Free Evolution by Stephanie Diaz Page A

feel?”
    â€œHorrible,” he says, groaning. He tries to sit up and I help him. He’s sweating so much, I can feel it through his glove. But he has enough strength to ask, “Are you okay?”
    â€œI’m fine,” I say. “A lot better than you.”
    â€œGood. I had a feeling you would be.”
    I’m not quite sure what he means. But I brush the comment aside. “The raiders took off. I’m going back to the crash site to look for survivors.”
    â€œI’m coming with you,” Dean says, struggling to his feet. He looks like he might pass out again. All he’s going to do is slow me down.
    â€œYou should stay here and rest. I’ll come back for you.”
    â€œNo, I have orders and I’m following them,” Dean says, grabbing his pulse rifle from the grass. He cocks it so it’s ready to fire. “Lead the way.”
    I can see there’s no arguing with him, so I don’t bother trying. I turn in the direction of the hilltop and Dean follows, wincing with every step.

 
    9
    The smoky battlefield is silent when we reach it. There’re no signs of raiders among the clouds drifting across the starry sky. The Mardenites won the attack and fled the scene.
    Rain drizzles on the grass, hissing as it lands on a few spots where flames still lick the debris. My boots squelch in the mud as I hurry through the smoke, scouring the hill for any sign of survivors. But the only people I find are three dead soldiers. Corpses with flame-eaten clothes.
    There were more than three soldiers in the battle. Where did the rest go?
    There’s a clanging sound behind me, and I spin around. But it’s just Dean, pushing a piece of rubble off the body of another fallen soldier. The man I saw struck by a laser earlier. Dean feels for a pulse in his wrist, but the look in his eyes tells me there’s nothing.
    â€œI’m going to search the hovercraft,” I say.
    â€œBe careful,” Dean says, straightening and continuing to survey the battlefield.
    I turn and hurry up the boarding ramp into the cargo bay. “Beechy! Darren! Uma!”
    My voice echoes in the dead hull of the ship.
    There’s no one in the cabin upstairs, or in the weapons locker, or in any of the smaller rooms attached to the cargo bay. The engine room would’ve been too full of smoke and ashes for anyone to use it as a hiding place. I’m afraid to look in there for fear of running into Fiona’s body.
    I check inside the infirmary and find the empty surgical table where Sandy was undergoing her operation. The IV bag on the stand next to the table is half full of blood the doctor must’ve been giving her to replenish what she lost.
    Beechy must’ve carried Sandy off the ship. The question is what happened to them afterward.
    Back outside, Dean meets me near the foot of the boarding ramp. “Did you find anyone?” he asks, breathless. His body is still trembling.
    I shake my head. “We should check the forest.”
    â€œMaybe we should rest first,” Dean says. “If anyone’s out there, they’ll still be there in a few minutes.”
    â€œNo. We have to find Beechy.” I push past him. If Dean won’t help me search the forest, I’ll go myself.
    â€œClementine, you’re hurt.” There’s authority in Dean’s voice now, beneath his weariness. And real concern. “You need to change your bandages.”
    I look down at my arm, where I was shot last night. Sure enough, the bandages are in dirty shreds from my fall in the forest. The wound has opened up again and there’s blood on my safety suit.
    I grind my teeth together. “Fine. Five minutes of rest and we’ll go.”
    â€œI’ll get a medi-kit,” Dean says, starting up the boarding ramp.
    The question I’ve been wanting to ask him spills out: “Why do you care if I’m hurt? Why are you helping me?”
    Dean pauses