Page 23

Artek fired at him—once, twice—and the hard blasts of his pistol struck the male in the chest, right across the shiny silver of his body armor.

The shots fizzled blue, knocking back the roaring alien, but he came again as if the shots had never penetrated his armor.

Instinctively, I raised my arms over my head, curling myself into a tight ball.

The Krektar was raising his rifle, as if he meant to strike me with the butt of the weapon. It never hit.

Blinking open my eyes, I was just in time to see the nearly seven-foot-tall creature collapse to his knees before toppling sideways.

Artek’s tail was around his neck, but it released him as I watched, the Krektar’s neck crooked.

His armor hadn’t protected him from that, and my Shaman had struck like a cobra—lightning fast.

Horrible as it was, I felt no qualms about the situation, not right now.

It was kill or be killed, and I was cheering before I could stop myself.

“Good strike, Artek!” I was almost sad I’d had my eyes squeezed shut for it—until I wasn’t, because I witnessed the whole bit that happened next.

That image was going to be in my dreams: horrid, violent, and terrifying.

I didn’t know how many there were, but several Krektar rushed our spot behind the tilted sled.

Artek fired twice, aiming for heads rather than chests this time, and struck true both times.

The result defied any description other than possibly the violent squashing of melons, and I was immensely grateful I’d never get to eat those again.

Then the laser pistol was struck from my Shaman’s hand, and it became an all-out brawl.

I crawled away from the sled, where all the fighting was concentrated.

My instinct was to cover my ears against the noise they made.

I had never considered myself a fighter, and I was rapidly learning that I wasn’t one of those people who rose to the occasion when it came down to it.

I was terrified, shaking from it, and all I wanted was to get away.

At the same time, Artek was fighting for our lives, alone against what appeared to be overwhelming forces.

I couldn’t stand the thought that he was in danger while I was doing absolutely nothing to help him.

Rolling beneath a bush, I felt the urge to get up and run, but the force holding me in place was equally strong.

I looked because I had to know how Artek was doing. Was he hurt? Was he still alive?

All he had was a knife, and blood streaked his white scales crimson from countless slashes.

He roared each time a Krektar blow landed true, and several bodies lay scattered across the uneven, silvery moss–covered ground.

The gun—the big, alien pistol that Artek had dropped—was not far away.

My gaze locked onto it, and fear tightened my throat.

I had to grab it. I had to move, had to do something.

I’d never forgive myself if I ran like a coward.

I crawled on my knees because my legs were too shaky to stand.

Nobody seemed to notice me as I slid across the ground, hands curling around the barrel of the gun.

It was stuck on a tree root, slipping from my sweaty fingers.

I ducked down as a particularly loud roar was followed by wet sounds and the clash of something striking a hard surface.

Got it, I thought, and the pistol flipped over, the grip rough against my fingers.

I raised it slowly, fingers searching for the trigger, the weapon far heavier than its sleek silver appearance suggested.

Sighting along the top of the barrel, I took aim, my breathing easing.

On an exhale, I squeezed the trigger, firing at the nearest Krektar.

I thought I’d done it right, that I’d followed what I recalled from reading about guns, or seeing them on the holovids.

But firing a real gun was nothing like I had imagined.

Nobody had prepared me for the force of the kickback, or the way a target moved in ways I couldn’t predict.

My shot glanced against a shoulder clad in silver armor.

It sent the Krektar spinning, whirling around toward me, but I hardly had attention left to spare for that threat.

My wrist was awash in agony, burning with fire as if I’d been the one who got shot.

The gun dropped from my numb fingers in reflex, a scream ripping from my throat at the pain.

I collapsed forward, tears streaming from my eyes, and cursed myself for being such a weak idiot.

The Krektar I’d tried to shoot was coming. I caught myself on my good hand and forced my head up, forced myself to scramble to my feet despite the pain. I had to run—there was no other option now. The pain made my head spin, and my vision was black around the edges.

I saw the Krektar, gray, wart-covered face drawn in a grotesque grin of delight.

Behind him, I saw a shimmer of white: a pair of wide, golden eyes filled with panic.

Arms reached around him like shadows about to swallow him.

The blow that struck my head came so unexpectedly I never saw it coming.

I hadn’t realized the Krektar had gotten that close.

Time seemed to stretch for a moment, and it felt like I was gazing into Artek’s fearful eyes forever.

But eventually, it did end, and blackness swallowed me whole.