Page 88 of Dustwalker

The joisted ceiling flickered into view through a smoky haze. Static crackled across Ronin’s optic feed, and white bars briefly scrolled through the image. He brought a hand up. The charred cuff of his coat was still around his wrist, but most of the skin was gone. A triangular piece of shrapnel jutted from his forearm. He pinched it and worked it loose.

His system of dermal sensors was the last to come online. It began with a single, small surge. Within an instant, waves of sizzling electricity assailed him with unrelenting agony, locking his limbs. The damaged sensor network was causing an overload. He disabled the interface, cutting off all dermal sensation.

Flakes of ash slowly fluttered toward the floor, some still glowing ember orange as they lit upon Ronin. He lifted his torso. The wad of bedding and his coat were still burning nearby, and flames were spreading across some of the hanging sheets and blankets. Before long, the whole building was likely to be consumed by fire.

He’d always acknowledged the strong possibility that his end would come like this—alone in a forgotten place, a ruin, with Ronin himself left as another broken artifact of a bygone era. The traders in the last town he’d been through would wonder where he’d gone, but that would be the last time anyone thought about him.

Dustwalkers came and went. Usually, they never came back again.

But therewassomeone who would think about him. There was someone waiting for him, worrying about him, someone depending upon him.

Lara.

He’d given his word. Hewouldreturn to her. Not because he was fond of Cheyenne, not because his residence was important to him. Not because he needed the trade.

Ronin needed Lara.

He shrugged off the sheets that had wrapped around him and smothered the remaining flames on his body, rolled onto his side, and attempted to regain his feet. His right knee refused to bend, its motion inhibited by embedded shrapnel. He reached for the pliers on his belt, but they were gone, and a quick scan of his surroundings did not locate them.

Bending down, Ronin attempted to grasp the shrapnel jutting from his knee with his skinless fingers. Despite their strength, his grip keptslipping, and the metal was buried much too deep for him to even loosen it like this.

Smoke was gathering overhead, obscuring the joists, and flames were spreading through the dusty, ancient basement. He was running out of time to escape this place.

Reaching back, he wrapped the broken straps of his pack around his hand and dragged it closer. He transferred the surviving tools from his belt into his bag, dropped onto his belly, and crawled toward the stairs.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

By midday, Lara was tempted to sneak out. There were at least twenty buildings on this street alone, all of them full of stuff just begging to be taken. Stuff that bots had no need for.

Why hadn’t Ronin thought of that before he’d headed off into the Dust last night?

Because he’s a scavenger, not a thief.

He was honest, but not in the way other bots had been. There was a thoughtfulness to Ronin’s honesty. He put real consideration into keeping his word, often going well beyond his side of the bargain. Other bots would’ve taken advantage of the vague terms of her agreement with Ronin, providing her nothing but the barest necessities.

He’d given her so much more than that. So much more than she could’ve imagined. Lara wanted to give back to him, wanted to help him, wanted him to know he wasn’t in this alone. She could pull her weight. And she only knew one way to do that right now…

Just because Ronin wouldn’t steal didn’t mean Lara couldn’t.

If it weren’t such a stupid thing to do, she would’ve crept out to poke around the other houses. She didn’t think any of them were inhabited. Besides the bots she’d seen working in the park, the street had been deserted. Who would care if some metal appliances or pieces of plastic disappeared? As long as she wasn’t spotted by any gearheads, she’d be fine.

Conjured visions of Tabitha’s face, of her dull, lifeless eyes, flashed in Lara’s mind, and she cast aside her thoughts of sneaking out.

Lara was trapped in this house until Ronin returned.

The day wore on slowly, just as the others had while he was gone. Her fingers were still sore from sewing Ronin’s shirt, so she didn’t even glance at the remaining cloth he’d given her, and there wasn’t anything else to do downstairs. So she went up into the attic and passed the time by flipping through the pictures in the old books—even the ones full of naked women.

As she looked the long-dead women over, Lara compared herself to them. The similarities were slowly growing as time passed. Her skin had a healthier glow to it like theirs, and her body was a little fuller, her curves a little more pronounced. And after the pleasure she’d experienced with Ronin, she could even understand the sensual gleams in some of their eyes. These women were beautiful, they were sexy…and Ronin made Lara feel that way too.

If she walked into the human settlement now, even fully clothed, they’d know the difference. They would spurn her, call her a bot-banger, a whore, all while envy and lust blazed in their eyes. She didn’t doubt that almost every single one of them would’ve made the same choice as her if given the chance.

As reluctant and resistant as she’d been to associate with a bot, and as frightening as it was to be in the bot district, especially alone, she didn’t regret accepting Ronin’s offer. Not even a little.

What does Ronin see when he looks at me?

Lara smiled, recalling the way he touched her—like he couldn’t stop, couldn’t get enough. He seemed fascinated by her skin. What did he feel when they came into contact? Did he ever compare her body to those of the too-perfect female synths?

It didn’t really matter, in the end. He’d chosen Lara, had married her.