by Tom Dowd
"Obviously," the spirit said. "But there is no radiation." He fingered a small badge of plastic dangling from Kyle's body armor. It was battered, but it was still green. "See."
Kyle looked down at it. "How the frag ..."
"The bomb went off inside the insect's ward. And I think most of it was held there."
Kyle turned to look back that way and saw a woman standing a few meters distant. She was battered and bruised, her once-stylish short blond hair matted with drying blood, the left side of her pale face dark and swollen. She was pulling a long, torn purple raincoat tight about her and Kyle could see she was favoring her left arm.
"Kyle?" She said in a hoarse voice, taking a half-step forward.
"Oh my God . . ." he said, reaching out his good arm toward her. She stumbled against him and he ignored the pain in his arm and shoulder as he wrapped it around her and pulled her close. Hanna Uljaken began to cry, and after a moment he did too.