Earth Thirst (The Arcadian Conflict) - By Mark Teppo Page 0,36

in the air. I dump her behind a van, and dart to my right, letting the night swallow me.

I feel my body loosen as I let the restraints go. We train constantly to keep ourselves in check, to keep ourselves moving in such a way that humans don't freak out when they see us, and it's glorious to let these self-managed shackles fall off. I'm not anywhere near my full ability, not with my veins still fucked up with the chemical agent. Whatever is in the pellet I got spattered with is from the same batch. I can feel it soaking through the fabric of my jacket and shirt, and my skin burns like a thousand ants are all trying to slice pieces of my flesh off.

There are four of them and they move like a trained team—two focused on what's in front of them, one on either side, each sweeping their back trail as they move. It's a good tactic and they move well together, but they're too tightly packed. A single grenade could take out all four of them.

Or a single Arcadian.

I get a running start and launch myself off the front of a sedan, leaving a big dent in the hood. The closest of the quartet spots me as I sail through the air, but he can't get his gun up in time. My knees shatter every rib in his chest, driving shards of bone through most of his vital organs. Before he even hits the ground, I spring off him and take out the one on my left with a hard strike to his neck that shatters vertebrae. The one standing in front of me is still turning around as I kick him mid-spine, doing more damage than any chiropractic care will ever fix. The last one thinks he knows where I am, but I keep moving, dropping my right arm around his head as I pass. I spin, pulling his upper body in tight to my chest. He stumbles, losing his footing, and I tense my arm and bend at the waist. His neck snaps.

I don't bother checking them; none of them are coming after Mere and me. I run back to where I dropped her, scoop her up, and head off into the woods.

It's only as I reach the tree line that I realize there was a silver Mercedes in the parking lot that wasn't there earlier. There's no time to go back and check, and it might be a coincidence. I got what I came for; time to go. I run until my sides ache.

Mere clings fiercely to me as I run through the woods. I try to dodge low-hanging branches and the trunks of narrow saplings, but I know her dangling feet collide with at least one tree as I speed through the woods. I cross a narrow creek and angle upriver, looking for a suitable place to rest.

I could have gone back to the road, but that choice would have assumed Ralph was stupid enough to hang around and wait for me. On the one hand, it would have made for an easy getaway; on the other, the silver Mercedes was nagging at me. In the end, I didn't want to be in a car on the roads. Too structured. Too few exits and escapes.

Plus I'd have to trust Ralph's driving.

Mere winces as I set her down, favoring her right ankle.

“Sit.” I indicate a grass-covered mound next to a row of red beech. “Let me look at it.” She complies quietly, and as I crouch to look at her, the pistol shoved in my waistband digs into my hip. I pull it out and set it aside.

Mere pushes some of her lank hair back from her face, staring at the long muzzle of the gun. I notice that the sleeve of her shirt is ripped in several places. There are similar tears in her pants, closer to her bare feet, and a thin gash along the bottom of her left foot is stained with blood, a few smeared drops like tears.

My tongue is thick in my mouth, and my hand shakes as I carefully bend her leg so that the bottom of her foot rests against the ground. Out of sight, out of mind. Her right foot is the injured one. That's where I need to be focusing my attention.

Her ankle is tender and swelling already. I touch the skin, probing gently, and she hisses at me when I prod her