Free Requiem by B. Scott Tollison Page B

remained fixed on the pointed beak of the helicopter as it
issued its demands. Their mute calm only left Seline sick and more
unsure of herself. The small group stood completely exposed in the
centre of the square. Only the thin plywood and shredded awnings of
the bustled food stands were available for cover.
    'Comply
immediately or they will die, Seline. We will not warn you
again.'
    The others
stood their ground, still without a word. Seline's confusion turned
to frustration. She motioned to step forward. Sear grabbed her
wrist and checked her movement. The guns began to light up in a
deep neon glow, becoming brighter and brighter as they charged into
life. Their drilling, high pitch squeal reached right into Seline's
body, running up her spine, centring at the back of her skull.
Sear's hand remained tightly clasped around her wrist with his gaze
set forward.
    Her senses were
squeezing the world together, compressing a thousand different
sensations into one frenzied moment; the swirling dust, the warmth
of Sear's hand, the flying debris, the uncertainty of Abigail's
fate, the whirring of the blades, the charging of the neon lights,
the blackbox in her bag. She was suddenly responsible for it
all.
    She could feel
the heat from the guns, feel her head splitting down its centre
when a flash of light enveloped the helicopter. Strands of
lightning snarled and cracked like whips upon the helicopter's
back. The engines stopped, the propellers seized as wires of
electricity bled from its skin. It fell from the sky like a massive
anchor to the desert floor.
    Seline remained
in place, ineffectually guarding her eyes with one hand to keep the
dust out. Sear's hand was still around her wrist. She could hear
him yelling something but none of the words registered. He yanked
her to the side and they started running just as another ship rose
from out of the graveyard structures of the city.
    Buried beneath
the roaring sound of engines and the crackling of the flames, the
sound of gunfire came from somewhere behind her. She couldn't
pinpoint the source but the sparks of bullets colliding with the
surrounding buildings suggested she was the target.
    They were
sprinting towards one of the alleys that lay just beyond the
helicopter's burning corpse. Seline looked up at the approaching
ship. She was being led straight towards it. With her thoughts
drowning beneath a flood of adrenaline, she tried to pull away from
Sear, digging her heels into the dirt and tugging her arm back. An
arm wrapped around her shoulders. A voice yelled directly into her
ear.
    'The ship is
ours!'
    But the panic
remained. In her struggle, she slipped free of Sear's grip and fell
flat on the ground. The ship was now directly above them. One of
the riflemen ran past her and leaped onto the end of the large
loading ramp that had opened from the bottom of the ship. He
pivoted, knelt, and began firing back down the street while the
second jumped on and headed straight up the ramp towards the open
cargo hold, stopping at the entrance to provide covering fire.
    Every sense was
blanketed with noise. Seline knew one thing: that these people
weren't firing at her. She surrendered herself to instinct and
pushed herself from the dirt. The loading ramp had looked a lot
lower when she was on the ground but her body ignored the momentary
self doubt. All grace vanished as she leapt onto the ramp but it
was far too high. Her chest collided with the edge. Her legs swung
freely beneath her, the force almost pulling her back down. She
thought of Ira Station. Her fingers managed to find a small ridge
to hold on to before Sear's hand reached down to her. She hadn't
seen him get on board. She threw out her right hand and closed it
too tightly around his wrist. Sear yanked her up, ignoring the
pain.
    They ran to the
open door, staying low to steady themselves as the ship lifted from
the ground. Seline was struggling to breathe but knew from
experience that her ribs weren't broken. With a loud,