Marked by Sarah Fine

skin. Behind them, the shrill sirens of the other units screamed out. As the rig streaked down Kneeland and circled a sprawling shantytown, Eli tried to remember details from the video feed. There had been a lot of blood at the scene, and the limo had been pockmarked with shrapnel.
    The wireless came to life. “EMS units are advised that the scene is not yet under control. Please hold your positions.”
    “Shut the hell up,” Cacy muttered as she ran a red light.
    Eli leaned forward and touched her shoulder. “Maybe we should take one of the other patients.” A personal connection to the patient didn’t usually lead to clear thinking. He knew that from experience.
    She shrugged him off. Eli wasn’t surprised, remembering her face as she’d watched her father give his retirement speech. She’d looked so protective, like it was her job to keep him safe. Whether that was true or not, this had to be killing her.
    Eli retreated into the back again and double-checked the contents of his med kit, determined not to let her down.
    Cacy screeched to a stop less than half a block away from the intersection where the assault had gone down. Eli peered through the rear window and held his arm out to bar her way as she came barreling through. She hit it with a huff and stumbled back. He turned to her, hating that he had to keep her from her father for even a few seconds. But her own safety was more important. To him, at least. “With all due respect, Lieutenant, this is a hot scene, and I’d rather neither of us got shot.”
    She flipped open the cabinet to her right, pulled out a tranq gun, and aimed it at him. “With all due respect, Sergeant , get out of my fucking way. If we don’t hurry, the pirates are going to drag them into the Common.”
    He held his hands up. “I’m on your side, Cacy. I want to get out there, too. But we can’t help your dad if we’re perforated.” Still holding one hand up, he reached out with the other and popped open the rear door. He picked up his med kit and nodded at her hands, which were still clutching the tranq gun with white-knuckled determination. “At least get your gloves on.”
    With quick, impatient tugs, she zipped on her gloves and grabbed her kit. Together, they pulled a stretcher out of the back. Eli used his size advantage to push her behind him and was relieved when she didn’t fight him. He rolled the stretcher in front of them as they ducked low next to a row of junked cars. The street was eerily quiet. Eli reached back and pressed Cacy against an amphibious sports car with busted-out windows and dried blood on the seats.
    “Wait a second.” He raised his head and took in the scene. “The cop’s gone, but his car’s still there. I don’t see anyone else, though. Maybe he chased the attacker off?”
    Cacy peeked around Eli’s shoulder. Her gaze focused on a lean man hunched against the stamped-concrete wall of the building at the corner. Her father. Patrick Ferry. He was still wearing the dark suit he’d worn to the press conference. His head was bowed, and his gray-streaked hair hung over his face. Eli felt nothing but relief as he watched the man’s chest expand with a shuddering breath. It wasn’t too late.
    On the street in front of them lay a man with a gaping wound to his head, his gray matter scattered on the asphalt. A definite black-tag. A few feet away lay a woman with glazed eyes set in a deathly pale face. She was alive, but in shock. Red. Two other men were crumpled on the ground in front of Cacy’s father, both red-tag status. One of them was bleeding profusely from a neck wound, while the other was curled into a ball, moaning softly. Possible gut wound. They’d probably been trying to protect their boss. It looked like all of them had been shot, but Eli couldn’t figure out how it had gone down. Why had they left the safety of their bulletproof limo?
    Footsteps thunked along the pavement behind them, accompanied by the squeak of ungreased