Alight_ Book Two of the Generat - Scott Sigler Page 0,107

seems to be everywhere; the jungle is made of them.

We stay in the underbrush, move parallel to the path. Dragging the heavy Springer along with me, I am not the wind anymore. I am noise…I am a target…

Then in front of us, a dead Springer, stomach sliced open, splashes of blue blood and yellowish innards strewn about the wet vines and dead leaves. I recognize the curve of the mouth: Rekis.

Barkah lets out a mournful groan. The sound is heartbreaking.

He points just past the body, at Rekis’s musket. The hammer in the middle, it’s cocked back. It’s loaded.

Noise from behind us: human shouts and calls, bodies moving through the mist. I recognize one of the voices—Coyotl.

Barkah gently pushes me away. He stands on his own two legs, points to me, points to Rekis’s musket.

I have the bracelet, but I don’t know how to use it. I drop the shovel and pick up the gun.

Barkah takes one experimental hop forward. His body shudders in pain, but he pushes past it, takes a second hop.

“Hem, move.”

He wants to run. He wants to hide. That’s the smart thing to do. Just as I need him to end this war before it starts, he needs me to make it out of here alive. The two of us fleeing into the jungle is the smart thing.

But I will not leave O’Malley.

I wave a hand in the direction of the trail.

“Go,” I say. “Move. Escape.”

His two remaining eyes show despair. He doesn’t want to leave me, but he is in no shape to fight.

A rustling to our right. Our muskets rise up instantly, aim at a shaking bush—Lahfah hops out from behind the dark leaves.

I point at him, then at Barkah.

“Get him out of here,” I say quietly to Lahfah. “Move.”

Maybe he understands me, or maybe he just wants to get his prince clear. Lahfah pulls at Barkah, urging him down the trail.

I turn and run into the mist, toward the danger, toward O’Malley. My body feels electric, on edge.

I hear voices. I slide to my right, into the underbrush, crouch between two wide, curving leaves that cover me completely. A small gap between them lets me see down the trail. Moonlit mist surrounds me. This is the perfect spot. The shadows are my friends.

“She killed Beckett!” A Grownup man’s voice. I hear him, but can’t quite see him. “And Visca! She cut off Visca’s damn head! I’m going to kill that little bitch!”

Something about that voice is familiar, but I can’t place it. Another voice answers, one I know by heart, one that makes every inch of me crawl with fear.

“Farrar, don’t you dare.”

That voice…Matilda.

She was on the lumpy ship with Bello. She’s here. She’s come for me, to erase me.

“Hurt her, and you die,” she says. Her voice is coming closer. “Or I’ll make sure your shell dies. I’ll watch you wither away to nothing. Find out if there are any more hopping vermin around here, kill them, then catch her.”

I hear footsteps squish in mud, hear small branches crack and snap—they are coming closer.

Even if they’re old and slow, they’re still faster than the wounded Barkah and Lahfah—if I let Matilda and Farrar pass by, they will quickly catch up to the Springers.

Coming down the trail, through the mist, I see a Grownup. A little shorter than I am, moving with painful, jerky motions: it is Matilda.

And with her, taller, thicker, old and wrinkled but made of solid muscle—that has to be Farrar.

They both wear masks and the suits of thin, shiny metal. Like the one I just killed. Visca…I killed Grownup Visca.

Farrar comes first, a few steps ahead of Matilda. He wears a bracelet on his extended arm, sweeps it left, then right, then straight down the trail. He doesn’t see me. In seconds he will pass by me.

I can end this, all of it, right now. I can shoot him with the musket at close range, drop him.

And then I must kill Matilda.

The musket will be empty. I can use the wide, flat end…I can swing it hard, smash it into her face, knock her down…then I will cave in her skull.

For El-Saffani. For Beckett. For Coyotl. For Muller. For Latu. For Visca. For Harris. For Bello. For Yong.

Matilda is my enemy…kill her, and I will be forever free.

She deserves to die, deserves it for the thousands of humans she has murdered, for her slaughter of millions of Springers, for the culture she tried to destroy, for the ship she transformed