Free Refuge by Robert Stanek Page B

shielded. I’m not even sure our rifle rounds can penetrate that armor.”
       “The intake, left of center”—it’s what One told me, not that it worked—“aim for that.”
       I jump up from behind the wall, firing as the wing goes after Luke. Luke has to scrabble up and over the metal box to get away.
       “I’m here, here. Come and get me,” I shout, my rounds ricocheting off the back of the wing. As it spins around and comes at me, I pull down, seeking refuge beside Sierra.
       “Sierra, I need you to—” I start to say, but stop when I see panic has set in. With all that’s happened, I forgot that she hasn’t been through what Luke and I have been through. She has no idea how to fire a pistol—little idea of what one even is. I guess I should be thankful that she’s held onto it.
       I take the weapon and press a hand to the side of her face. “Look at me,” I say, “I need you, stay with me. We’re going to get through this.”
       “Cedes, talk to me,” Luke shouts anxiously. He draws the wing away with several well-placed rounds.
       I watch him dive for cover as I aim and shoot, aim and shoot. My shots are my response to his words. They say, “I’m here. I’m still here.”
       “It’s hopeless, hopeless,” I tell myself. I’ve never taken out a wing even with One’s advice.
       Sierra comes up next to me, peering over my shoulder. “It’s not hopeless,” she says, taking back the pistol. “Where’s the intake you’re talking about?”
       I place two rounds. “There,” I say.
       Sierra draws in a breath and holds it as she squeezes the trigger. Her first shot is right of the intake, but somehow it’s closer than either of mine. Before I can ask how she did that, she’s on her feet, jumping over the low wall and charging at the machine.
       The wing veers away from Luke and turns toward Sierra. All I can hear is the rat-a-tat-tat of its twin guns as they rip their way across the roof. I provide cover fire, but Sierra’s rounds are the ones that strike closer and closer to target.
       Luke seizes on Sierra’s move and joins her charge from the opposite direction. I follow up and over the wall because I’m not going to let them die alone, shooting and shouting, “Don’t you hurt them. Don’t you dare hurt them.”
       Just when I think Sierra can’t last another moment, the wing jerks to the right and explodes. The blast knocks Sierra back and sweeps Luke from his feet.
       I’m at Sierra’s side before I completely realize what happened. “How did you do that?” I say. My voice is thick with emotion, so thick I’m surprised it doesn’t choke on the way out.
       “Cedes, you were gone so long,” she says. “It’s been us against them. We lost four before we learned how to defend ourselves.”
       Sierra stands with my assistance. We greet Luke, hands extended.
       “Quickly now, quickly,” Luke says, pulling us away. “We have to get off this roof.”
       Behind me, I hear sounds like a dying animal and scratching. It’s Matthew, moaning and using his one arm to claw his way toward us. He’s a pitiful mess, leaving a bloody trail. I don’t know how he’s still alive; I look to Luke and Sierra. He shakes his head, and her eyes won’t meet my gaze.
       “We’re not leaving him,” I say. “He was one of us once and maybe he can be again. Besides, if he was working with them, we need him or we’re not going to survive the day.”
       Sierra’s questioning stare tells me I’m wrong. I run back to Matthew. Kneeling down beside him, I empty the contents of my pack. The lightweight pack is one of two we took from the mobile standing room the night before. Except for the rolls of black gauze, I have no idea what any of the wrapped packets are for.
       “Those,” Sierra says, grabbing two bags of what look to me like white sand. “His arm”—she points and I retrieve the bloody mess of