Page 11 of Solomon's Ransom

Remma’s jaw shifted to the left. “Just jumpy, I guess.”

Sol didn’t buy that at all, but okay, sure. He’d never seen Remma jumpy, not even after the pinecat on their last trip out. Not even after the bear. Remma couldn’t fight, but he was cool under pressure, for the most part; cooler than Sol would expect from a guy who didn’t have a gun. Now he was startling at shadows. It didn’t add up.

“Let’s keep going,” Remma said. “Come on. I just want to get back.”

Well, so did Sol, but he didn’t follow when Remma pulled the sledge forward. He turned in place, one hand on his rifle, scanning the woods, searching for whatever had Remma so on edge. He couldn’t see anything, or hear anything, either, and not for the first time he was infuriated by the limitations of his human senses. Remma was hearing something that he couldn’t, and Remma wouldn’t fucking tell him what it was.

What was it that Remma didn’t want him to know?

He jogged to catch up with Remma, who was really booking it. “What the fuck are you hearing? If you don’t tell me?—”

“You’ll what? What threat are you going to come up with?” Remma turned to scowl at him. “Will you please stop talking and hurry up? I’m trying to keep you safe.”

Sol scoffed. “You? Have you gotten our jobs mixed up? Whatever you’re not telling me, I need to know so I can keep us both out of trouble.”

“Damnit, Sol!” Remma exploded. “You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever known, and Iknowall humans aren’t like this. Don’t blame me when everything goes to shit. I’m doing my best, and if you would just shut up andkeep walking?—”

In the distance came a sudden loud crack, a noise enough like a gun firing to make Sol’s blood run cold.

“Go,” Remma said, and this time Sol didn’t argue.

They ran as best they could, slowed by the sledge and the loose soil. Sol held his rifle close as he went, praying he wouldn’t have to use it but aware he probably would. He’d never killed a person. He didn’t particularly want to kill a person now, but better that than being killed himself, or having to watch Remma die.

Another crack. It sounded farther away, which meant they weren’t being pursued. At least not yet. Sol put his head down and ran.

“High ground—there,” Remma said, panting. He pointed to an outcrop rising above the trees ahead. “Should we?—”

“No,” Sol said, forced to make a split-second decision, and hopefully not the wrong one. They were gaining distance on whatever it was. “Keep going. Run.”

They ran. Sol’s legs burned, and his lungs. The sledge bumped along behind them, careening into trees. Sol had no real ambitions in life, was content to scavenge and get drunk with his friends, but he wantedlife,he wanted to live. He wanted to not die in this fucking forest. He was going to make sure they both lived.

Another crack, this time from ahead of them.

Sol stopped so fast he practically skidded. How?—

It didn’t matter. There wasn’t time to wonder.

“Back!” he said to Remma, already turning. “Back to the outcrop. Leave the fucking sledge,” because Remma had no sense of when it was time to fight and when it was time to give up andget the hell out.

Sol ran as fast as he possibly could, legs and arms pumping, lungs straining near to bursting, heart knocking hard against his ribs. Up ahead the outcrop loomed. He put his head down and made straight for it, Remma right at his side, then pulling ahead with his longer legs.

At the base of the outcrop, Sol used his momentum to help with the initial scramble up the rock face. He pulled himself upward, fingers scrabbling for purchase, feet braced on any narrow ledge he could find. Up and up, with Remma below him, heavier and slower but still making good progress, following the route Sol was finding. If they got high enough, if Sol could onlyseewhat they were up against, maybe they would make it out of this alive.

The outcrop wasn’t big. Sol reached the top before he expected to, and stumbled a bit as he hauled himself onto the jumbled pile of weathered rock that formed the summit. Chest heaving, he scanned the forest as Remma dragged himself over the top. There, moving toward them at a rapid clip, was a group of?—

Shit, were thoseTozren?

A lot of them were carrying guns. At least half. One toward the rear looked like he was carrying a rocket launcher.

“Fuck,” Remma muttered.

“You said it,” Sol said grimly. “You know these guys?”

As he spoke, one of the Tozren pointed to the top of the outcrop with a shout Sol could hear but not understand. He didn’t need a translation. It was pretty clear what the man was saying.

“Get down,” he snapped at Remma, yanking at Remma’s sleeve as they both dropped. A moment later the rock pile beside them exploded into a cloud of shards and dust. Sharp fragments hit the exposed skin of Sol’s face and hands and burned as they bit into his skin. He wiped his face with his palm and it came away streaked with blood.

“Back, back,” Sol said, already scrambling backward, tugging at Remma. They could go down the other side of the outcrop, find somewhere to take shelter, maybe even make it all the way to the ground and—run away from the crazy guys with rocket launchers?—