At the bottom of the stairs, we found a set of double doors, but heavy chains secured them. I fiddled with the lock, but it wouldn’t give way. I told Hanna to face away and cover her ears as I shot out the glass, kicking out several large pieces with my boot.
Hanna and I edged around the perimeter of the building. I stayed in front to make sure our path was clear. No sign of Heavies—or soldiers. My biocuff confirmed we were heading north. Nearly two minutes had passed since I’d messaged Tyren; I set a timer for another three.
Then we reached a wide street. To the south, gunfire and explosions tore through the rain-soaked city. I glanced back and saw more pods descending.
The avenue looked clear, and we sprinted across, sheltering against the side of a store.
Stopping for a moment, I checked Hanna. “Are you doing okay?”
Her teeth chattered and she trembled. She tried to speak but slurred her words.
“We're almost there.”
She nodded. God, I hoped that cruiser waited for us.
We passed the store and neared a cafe. A small alleyway led to another street.
As we sprinted through the alley, I halted in front of a pile of ten bodies. My eyes practically bulged out as I searched the pile for the nun’s white and black clothing—for the children. I gagged, despite my relief that the dead were adults.
I poked my head out to survey the boulevard and glimpsed two Heavies approaching. I backed up quickly, my heart leaping into my throat.
No time to think. The creatures were nearly in view—would see us at any moment—and I jumped onto the bodies and pulled Hanna down with me. “Pretend we’re dead,” I whispered.
But she shook so violently—worse now that we were lying on top of rotting flesh. The Heavies, less than ten seconds away, would notice us for sure.
I shifted to wrap my arm and cradle her, resting a palm on her chest. Closing my eyes, I focused the nanos to send a message: Be still. My arms tingled, and the tech swarmed down my fingertips and into Hanna. Beads of light gathered and soothed her. Her shakes calmed.
Motionless, I held my breath and hers somehow.
The Heavies approached, their dense legs stomping against the asphalt road.
Please let them pass.
Their footsteps were steady, rhythmic, until one halted. Its companion stopped too. They were close. Too close. This is it. We’re dead.
Then, suddenly, the pile of bodies moved.
I sent a thought into Hanna, Stay perfectly still.
Something was happening, but I didn’t know what it meant. Squinting my eyes, I saw a tentacle perusing the nearby bodies. One of the Heavies wrapped a fleshy limb around a leg. The creature dragged a dead man out, upsetting the pile. Another body rolled on top of me and Hanna. The odor of rotting flesh invaded my nose and mouth, and I nearly wretched.
The stomping started again, followed by a scraping noise. When the sound of their steps faded, I peeked and saw them dragging away a man's body. They rounded the corner onto another street.
I shifted and pushed a body off us, then helped Hanna up. She looked dazed, but her shock symptoms had faded.
“Let's go,” I said, and we ran into the opposite alley, continuing north.
We passed two more streets that were incredibly—unbelievably—empty.
Rounding a corner, I saw the cruiser waiting in a public park among a copse of trees.
“Almost there. Run fast,” I dragged Hanna along.
We sprinted, and I didn’t dare look behind, afraid to see Heavies storming after us, reaching with their long tentacles.
The landing door slid open, and Tyren leaned forward, arms outstretched, and he pulled us inside.
We had made it in time.
The cruiser lifted off, and as it soared, I stared down at the burning city and said a prayer for the dead.
One week later
An old ballad from the 1950s hummed on an antique record player behind the dimly lit bar. Strings of miniature red and green and blue lights lined the edges of the ceiling and hung lazily across the walls. The decorations made the soldiers believe they were somewhere else, away from a war zone. For the night, at least.
I took a seat on an empty stool, ready to celebrate my eighteenth birthday. Alone.
The way I liked it.
Back before everything had happened—before the Heavies had changed the world forever—eighteen had been too young to drink in New York. But the rules were different in Germany. Anyway, no one cared much about the old rules.
After a few nights out, I’d grown to like the taste of whiskey. Jorge, the bartender, came over. “The usual?” I nodded, and he served it in a glass with two ice cubes.
Raising the cup to my nose, I inhaled the scent. Musty. Deep. Something about the odor fascinated me. I took a sip, savoring the numbing sensation that moved along my lips and teased my tongue.
Jorge’s was becoming my new spot. I’d spent the last four nights here. I drank enough to feel numb, but not get drunk.
Just enough to forget about what had happened in the orphanage. My first taste of war. I had the power to save lives—more than any medic or doctor I had seen in the hospital.
But I couldn’t save them all. I felt like a failure.
After that first day in Tyren’s squad, so many had died—Perez, Samuel, the pile of dead bodies.
I inhaled, taking a breath and fighting back tears as I thought about Hanna’s face when she’d learned her brother was dead.
Someone pulled out the stool next to me, yanking me from my thoughts.
“Is this seat open?”
I checked my momentary surprise and shrugged.
Tyren took a seat and ordered a Manhattan. I’d have to try that next time.
He stared straight ahead. “I noticed you haven't been hanging out in the rec room with the other troops during evening free time.”
“I like it here.”
“You've been quiet.” He arched one eyebrow. “More than usual.”
I shifted
