House of Reeds

the creature's snout.

A spray of blood painted the ceiling, blinding the next soldier swarming up the corridor. Dawd kicked the body of the first aside, forced himself up with one hand and thumbed the second magazine coil into the automatic. There was a burst of full-auto fire, he ducked and shot back into the smoke-choked corridor. His visor compensated for the haze and two more Jehanan staggered, pitching backwards. But there were more in the corridor behind them.

Dawd cursed; his right arm felt cold and weak and his left hip was throbbing ferociously. He ducked into the next compartment and found it choked with wounded civilians. The window was gone, ripped away by the machine-gun fire from the trucks, and the passengers were crying piteously, snouts smeared with blood, clutching their wounded to scaly chests. Broken glass was everywhere.

'Shit!' The sergeant popped back out into the corridor and pitched a handful of grenades at the muzzle-flashes. More 8mm slapped past him and he ran, bouncing from side to side. The whoomp-whoomp- whoomp of explosions propelled him down the passage. The rear half of the train car blew apart, sending a gout of smoke, wood and bodies cascading onto the tracks. The roof buckled, sending a rush of flame into the morning air. A long plume of black smoke spilled out behind the ruined car.

Still the train rushed on, heedless, clattering down the long straightaway into the outskirts of Parus.

The roar of an assault rifle in the passageway snapped Parker awake and sent his blood racing with horror. For a moment, he didn't know what to do. His mind started to question its identification of the violent sound, but his skin was flushed and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end.

Magdalena had jerked awake as well, and her head darted from side to side. 'I smell -' she started to declare, and was immediately drowned out by a second burst of machine-gun fire. The little window looking out into the passage shattered, and something zzzzinged into the wooden wall above Parker's head.

'Blessed Mother Mary!' the pilot gasped, throwing himself onto the floor, hands over his head. 'Get down, Mags!'

The Hesht plastered herself to the floor, mostly on top of Parker, which made him cry out in a muffled voice. Desperate to breathe, he twisted aside, head coming up slightly. Peering over the Hesht's furry shoulder, he caught sight of a human walking backwards, silhouetted against the windows lining the passageway. A Macana assault rifle bucked in his hands, fouling the air with propellant smoke.

'Oh, good and gracious lord,' Parker whined into Maggie's ear. 'Some stupid-ass Imperial Eagle Knight is shooting up the train!'

Colmuir reached the end of the third passenger car and ducked around the corner into a tiny space reserved for the washroom. The wooden sliding doors connecting the cars were banging open, letting a harsh, dusty wind tug at his hair. Gunfire stabbed up the corridor behind him and the facing wall splintered, torn by a handful of bullets. The master sergeant plucked a grenade out of his gunrig, twisted the arming knob and skated it back down the corridor. Then he jumped through the connecting doors and into the next car.

He was met by a wild burst of machine-gun fire and shattering glass. Colmuir plastered himself against the wall, cursing violently. Two Jehanan soldiers rushed down the corridor at him. The master sergeant swung his Macana underarm, ripped off a burst – punching the lead slick back, chest pulping red – and threw himself into the shadow of the falling soldier. The second Jehanan hoisted up his gun, cut loose a burst over the body of his falling comrade, and then the long, scaled head pitched back, punched through by a single shot from Colmuir's rifle.

As he dashed forward the length of the car, there was a sharp boom! as the grenade went off, shattering all of the windows in the second car and flinging a screaming Jehanan out to bounce along the side of the tracks, limbs flailing. Heart thudding with fear, the Skawtsman's hands were busy dumping one spent ammunition coil and loading up another.

He reached another set of connecting doors, stepped sideways into cover, heard the bang- bang of the Webley discharging and seized the opening lever for the sliding door. Two bursts of assault rifle fire smote his ears, there were screams – human screams – and Colmuir threw the lever, bursting into the compartment beyond with a single leap.

The swaying contents of a baggage car appeared before him. He saw three Jehanan in black body armor, modern combat goggles on their heads and cut loose with the Macana. The tiny space erupted with sound – bullets flayed the Takshilan commandos – and one of them, spinning at the sound of the door, rushed in low, his rifle blossoming with flame.

