know this situation calls for patience and understanding. I’m not sure I even possess the former virtue, but I know when pressing an issue will risk imperiling one of the only friendships I have left.
“Just checking,” I say, then pick up one of his snowballs. “Nicely done.” I bounce it in my hand. “Good weight.”
“Thanks—”
Without warning, I nail him in the shoulder with it before he has a chance to get his hands up. He looks startled, with little pieces of snow freckling the side of his face. Confusion gives way to incredulity, and finally he laughs. “You’re insane. Certifiably insane.”
I shrug. “Some things never change.”
“Maybe they don’t.”
Standing, I prepare to be pelted with a snowball, but instead he hugs me. His embrace comes unexpectedly. At first, I’m unsure, but then I hug him back, and for a few seconds we really are Rhona and Samuel again. Before the world, its woes, and the result of its history of violence came between us. “I missed you,” he whispers as softly as if we were in a confessional. Before I can answer, before I can tuck my face into his shoulder and breathe the sigh of relief I want to, he lets me go.
“Sorry,” he says, looking embarrassed.
“You apologize too much.”
The sadness leaves his eyes, replaced by mischief. “Force of habit from my prankster days.”
I haven’t noticed Ulrich’s snoring has stopped until he emerges grumpily from the tent. He’s got two glares, one for each of us. “Hard to sleep with all this talking,” he says, and the situation grows more hilarious when he tries to pantomime his words. “Like chatty little birds.
Tweet-tweet
,
tweet-tweet.
”
“Sorry, Ulrich,” Samuel apologizes for both of us, though I’m feeling more amused than guilty.
Ulrich gives a dismissive wave of his hand. “Pah. We have stayed here too long anyway. Let us pack up and leave before we are made to move.” He doesn’t wait for us to agree before he starts taking down the tent, dealing uncharitably with it. I look at Samuel and do my own version of Ulrich. Samuel just shakes his head, stifling laughter.
My smile suddenly slips off my face. “Wait. Did you hear that?”
“What?”
“Ssh. Listen.”
Sure enough, there’s the noise again. It almost sounds like—
Whirring.
Chapter 4
Bullets tear into the trees, ripping them apart. Branches explode into thousands of splinters, some as long as my arm. The only place I can go is to the ground, flattening myself in an effort to evade the worst of the wooden shrapnel. I cover my head, smothering my face in the snow. It goes on for what feels like forever—the shrill whistling of flying metal, trees letting out a high-pitched noise before toppling over. Blood pounding in my ears. Somehow, I get my hand around the EMP-G holstered at my waist and maybe it’s the adrenaline, but as I wrap my fingers around the grip, I feel a sudden, inexplicable rush of calm.
Enough to remember Samuel and Ulrich.
I begin dragging myself over to the fallen log, my only hope for cover, keeping low and just outside the angle of fire.
The air is filled with a flurry of ice and smoke, making it hard to breathe. I hunch down with my back against the log’s broad trunk, clutching my weapon to my chest. I can’t peek over to glimpse the enemy without the risk of catching a piece of debris or a bullet to the face, but I can survey what remains of our camp from here.
Ulrich’s managed to scramble to safety behind some large boulders, and a moment later, Samuel dashes out from our tent with the hardcase pressed to his chest, miraculously unhurt save for a few cuts and bruises. Whatever’s on that external hard drive must be worth his life, for him to prioritize fetching it over his own safety. Samuel joins Ulrich, who drags him farther behind the rock, shouting what I guess is a well-deserved chastisement.
As soon as the pair catch my eyes, an unspoken agreement passes between us to wait it
“Just checking,” I say, then pick up one of his snowballs. “Nicely done.” I bounce it in my hand. “Good weight.”
“Thanks—”
Without warning, I nail him in the shoulder with it before he has a chance to get his hands up. He looks startled, with little pieces of snow freckling the side of his face. Confusion gives way to incredulity, and finally he laughs. “You’re insane. Certifiably insane.”
I shrug. “Some things never change.”
“Maybe they don’t.”
Standing, I prepare to be pelted with a snowball, but instead he hugs me. His embrace comes unexpectedly. At first, I’m unsure, but then I hug him back, and for a few seconds we really are Rhona and Samuel again. Before the world, its woes, and the result of its history of violence came between us. “I missed you,” he whispers as softly as if we were in a confessional. Before I can answer, before I can tuck my face into his shoulder and breathe the sigh of relief I want to, he lets me go.
“Sorry,” he says, looking embarrassed.
“You apologize too much.”
The sadness leaves his eyes, replaced by mischief. “Force of habit from my prankster days.”
I haven’t noticed Ulrich’s snoring has stopped until he emerges grumpily from the tent. He’s got two glares, one for each of us. “Hard to sleep with all this talking,” he says, and the situation grows more hilarious when he tries to pantomime his words. “Like chatty little birds.
Tweet-tweet
,
tweet-tweet.
”
“Sorry, Ulrich,” Samuel apologizes for both of us, though I’m feeling more amused than guilty.
Ulrich gives a dismissive wave of his hand. “Pah. We have stayed here too long anyway. Let us pack up and leave before we are made to move.” He doesn’t wait for us to agree before he starts taking down the tent, dealing uncharitably with it. I look at Samuel and do my own version of Ulrich. Samuel just shakes his head, stifling laughter.
My smile suddenly slips off my face. “Wait. Did you hear that?”
“What?”
“Ssh. Listen.”
Sure enough, there’s the noise again. It almost sounds like—
Whirring.
Chapter 4
Bullets tear into the trees, ripping them apart. Branches explode into thousands of splinters, some as long as my arm. The only place I can go is to the ground, flattening myself in an effort to evade the worst of the wooden shrapnel. I cover my head, smothering my face in the snow. It goes on for what feels like forever—the shrill whistling of flying metal, trees letting out a high-pitched noise before toppling over. Blood pounding in my ears. Somehow, I get my hand around the EMP-G holstered at my waist and maybe it’s the adrenaline, but as I wrap my fingers around the grip, I feel a sudden, inexplicable rush of calm.
Enough to remember Samuel and Ulrich.
I begin dragging myself over to the fallen log, my only hope for cover, keeping low and just outside the angle of fire.
The air is filled with a flurry of ice and smoke, making it hard to breathe. I hunch down with my back against the log’s broad trunk, clutching my weapon to my chest. I can’t peek over to glimpse the enemy without the risk of catching a piece of debris or a bullet to the face, but I can survey what remains of our camp from here.
Ulrich’s managed to scramble to safety behind some large boulders, and a moment later, Samuel dashes out from our tent with the hardcase pressed to his chest, miraculously unhurt save for a few cuts and bruises. Whatever’s on that external hard drive must be worth his life, for him to prioritize fetching it over his own safety. Samuel joins Ulrich, who drags him farther behind the rock, shouting what I guess is a well-deserved chastisement.
As soon as the pair catch my eyes, an unspoken agreement passes between us to wait it
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