Free Haven (The Last Humans Book 3) by Anna Zaires, Dima Zales Page A

process when it happened to Brandon and gained a copy of his memories. More importantly, when he left this system, his Haven resources were de-allocated, so I grabbed as much as I could. I only acquired a small chunk, since I didn’t know what I was doing, but I should be able to get more next time. And before you start again with the whys, even those meager resources allowed me to speak to you out loud instead of as a thought and to speed up the healing of your leg.”
    As she says that last statement, I realize the pain in my calf is nearly gone.
    “Right,” Phoe continues. “So to even begin unraveling this mess, I need more resources and more memories. Ideally, the memories should come from someone who knows more than Brandon did, though I guess hunting for someone knowledgeable is phase two of the plan.”
    I fly in silence for a moment. The idea of hunting down random strangers is distasteful to me.
    “Yes, but unlike random strangers, our pursuers are dangerous,” Phoe says.
    As I think about this, we fly through the dome, which feels like a soap bubble on my wings.
    A knife whooshes past my ear, reminding me of my pursuers.
    “These assholes are practically asking for it,” I say. “Plus, they killed Fiona and a bunch of other people. We should get your resources from them. It’s only fitting.”
    “Okay then,” Phoe says cautiously. “If we’re going to face them, we have to dispatch them quickly, before their comrades finish their grisly task and join them. I have an idea, but you won’t like it. Though I guess if you keep your eyes closed—”
    “Just do whatever it is, Phoe,” I say with false confidence. “And I’m not—”
    My wings snap shut and I drop.
    Below me, my attackers are flying some forty feet away from each other, and the closest one is approximately thirty feet from me. It seems like the smaller one is quicker on his wings.
    The fall puts me directly above him. He sees me drop but continues to fly upward. I’m flying down as if he isn’t there.
    I’m playing another deadly game of chicken, only I can’t lose my nerve and swerve away because Phoe is in control. If it were me, I would’ve chickened out a millisecond ago.
    My opponent raises his weapon—a halberd, I believe. It consists of a wooden stick that ends with an axe that has a long, pointy metal tip at the very top. That pointy end is aimed at me.
    I hold my right katana in a strange, spear-like grip. The message I’m sending is clear: if my opponent pierces me, I’ll slice him in return.
    The larger pursuer realizes his friend might need help and speeds up.
    The tip of the halberd is an inch away from my chest when its owner chickens out and swerves out of my way, to his right. Phoe must’ve anticipated this outcome, because a fraction of a second before the guy makes his move, I launch my right katana at the spot he diverges to.
    The fiery sword looks like a comet as it speeds toward him, and the guy screams as loudly as I’d expect from someone who has a burning sword sticking through his thigh.
    I spread my wings and angle my body to fly close to him before he can recover. He draws back his halberd, but before he can swing it, I cut it in half.
    His partner is a leap away.
    I grab my right katana from the man’s thigh and cruelly turn it counterclockwise. He screams even louder, but his scream turns into a gargling hiss when my left blade cuts his throat.
    He breaks into those small fragments and disappears like the others, only in this brightly lit outside world, the usual shine from this process is muted.
    “Amazing,” Phoe says, and I realize that her voice is no longer disembodied.
    Phoe has become a vapor-like outline of herself. No, that’s not really true. Unlike her Oasis counterpart, this Haven version has large butterfly wings, and all she’s wearing is a tiny thong. Seeing her nearly naked again, even though she’s see-through, stirs emotions in me that I know are best kept out of my head for