.
I spin, and sure enough, another pair of vehicles is racing over the desert, leaving the town behind, following us. They can't know who we are at this distance—so it's the thrill of the hunt, then. The urge to catch every single one of their prey, down to the last squirming stray.
Bolts of light sing from the guns of the closest Vilor pair, to our left. Alik roars in terror as one of them passes over his ducked head. I don't blame him for the terror—one wrong hit to those fuel canisters and he'll be a smoking crater in seconds.
Rak swings off his exposed perch and spreads himself low over the machine, propping his back against the bin and bracing his feet against the rear bar and an exhaust pipe. His elbow rests on the metal perch, and he returns fire in a rapid stream toward the Vilor on the left. Sinking down in my seat, I take aim at the incoming machines on the right.
At first I think I'm firing, and then I realize that the sound is coming from Rak's gun, and Alik's. My gun is doing absolutely nothing, because I haven't deactivated safety mode. Cursing, I switch it off and shoot at the nearest Vilor. Each burst of boltfire feels like fighting back against everything that's happened to me since I got here. I fire, and fire, and fire, until finally one of my bolts hits home and a Vilor gunner topples from his spot. But a bolt from the gunner on the other bike sears into the metal plating a finger's breadth from my hand, sizzling and crackling over its surface. I jerk my hand away from the spot and duck lower.
"More coming!" Rak shouts.
My throat constricts. Four more vehicles behind us, following. They're not close enough to fire on us yet, but the distance is closing fast.
They're too close. They'll shoot, and they'll hit one of us, or the fuel, and that will be the end. I'm never getting home. I'll never be able to challenge my father about what he's done to me, about sending me here, the suppressor, the—
Suppressor. Power.
"Rak!" I shriek over the wind and the engine. "What about an explosion? Your ability, and mine!"
He's splayed across the machine, trying to keep a low profile so he doesn't get shot, and the strength and shape of his body is beautiful. He looks up at me, still firing towards the Vilor on his side.
"Your hand," he says.
I hold up my left hand, the one that I burned. It's probably almost healed by now, but the nano-patch is still in place. I'll have to remove it to do this. It will hurt like heartbreak but if it helps us escape—
"I'll be fine," I tell him.
But he shakes his head. "I can't do it. We're moving too fast. And I don't want you torching yourself."
"What the rutting bloodspawn are you two talking about?" Alik's eyes bulge. "Shut up and shoot!"
Rak fires again, and one of the Vilor drivers slumps over. His machine eddies and swerves, crashing to its side as the gunman is thrown, bonelessly end over end, until he smashes against the sandy earth. But there are still several Vilor machines, and they're closing around us, shooting enough to force our heads down, but not actually hitting us. They're doing it on purpose. Herding us. They want us alive.
"Hang on!" yells Safi again. As if we haven't been clutching this death machine the whole time, for fear of being shaken or shot off.
She wrenches the driving grip to the right, and the COB groans and veers in that direction. It's too slow a turn to actually impact the nearest Vilor machine—their bikes are quicker and more mobile, and the driver avoids our lumbering treads easily.
"Do you have anything else you can try?" Alik's voice tears the wind.
"Do you?" Safi yells back.
He swears and ducks down, digging in his pack. "I only have one of these, and I didn't want to use this unless it was absolutely necessary, but—"
"I think it's absolutely necessary," says Rak.
Alik crawls to the front edge of the bin, forcing his shoulders between the fuel canisters and speaking over my shoulder. "I'm going to throw a grenade. Maybe it will take out a couple of them. If you have anything else to use, darling, you'd better pull it out."
"I do," Safi says. "But it could kill us."
"I think I speak for Zilara and Rak when I say that being blown up isn't any worse than being taken by the Vilor," says Alik. A bolt screams past his head. "Screw this, I'm throwing it now. Zilara, cover me."
I twist around in my seat, staying low, and I shoot to the left of Alik, deliberately aiming very wide because I've never shot before today and the last thing I need is to bore a hole through my new ally's head.
