Behind her, Private Xarris, freed by his mates, emerged from the Hall followed by several of his brood—no, many. Radio hissing noises issued from their open mouths.
“The Nisaar are already started,” Avery said, smelling smoke on the breeze. “This place needs to be burnt to the ground.”
He and the others threw their armor on as the clamor of battle intensified—shooting, whooping, the sound of fire eating into wood and flesh. Then, clad in armor, the four moved through the chaos toward the opposite side of the town from that which the fighting took place.
“If they are in league with Octunggen, the Nisaar will have sent troops to the rear to kill or capture anyone who tries to flee,” Layanna said. “Let me go first.”
She brought her other-self over, and Avery and the others leapt back as her pseudopods thrust and her tendrils curled, the whole bulk of her glowing and translucent, eerie yet beautiful. She exploded through the rear entrance and tore across the clearing. Bullets and arrows riddled her, but all were dissolved by the acids inside her amoebic sac and none even neared her human body floating in its center. She reached the tree line, where more screams filled the air. When they faded, Avery, Janx and Hildra rushed across the clearing and found her, panting and sweaty but human, over the splintered, half-dissolved bodies of several Nisaar, long and surreal and feathered. The tang of ammonia hung heavy in the air.
“Nice job, blondie,” Hildra said. “I remember why we keep you around.”
Layanna turned toward the jungle. “Which way is north?”
“This way,” Janx said, and shoved through a green wall.
They hadn’t gone ten steps before a
ring of black-skinned soldiers surrounded them. In their center stood Admiral
Jessryl Sheridan.
Chapter 8
“Good morning,” Sheridan said. Wearing an Octunggen uniform, she looked cool and composed, with just a hint of sweat on her forehead in testament to the heat and activity. Her gray gaze moved to Avery, and she nodded. “Doctor.”
“Jessryl.”
Her mouth quirked.
Her attention shifted to Layanna, and Avery could almost feel the latter’s rage boiling off of her. She had already spent her otherworldly energies on the Nisaar and could not bring her other-self over again so quickly, at least not without feeding first, and the Nisaar had not been infected, simply inhuman.
Looking at Sheridan, Avery realized something. “You allowed Layanna to kill them.”
“What do you mean?” Hildra said.
“Don’t you see? Sheridan sacrificed—what, a dozen?—Nisaar to render Layanna impotent.”
“Interesting choice of words,” Sheridan said.
“You don’t deny it.”
“Cunt!” Hildra said. “I’ll fucking gut you.”
One of the soldiers struck her across the face, the only part of her exposed in the armor, and she sank to her knees. Janx lunged at the soldier but received a shock prod in the side, in a chink of the armor, for his trouble. The big man dropped to the ground beside Hildra, twitching.
The sound of the battle was growing out of the control in the near distance—and coming nearer. The roar of the fire increased. The whole palisade wall must be on fire now. Perhaps breached. The smell of smoke thickened on the air, bringing tears to Avery’s eyes.
“Let’s see her,” Sheridan snapped, and one of the soldiers tore off Layanna’s helmet, exposing her face.
“Search him,” she directed another soldier, indicating Avery. “He’ll have a certain knife on him. Bring it to me.” It didn’t take much searching; Avery carried the weapon in a satchel outside his armor. He always wanted it at hand, just in case. Sheridan admired the blade, turning it over in her hands. “The weapon that can kill a god,” she murmured. “The aide was right, after all.” Then, eyes on Layanna: “Hold her.”
Soldiers seized Layanna’s arms and shoved her to her knees.
“Don’t do this,” Avery said. He started to position himself between the two women, but soldiers dragged him backward, and something sharp flashed before his eyes.
Sounds of the battle increased in volume. Thumping and crashing from the jungle. A scream came from nearby—not just of pain, but utter, stark horror. It was the same cry that Xarris had made as the maggots wriggled into him.
“I won’t waste time on speeches,” Sheridan said, halving the distance that remained between her and Layanna. She brought up the knife. “You’ve been a spirited antagonist, but—” She reached Layanna, grabbed a fistful of blond hair in one hand, jerking Layanna’s head back to expose her throat, and shoved the knife against her jugular with the other. She didn’t even finish her sentence but started to press down, when suddenly figures shambled from the undergrowth, arms raised and maggots wriggling.
The soldiers spun to fire at the new threat, but even though their shots landed the maggot-men and –women lurched forward, squirming shapes sprouting from their jellied eyes and wasted flesh, bursting from their fingertips like flowers in a magician’s trick. Even Sheridan let out a gasp and jumped behind the line of soldiers, a hand reaching for her gun.
Avery grabbed Layanna’s arm. “Run!”
On the ground, Hildra was helping Janx to his feet. While the soldiers were distracted, they followed as Avery and Layanna beat their way through the jungle, not even pursuing a path, just pelting, putting as much distance between themselves and Sheridan’s group as they could. Gunfire rattled behind them. Screams rang out. Avery’s heart beat wildly, barely contained by his ribs.
Layanna glanced back, and he saw the fear in her face, her eyes wide, face flushed with exertion but set like stone, hair whipping about her, and for some reason he was surprised, even unnerved. He’d never seen her look so utterly human before. So vulnerable. So scared. She was without ability to call on her other-self, adrift and practically defenseless in a hostile jungle, a second away from death in any direction.
Gunfire sounded behind them. Closer. Sheridan hadn’t given up.
Janx and Hildra were lagging. The whaler hadn’t quite recovered from being electrocuted.
“Hurry!” Avery told them.
He didn’t look to see if they obeyed but continued blundering off, using his own armored body as a blunt instrument to smash his way through the jungle. What he wouldn’t give for a machete! Undergrowth pressed at him, raked at him, and he sweated for every inch. The stench of seaweed filled his nose and he realized he was smashing his way through rotting seaweed strands that came away in ragged streamers, catching on the sharp points on his armor and trailing ridiculously behind him. Seaweed caught in Layanna’s hair and she had to spit the strands out from between her teeth. Fury shone in her eyes—a goddess, reduced to this!
