Page 57 of Gunslinger Girl

“Move!” he screamed, dragging Selene forward.

With her free hand, Pity grabbed Sheridan and pushed him ahead of her. She heard more boots hit the stone as they ran. Inside, Beau threw Selene behind the desk, turned, and fired. His shot zipped over Pity’s shoulder, hitting a man inches behind her. She hadn’t even seen him. She started for the desk, too, but staggered as a series of shots perforated the floor in front of her. This time, Sheridan reached for her, pulling her from the line of fire; clarity had returned to his face. They bolted a dozen yards and dove behind a pair of large stone planters.

Oh, Lord… oh, Lord…

Blood pounded in her veins as she pulled her other gun and clutched it to her chest. “Are you hurt?” Sheridan didn’t seem to hear her at first. She kicked him. “Hey!”

“No… no.”

“Good. Stay down!” She leaned low and peeked around the planter. Beau was crouched behind the desk, Selene beside him. In the archway to the terrace she counted eight attackers, all carrying rifles. None seemed to be looking her way.

They want Selene.

Beau pushed up his shirt cuff, revealing a dark metal band, and pressed something on it. With a hiss of air, the terrace partitioned off, a latticework of windows appearing where there had been open air a moment before. Two of the men were cut off outside. One of the inside attackers signaled; the others covered him as he peppered the windows with shots. White spiderwebs spread across the glass, but it didn’t break.

Six targets, she revised. Eleven bullets left, plus whatever Beau had. And the men were wearing body armor—the attacker Beau had shot was hunched over but still on his feet. She cursed under her breath.

The intruders gave up on the doors. “Drop your weapons and surrender!” one called out. “We’d like you alive, but dead’ll do!”

Pity’s grip tightened on her guns. Think.

Six targets, eleven shots… and body armor. Her bullets would barely put a dent in it. But it didn’t cover everything. Neck, joints, faces—all hard to protect. She would have to choose her shots wisely.

And if you want to walk away from this—the thought came to her in her mother’s voice, not with a parent’s timbre, but rather that of a battle-scarred veteran—you’d better shoot to kill.

Pity raised herself into a crouch.

“What are you doing?” hissed Sheridan.

“Shhh!”

She peeked out a little farther. Beau spotted her. He shook his head.

She ignored him, leaned out, and fired twice, aiming for the man who had spoken. His exposed face was her target, but the bullets glanced off his helmet. He fell to the ground, stunned.

The other five turned on her and fired.

“Shit!” Pity curled into a ball as bits of stone and dirt exploded around her, leaves raining down. Then it ceased, though she still heard shots. She scrambled around Sheridan to risk a glance from the other side of the planters. Another assassin was down, a pool of blood spreading around him.

Dead.

Beau hadn’t missed. Pity swore again, quietly.

Breathe. Think.

Sheridan pulled her back. “Pity, stop! You heard them—we can surrender!”

She shook him off. “Are you willing to risk your life to find out if they’re telling the truth?”

He didn’t answer.

Think.

The attackers no longer had the element of surprise. And with the impenetrable glass at their back and no cover, they were exposed. But they still have the numbers and the firepower. Pity cocked her guns. Any moment they’re going to realize that, rush Beau and Selene, and then us. Gotta keep them off-balance.

Nine shots left.

Inhale, aim. Exhale, shoot.