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Shaking jarred the pain down Fal’ran’s arm and across his shoulders, and Fal’ran forced his eyes open with a yell.
“Thank god, get up.” Patrick hauled Fal’ran out of the dirt. No. The soot. Off the tangled metal remnants of a ship’s floor. “Go, go, that way.”
Fal’ran stumbled in the direction Patrick shoved him. The scent of burning metal and dirt and wood assaulted his nose, and his eyes watered. “What—”
The unmistakable patter of gunfire hitting metal echoed behind him. A rending screech ripped Fal’ran back to the junkyard on the Projects.
“Keep going.” Patrick swung his rifle to aim at the horrible sound. He put his hand on Fal’ran’s shoulder but kept his eyes on the rip appearing in the ship's siding ten feet away. “Get us out.”
Fal’ran hesitated long enough to see a pair of black pincers force their way into the hole, before anchoring Patrick’s hand onto his shoulder and pulling him in the opposite direction.
The floor under his feet slanted to the right, the entire hallway listing. Sparks and sirens and flashing lights lined the walls and smoke gathered in the ceiling. But a spear of sunlight pierced the gloom ahead.
Patrick’s gunfire blasted into Fal’ran’s ears and ricocheted through the wrecked hallway. The soft sound of Patrick swearing followed, and an inhuman shriek from something Fal’ran didn’t dare look back to see.
The spear of sunlight turned into a flood as Fal’ran led them around a corner and they broke out of the smoke into fresh air and blinding light.
“Fal’ran!” Bar’in’s voice.
“I’ve got him.” Patrick grabbed Fal’ran’s collar and propelled him forward. “Let’s move!”
Fal’ran’s eyes adjusted as they ran from the wreckage of the ship. His addled brain, knocked loose in his skull from whatever the fuck had happened, righted itself enough to scan for his teammates.
Bar’in leapt lightly ahead of them, finding the quickest way through the rocks and debris and tangled briars of dead bushes.
Sazahk followed, clutching his bag of scientific supplies tight to his chest.
Tar fired off to the left, one rifle in his hand and another slung over his shoulder, backing after Bar’in.
Patrick took up their rear, muzzle trained on the broken hallway they’d escaped from.
“Tar! Arm me!” Fal’ran dashed to Tar and Tar unslung his free rifle and pushed it into Fal’ran’s hands without taking his eyes off the ridge he fired towards. “Go, I’ve got you covered.”
Tar got off one more round, sending a cloud of dust blooming from the top of the rock, and fell back.
“Patrick, I’ve got you.” Fal’ran side-stepped into a position to cover both the ridge and the ship. Smoke obscured the wreck, but flashes of black from the hill caught Fal’ran’s eye and disappeared before he got a bead on them.
At the sound of his voice, Patrick dropped his barrel and rushed to Fal’ran’s position. “Shoot anything that moves, but don’t miss,” he ordered as he passed. “We only have so many bullets.”
Fal’ran nodded and listened to Patrick’s boots recede. After seconds that felt like hours, waiting for Insects to boil out of the wreck or over the ridge, Patrick’s voice called from behind him.
“You’re covered! Move!”
Without overthinking, Fal’ran turned his back on the enemy and sprinted toward Patrick’s voice. He saw the glint of sunlight off Patrick’s barrel over a boulder and the flash of the man’s blue eyes and made for him. Every second he ran, he expected to hear the fire of Patrick’s gun or to feel the sizzle of Insect acid eat through his back, but he threw himself to the ground beside Patrick’s boulder intact.
“Good. Now run.” Patrick grabbed Fal’ran’s forearm and pulled him up. “Just run, follow me.”
Fal’ran did, boots scrabbling and sliding on the loose rock and dirt as they raced down the slope and into a ravine. Bar’in, Tar, and Sazahk scrambled through the dry riverbed two dozen paces ahead.
They’d been shot down.
The memories filtered back as Fal’ran’s breath and heart settled.
They’d flown down to Qesha from Base Ship Givast.
The alarm had gone off that night, hours after Patrick told them they were on rotation, hours after they’d finished preparations.
The alarm had gone off. They’d boarded the ship. They’d flown to Qesha, to the border of the Dead Zone… Fal’ran’s head throbbed as the memories fought to surface…They’d taken fire.
