Page 178 of Dustwalker

He approached Ronin and Lara as the crowd thinned. Bots and humans alike assisted the wounded in a slow, careful journey to the clinic, where soldiers were removing rubble and deactivated gearheads.

“Heartwarming as this is, you two need medical attention,” Cooper said, smiling. Maul and Chester came up behind him, the latter with several new holes in the front of his casing. His walk was labored, but steady.

“We’ll get to it,” Lara said.

“Thank you.” Ronin nodded to Chester. “Thank you for keeping my wife safe. We owe you everything.”

Chester grinned. “All I did was stand in front of some bullets. Not the hardest job I’ve had.”

Lara chuckled. “I would’ve done the same for you, except, you know. The death thing.”

Ronin laughed, though he didn’t find the joke particularly funny.

She was alive.

And so was he.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

The bot district was quiet as Ronin and Lara walked along the street. He had his arm around her shoulders, holding her against his side, while one of hers was looped around his lower back. She leaned against him not because she needed support, but because she wanted to be as close to him as possible. That desire was mutual.

He didn’t intend to ever let her go again.

The midmorning sun cast their shadows ahead of them. He was sure there was some sort of symbolism in that—their shadows, merged into one, leading them home.

Ronin stole a glance at her. The cuts on her cheek had scabbed over, and the dressings on her shoulder and side were hidden under her clothing, which was still stained with blood.

An unsettling buzz ran through his processors. He hated that she’d been hurt, but that couldn’t overpower his happiness and relief that her injuries had been so minor. Not everyone had been so fortunate yesterday.

Dozens of wounded had streamed into the clinic after the battle, accompanied by friends, family, and neighbors. McGowan, Mercy, and the staff had worked ceaselessly to triage and treat the wounded, not slowing even when Nancy arrived with some of her team an hour later.

Once Ronin had ensured Lara’s wounds were tended, he’d joined her in assisting the efforts in any way they could. The long, difficult morning had stretched into a long, difficult day, and nightfall hadbrought only minor relief. Few of Cheyenne’s residents had gone to their homes. Most found what comfort they could right there in the clinic, sleeping alongside the soldiers who’d come to fight for them.

Exhaustion had overtaken Lara in the small hours of the morning. Ronin had sat down with her, their backs against a wall, and she’d slept leaning against him.

Sometime near dawn, his turn for repairs had come. He’d very nearly declined despite the grinding in his hip and the alerts warning him of his declining mobility. But Lara had stirred and demanded he go. Unwilling to leave his side, she’d gone with him, and had dozed in a chair in the repair room as a machine fixed him.

The morning had come with a grim count. Seven of the soldiers from the base and twelve of Cheyenne’s residents had fallen in the battle, eleven humans and eight bots total. Apart from Cobalt and the handful of defectors, every gearhead had been deactivated.

Lara halted abruptly. Ronin stopped as well, watching as she slowly scanned their surroundings. She took in a deep breath and let it out measuredly before whispering, “He’s gone.”

Ronin’s brow furrowed, and he tilted his head.

Lara’s next breath was shaky, and she trembled against Ronin. “He’s really gone, right?”

“He is, Lara.”

“But…forever?” She turned her gaze up to meet his, and her eyes were troubled, shimmering with gathering tears. “Because you came back. What if someone brings him back? What if?—”

Ronin lifted a hand to cradle the side of her face. “He’sgone, Lara. Forever. You’re all right. We’re all right.”

When she closed her eyes, the tears rolled down her cheeks. “He’s dead. He’s really dead.”

Sobbing, she collapsed against him, clutching him tighter.

Ronin turned toward her and embraced her fully. Lara pressed her face against his chest. There was a rawness in her cries that spoke not necessarily of sorrow, but something much stronger, much deeper. It penetrated his casing and clawed into his circuitry, tearing at him in ways he’d never known were possible before her.

And Ronin simply held her, petting a hand down her hair and back, soothing her without words.