Colmuir felt a huge kick in his chest and shoulder and flew back into the wall. He bounced off, twitched the Macana aside, fired a burst into the Jehanan and saw the commando's head burst like a ripe melon. One of the others was down and there were bodies scattered on the floor. Colmuir dragged the rifle back towards the last Jehanan, but that one had sprung across the compartment and smashed the gun aside with a blow from his own rifle.

The master sergeant threw himself into the motion, colliding with the commando's chest. The blow staggered both of them, though the Jehanan recovered instantly; his brawny, scaled chest easily absorbed the impact. The Jehanan kicked, smashing a long, clawed foot into the side of Colmuir's head. The Skawtsman slammed into the wall again, vision blurred, then choked as a second kick lashed into his stomach.

Gagging, Colmuir felt huge claws seize him and fling him against the other wall with a bone-shattering crash. He crumpled. The sound of a knife rasping from a sheath penetrated the blinding pain. The Skawtsman twisted, trying to roll up, and the knife sheared through his gunrig, pinning him to the wall.

A gaping jaw filled with chisel-sharp teeth yawned in front of Colmuir's face.

The Webley belched flame and a heavy 9mm round punched through the Jehanan's skull from side to side. Blood vomited out of the mouth, blinding the Skawtsman. The prince's voice was yelling something, but Colmuir had lost his earbug and he was deafened by the pistol blast. The master sergeant wiped gore from his eyes and tried to stand up. A hand seized his shoulder.

Tezozуmoc's face appeared over him, staring down with wild fear. The boy dragged at Colmuir's shoulders, but now the Eagle Knight's legs had gone weak and his medband was shrilling wildly. Over the prince's shoulder, the Skawtsman saw Petrel's face – pale as ghost, spotted with blood, her raven hair a black cloud behind her head – turning in alarm.

Two crisp shots rang out and Tezozуmoc was flung aside, his Fleet skinsuit crackling and turning gray as a bullet smashed into the back of each of the boy's knees. Petrel was raising the Webley when a long-barreled military pistol – Colmuir didn't recognize the type – pressed into her throat. Pale as a sheet, she released the pistol, letting the Express fall.

There was a frozen moment as the Eagle Knight slid to the floor, hands numb. A Jehanan commando with blacked-out officer's tabs gestured Petrel aside and reached down to seize the prince's neck. Colmuir forced his hand to move. Muscles and nerves responded with glacial speed. He saw the pistol turn over once in the air. His hand was out, reaching and -

The Jehanan's tail whipped around, slapping the Webley across the compartment with a ringing clatter. The officer grinned, hoisted Tezozуmoc up and dragged him away. A hoarse hooting sound filled the baggage car and Petrel, hands behind her head, hurried to keep ahead of the gesturing pistol.

Groaning, Colmuir scrabbled for purchase on the floor, trying to lever himself up. He came face to face with Cecily, whose lifeless eyes were filmed with blood. Her festival dress was torn, her chest and stomach oozing crimson. The Skawtsman swallowed, tasting iron, and groped for his backup pistol.

'Ghawww-yeh,' rumbled an alien voice. Colmuir raised his eyes and found the muzzle of a HK-45B pressed against his forehead. The metal was hot and burned his skin.

Dawd scrambled down the third car passage, his way blocked by burning debris and scattered bodies. At least two Jehanan in uniform were sprawled among the wreckage. Buildings rushed past outside, the agricultural plain now filling with warehouses, single-family dwellings and kilometer after kilometer of brick yards. The Skawtsman had his backup Nambu in one hand and a combat knife in the other. A chorus of screams and hooting wails came from the compartments he passed, making him sweat.

He ducked past a half-open door near the end of the car, automatically swinging his pistol to cover the opening and froze – eye to eye with a sandy-haired, thin human and the huge black shape of a Hesht – each of whom were wielding lengths of splintered wood.

'Ay!' Dawd shouted, jumping aside and jerking the automatic back. 'No quarrel!'

A club split the air where he'd been and the Skawtsman shook his head, scrambling on down the passage.