The Vilor driver who's closest to us waves at me, his blue-tattooed face splitting in a huge grin at my ridiculous aim. His gunner seems to be wrestling with his weapon—maybe it stalled? The driver takes his hand off the grip again, this time gesturing obscenely, pantomiming something he's got planned for me when they finally force us to stop.
Narrowing my eyes, I touch the button to activate Safi's homemade holo-sight. I breathe in, then out. And I fire straight as I can, at the red dot floating between me and the driver's head.
His body jerks as the bolt strikes. He lurches forward for a second, eyes wide, and I smile as he topples off the seat. A heartbeat, and he's crushed under the wheels of the other Vilor machines. The gunner lurches forward to grab the driving grip, dropping his gun.
"Down!" cries Alik, and his arm flashes, and I bury my head in the split leather cushion of my seat, covering my ears.
A terrific explosion rocks the COB, and Safi's arms whirl at the wheel as she tries to keep it under control. I peek over the edge of my seat back. Flames stream from two of the Vilor machines, and a few others have spun out to the side, one trailing thick black smoke.
Safi cranks a dial and slams her foot onto a pedal, and flames jet from the back of the COB as it tears ahead, devouring the ground. The machine slants forward like a runner, back end jutting up with the power of whatever fuel boost she used. I grip my seat until my knuckles ache, keeping my jaw tight so my teeth don't chatter. A scream rises in my throat but I force it down—the rushing wind would rip it free anyway, as soon as it reached my lips.
Are they following us? Do I dare turn my head to look?
The COB crests a dune, and I do scream then, because the machine arches as if it's going to flip upside down and crush us all. But at the last minute the back end crashes to earth again and we're racing out into the wide open desert. I twist my head until I see Rak, still hanging on, and Alik, arms protecting his blond head. The Vilor haven't come over the dune yet.
Have they turned back?
I count my breaths and wait, watching.
A crisp line of yellow-brown sand, sharp against the bright blue wash of sky. Nothing breaks that line except two trails of smoke.
Nothing.
The COB's speed ebbs. Whatever fuel Safi injected to jet us forward is nearly used up. We're still moving fast, but at a much less terrifying speed.
I scan the top of the dune again.
Rak pulls himself up to the metal perch, gun across his lap, ready.
"Think they gave up?" says Alik. I curse him in my head
for saying it too soon—speaking the words could break our luck.
"Too soon to tell," Rak replies. "Don't stop, Safi."
"Are you joking?" She snorts. "I'm not stopping until we run through our first tank of fuel."
Hours later, when the COB's fuel gauge reads empty and we pause to refuel and drink, there's no sign of the Vilor. Empty sand in all directions, blank except for the trail we're leaving behind. Thankfully the desert winds are already beginning to scour away the COB's tracks.
No relaxing, no rejoicing. Not yet.
15
We climb back in the COB after fresh fuel for the machine and water for the rest of us. More heat, scouring and searing my skin. More rumbling engine, more sand kicked up in clouds. I hate the gritty grains between my teeth, under my fingernails.
I used to be bright and vivid and confident, like a thriving plant in a shady green forest far away. Here under the sun I am wilting, fading to nothing. The desert drinks the life from me until I am a sunken husk. My shoulders slump, my head hangs forward; I have no energy to sit upright. My eyes are closing.
"Here." Safi jostles my arm. "Drink this." She holds out a silver bottle.
"Water?" I ask.
"Something better. Keeps me awake after night shifts, when I don't have time to sleep during the day."
She's probably even more exhausted than I am. "If you need it, I don't want to—"
"Stop being such a Ceannan. Out here, if you need something, you take it. No apologies."
I snatch the bottle. "Fine."
"Just a sip," she warns.
I let the cool liquid flow into my mouth, and I swallow once.
Instead of burning down my throat like Alik's liquor, this drink spreads a delicious coolness along my parched throat, down into my sand-scratched lungs, up into my foggy brain. Clarity, refreshment, relief.
"What is that?" I gasp.
"Hulem."
Rak leans forward, frowning. "You gave her hulem?"
"Got a problem with that, Maraj? Against your religion?"
"Actually, yes."
"But drinking isn't?"
"Not in moderation, no."
Rebel of Scars and Ruin (The Evolved Book 1) Page 14