“What?” She grabbed the nocs from him and tried too. She searched for any sign of movement, but the flickering flames were all she could see.
Rowan’s PRD beeped. He read it quickly. She recognized the fast scroll of the PPC comm channel that he’d tapped into with the prototype listening device. “The troops have moved on to Black Canyon Camp. They’re about to strike! We only have a few minutes to reach them!”
She tossed him the keys, figuring if he knew the way, they could get there that much faster. He caught them in midair, then swung into the driver’s seat. She slid into the passenger side.
“I won’t let them take Black Canyon Camp,” Rowan swore. He hit the accelerator, and she slammed back into her seat.
They mowed over a number of dirt tracks, catching some air as they crested the hills. They could see the fires in Black Canyon Camp long before they reached it. It burned brightly on the horizon.
H124 held onto the armrest as he sped across dirt and broken roads.
Before long they parked the car on a rise and continued on foot, approaching the camp in darkness. When it came into view, H124 merely stared. Like the other site, dozens of tents and vehicles formed a makeshift encampment. But the scene was utter chaos. Badlanders had retreated to the edges of the bivouac, some taking shelter behind cars, others running for cover in the barren landscape beyond.
PPC troopers closed ranks, moving as one, an impenetrable line of black-clad soldiers wearing shock trooper gear. She slapped her hands over her ears as the Badlanders fired an impressively huge gun mounted in the back of a rugged vehicle. A pulse of light split the night sky, blinding flashes followed by cacophonous booms. Some of the shock troopers fell, and the line broke.
The death squad fired back, focusing their weapons on the Badlanders hiding behind the vehicles. The car with the mounted gun tumbled backward, the gunman screaming in agony as he rolled on the ground.
“What was that?” she gasped. There had been no flash this time.
“Sonic weapon,” Rowan said. “We’ve been unable to duplicate it.” He started running down the hill, drawing his own small handgun.
She didn’t know what she could do to help, but she couldn’t just stand by. She raced after him, taking shelter behind a burning vehicle on the perimeter of the fighting. Rowan started firing, taking out two death squad soldiers.
She pressed her back against the tire of the car, the rubber hot through her shirt. Cautiously she peered out, gauging the situation. If a lone PPC trooper was out there, maybe she could take him by surprise.
About twenty feet away, a dead trooper lay, his energy discharge weapon on the ground beside him. It was the same kind carried by the Repurposers. She ran over at a crouch and picked it up. Then she hurried to a jeep that had escaped the fires. She crawled under the car on her knees and elbows, barely emerging on the other side. Then she fired the flash burster into the line of soldiers, taking down the two on the end. They fell hard into the dirt, twitching. One of them turned to her, lifting his sonic weapon. She scrambled out from under the car and took off just as a blast came barreling past. The jeep tumbled sideways, and she dove. He spun to hit her again, but he was taken out by the Badlanders, who had resurrected the mounted gun.
She ran back to the overturned jeep, taking refuge on the far side of the skirmish. Catching her breath, she shinnied around the front of it, taking another look at whom she could hit next.
One of the soldiers had broken away from the rest and fired his sonic gun at a lone man. The victim screamed, falling to his knees. As the trooper stepped to one side, she recognized the fallen man at once. Byron. She jumped and ran toward the trooper, hitting him in the back with the flash burster. His body spasmed as he met the dirt. Racing forward, she skirted around the back of the advancing line, coming at Byron from the side. He struggled in the dirt, trying to stand up. She rushed to him, throwing an arm around him. Blood streamed from his ears, and he gasped for breath as she helped him up.
Already the trooper she’d hit was on his feet, shaking his helmeted head, trying to get his bearings. He lifted his weapon, focusing on her. She hit him again with the flash burster, and he staggered forward. But he wasn’t going down. As the electricity flashed through his armor, she realized it was shock-resistant. He raised the sonic gun, but she zapped him once more, trying to drag Byron to safety.
Between her and the trooper lay a dead Badlander, hand still curled around a gun. As the trooper brought up his firearm again, she let go of Byron and dove for the weapon, fingers closing around the cold metal. She took aim and pulled the trigger, firing point-blank through the faceplate of the trooper’s helmet. He listed forward, then fell to his knees. Then his arm sagged, and he fell face first, landing in a heap.
She stood over the trooper, hand trembling.
“Thank you,” Byron breathed behind her. She turned, helping him up once more. “Thank you.”
She lugged him over to a group of cars and gazed out at the battle. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The gun felt cold in her grip, and her mouth had gone dry. Her heart hammered. She looked out at the man she’d killed. She’d killed him. Now only four PPC soldiers still advanced, with more than a dozen Badlanders firing on them. As two more troopers went down, the remaining ones scattered, running for cover in separate directions.
“We’re winning,” Byron whispered, bringing his hands to
