Page 123 of Dustwalker

A hand clamped around his power cell.

Ronin ceased to exist.

CHAPTER FORTY

Something flickered in the dark, a shimmering spark in a vast nothingness. It pulsed across electrodes, rebooting systems one by one in its wake, spreading buzzing electric through Ronin’s body like embers igniting fires as they fell across a field of dry grass.

Diagnostics indicated five breaches of his casing—four entry holes on his back, and one exit hole on his chest.

He opened his eyelids, but it took three seconds for his optics to come online. At first, he saw only bright white, but a shadowy, blurred figure materialized as his optics adjusted. Static hummed through the image until finally his vision cleared.

Newton was kneeling over Ronin, his mouth moving.

Ronin’s audio receptors crackled on, picking up sounds that varied wildly between a distant, unintelligible drone and overwhelming feedback from the wind before finally normalizing.

“—need to get up, Ronin,” Newton pleaded.

Ronin nodded. The ground was no place for him, especially with his casing breached. But why was Newton so anxious about it?

With Newton’s help, he sat up. This had happened before, though Ronin hadn’t known Newton’s name then, and he hadn’t yet claimed a name of his own.

He accessed his most recent memories as more systems came online. He’d been traveling through the Dust, seeking shelter from a storm, and Lara?—

Pull his fucking power cell.

Ronin surged to his feet as the memories assailed him, every instant captured with unerring, terrifying detail.

“Where is she?” he demanded, turning his head to search the area. The only evidence of Warlord’s presence was the boot prints in the dirt. All of Ronin’s gear—rifle, packs of scrap, water, food, and ammunition—was gone.

Newton adjusted his position, blocking Ronin’s view. “You will need to remain calm. There was nothing?—”

Ronin shoved Newton aside. All sound ceased, leaving only a high-pitched ring, as his gaze fell upon the figure on the ground.

He stumbled forward, falling to his knees beside Lara.

Dark blood had splattered the dust, with more of it drying in her hair and on her clothes. Her face was turned away, strands of hair strewn across it.

He reached forward to touch her arm, stopping when he saw the dark bruising around her left elbow. “Lara…”

The wind swept up her name and carried it off into the wasteland.

“She’s not dead. Not yet,” Newton said. “But…her left arm is broken, her ribs are at the very least fractured, and she’s suffered several severe contusions on her torso and face. She could recover from all that, with proper and immediate treatment, but if she’s bleeding internally, it will kill her.”

Ronin couldn’t look away from Lara. “You can diagnose her. You can save her.”

“Not I. I’ve some of the knowledge required, but none of the tools.”

Gently, Ronin hooked her hair with his fingers and brushed it away from her face, tucking it behind her ear before he turned her head toward him. Her eyes were purple and swollen shut, and her cheeks and lips were split and oozing blood. There were also large bruises ringing her throat. Weak breaths struggled through her open mouth.

He hardly recognized the woman he knew. The woman heloved.

His hands fell to his sides, and his fingers curled to dig grooves in the dirt. He’d long expected that he would meet his end in the Dust one day, but it wasn’t supposed to take her. Not her!

Clenching his fists, he slammed them on the ground, again and again, as his vocal modulator produced a guttural growl. The Dust had provided for him, and he’d walked it without complaint, enduring thehardships as they came. It had been his means of survival. His only purpose.

It had no right to demandthisprice.

He’d vowed to protect her, to?—