So small.
“We should try and find the others,” I say quietly. “Give them a burial, too.”
“No need,” Cumi says hoarsely. “Gone.”
I try not to think about what might have happened to them. That’s Cumi’s burden to bear.
I inspect the damage I copped from the alien. I’m a real mess, but I’m no TBI. Cumi saw to that, stopped that Jelly before it tore my systems from my skull. What a kid. Downed a Jelly with a single human bone!
I find my missing Adaptive Combat Rifle. There are pieces of scrap metal stuck to it that were blasted off the Jelly when the railgun struck it. I attach these pieces to myself as strategically as possible to protect my more vulnerable parts, such as my core-motors. In the end I figure I look pretty funny with big squares of steel and carbon plastic tied to my chest and on top of my head.
But Cumi simply nods when he appraises me. No mirth there.
I take his hand – the one not clutching that bone – and we stroll across the wasteland and stand atop a small rise. Together, robot and boy, we watch the North-West horizon and the alien blue phosphorous glow behind Kuta Asli grow brighter, nearer.
And we wait for them to come.
The Cemetery Children (The Jabodetabek Tales Book 1) Page 4