Page 11 of Gunslinger Girl

Pity ripped her other gun from its holster.

A moment later, a shot cracked the morning into shards.

CHAPTER 4

In a mist of crimson, Finn slumped to the ground.

With a scream like a piece torn from her soul, Pity bolted from the brush, firing three shots in rapid succession and closing half the distance before the scroungers saw her coming. One of the shots took Finn’s killer in the leg, toppling him. The others were lost to the frantic haze.

Taken by surprise, the two unscathed scroungers retreated toward the truck. Pity fired twice more before one turned and shot at her with her own rifle; a bullet whizzed by her ear, another tugged on her jacket. She angled toward the Ranger and threw herself behind it. Blood pounded in her veins. Finn, get to Finn. The thought ricocheted off the inside of her skull, obliterating every rational thought that tried to form.

“Where the hell did she come from?” one of the men yelled. Another cried out in pain.

Pity leaned through the open doors and fired. “Finn!”

More shots answered hers. One dinged off the metal above her head, clear as the chime of a bell.

In an instant, coherence returned. The world’s colors were too bright, the edges of her vision too sharp, but Pity registered that both scroungers had reached the truck, and the third was nearly there, hobbling on his injured leg. Her brief advantage was spent. She was outgunned and pinned behind the Ranger. She looked around. Open ground surrounded her. Her chest tightened.

There was nowhere to go.

“Finn…” she said again, knowing no response was coming.

Too late. Only heartbeats had passed, but Pity was already far, far too late.

“Idiots! I’ll handle her.”

She peeked back through the doors in time to see the truck driver rip a grenade off his chest strap and pull the pin.

He readied to throw.

With no time to think, Pity sprang to her feet and aimed over the top of Ranger.

Bang!

Bang!

Her shots caught the driver in the shoulder. The grenade slipped from his fingers.

She had just enough time to register the shock on the scroungers’ faces before the air exploded.

The first thing was darkness.

On its heels followed a high-pitched whine and an acrid burning smell. Finally came the pain. It was everywhere, like the whine and the darkness. Her head pounded with it, sending shock waves of nausea through her. She tried to swallow and tasted… dirt? The damp earth lay beneath her, bits of grass poking her in the face.

What…?

She tried to move her legs. A cold stab of panic shot through her when she couldn’t. She tried again and realized that it wasn’t her legs that weren’t obeying—something was pinning them. She lay still instead, skull throbbing with each beat of her heart. The darkness wasn’t night. Something was draped over her. She smelled canvas and wax among the char and scorched oil.

The roof of the Ranger. But before she could fathom why it was on top of her and not on top of the Ranger, she heard another, unmistakable sound.

Footsteps.

Her thoughts slammed into place.

The scroungers.

A moment ago her guns had been in her hands. Now they held nothing. She slid one arm outward. The movement sent a bolt of pain up her side. She cried out.