Free Requiem by B. Scott Tollison Page A

blanket was clutched in its hand. The ground shook
and the dust itched against Seline's skin as an explosion of fire
and bellowing smoke reignited the fading light. The walking
skeleton stumbled forward and fell. Seline looked at Sear.
    'That looks
like it came from Abigail's place,' she said.
    'Get back to
the ship!' Sear commanded the other two. The two riflemen turned
down the road and began running.
    'We don't have
the time or the men,' said Sear. 'I'm sorry.' He shook his head 'I
can't force you to come with us...'
    'But it's the
best choice right now.'
    Sear's lips
parted slightly as if to speak but he looked away and down the
road. Seline stood looking at the motionless figure on the ground.
She thought about the image of the men shaking hands, one of them
burning and took a step back before following the other two with
Sear. She tried to convince herself that Abigail must have known
something. The guns. The heavily boarded house. Seline told herself
Abigail knew what she was doing, she was intelligent, prepared, in
control. Whether she could convince herself or not, she knew the
sting of guilt would find her all the same.
    They caught up
to the other two at the end of the road. 'Where is this ship?' she
asked Sear between breaths.
    'Docked at an
old repair depot. It isn't far.'
    People had
filled the street, cautiously examining the cause of the explosion.
They peeked and scouted the street with darting, urgent eyes like,
frightened rabbits, curious yet ready to flee at the first sign of
direct danger. Seline, Sear, and the two riflemen kept their pace
up, as they weaved through the onlookers. The smell of charred
rodent flesh and ash advertised their approach to the market
square.
    The street grew
thick with bustling bodies and the sound of hustling voices
crawling atop one another to be heard within the swarm of the
marketplace. The square was a field of dirt and cracked concrete.
Dilapidated housing separated by thin, blind alleys encircled the
area like the decapitated stadium of a football pitch. It presided
over the pathetic awnings and stall displays, washing the colour
and life from the buildings, faces, rugs, trinkets, food, and the
small collections of clutter splayed out over worn old rugs.
    The pillar of
smoke was still rising only a few blocks away while market-goers
went about their business with a nervous eye set upon the
not-to-distant signs of street warfare. Seline looked back, trying
her best to get a view over and past the obscuring heads. No one
appeared to be following them but the uncertainty only fuelled her
urgency. Sear stayed close as they shouldered their way through the
heart of the market.
    A whirring
sound rose behind them and, before Seline could turn to look, swept
overhead in a hurried frenzy of wind and noise. A sleek black form
arched through the sky, turned sharply and hovered in place low
over the city square. A pair of oversized rail guns bore down on
them from beneath bowed and menacing wings. Two horizontal
propellers were stationed at the tips of the wings, forcing heavy
streams of air into the dust ball plaza below.
    Stalls toppled
and scraps of rubbish blew over the ground in waves, recruited as
bits of shrapnel beneath the storm of the helicopter. People
scrambled beneath the helicopter, ducking away into alleys and
poorly fortified houses, moving swiftly and deliberately as if
following some elaborate stage rehearsal; one routinised and
engrained into them with an efficiency only fear alone can
evoke.
    A voice
thundered across the courtyard. The helicopter spoke down to
Seline; its heavily distorted words, blunt and punitive – brutal
almost.
    'Surrender,
Seline or your friends will die.'
    The crowd had
fully dispersed amongst the cracks and shadows of the surrounding
buildings. Seline looked at her companions, unsure of what to do.
The two riflemen had turned their back on the voice with their guns
raised, pointing back down the street. Sear stood next to Seline,
his gaze