The Earth Dwellers

Rolling, rolling, rolling, I scramble out of sight, hugging the wall. I prop my gun hand on my elbow.

A guard runs around the bend, perhaps thinking I’ve run off, perhaps trying to be a hero, perhaps just scared and making a stupid decision. Right into my crosshairs.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! I pull the trigger three quick times in succession. The first shot hits him in the midsection, and each successive blast climbs higher up his body as the gun bucks in my hand. The final shot smashes into his chest and throws him back, his automatic weapon spraying bullets into the ceiling, raining plaster onto my head.

I hold my breath, waiting patiently, hoping Jocelyn’s found somewhere to hide out of sight. Two guards. That’s what Jocelyn said and that’s what I saw. But what if there are more? I’ll be screwed.

A gun pokes around the bend. Cautious. Careful. This guard saw what happened to his buddy and he doesn’t want to meet the same fate. I aim at his hand, but there’s no chance I’ll hit him and I can’t waste the bullets as I’ve used too many on the first guard already. Patience is the key.

His head snaps out and then back. He saw me. Knows exactly where I am and that I’m a sitting duck on the floor. No time to lose.

I scramble backward just as he flings himself into the open, fire spewing from the muzzle of his gun. Bullets chew up chunks of the floor I was occupying a second earlier.

BOOM! I shoot, miss, devastating the pane of glass to his right.

He shoots again, takes out more of the floor. Another blast and I feel a sharp pinch in my shoulder. I cry out, drop my gun, clutch at my injured arm, burning with pain.

No. It’s over. No.

Wait.

“Jocelyn!” I cry out, rolling back, my eyes wildly trying to find her. She has to take my gun, has to shoot the guard, has to help me like she said she would.

But no.

She’s gone.

Jocelyn is gone.

Siena

My pointer joins a flock of other pointers, swarming through the air, some clanking off the sides of the fire chariots and others hitting the Glassies riding ’em, sending the baggards flying off into the durt.

My injured ankle’s burning like it’s stuck in a fire, but I ignore it. The pain is nothing because…

My people are dying.

In front of me, my people are falling, dying, hit by magic or weapons or whatever the fire sticks do. They’re bleeding and crying and all being ignored by the rest of us fighting for our lives.

I stop shooting when the black Riders reach the fire chariots, which stop to let the Glassies pile out. CRACKS and BOOMS and deafening blasts fill the air as their weapons seem to explode in their hands. Some of the horses topple over, right onto their Riders, while others lose their Riders but kick and gallop at the Glassies, fighting still.

And my people are all charging, taking advantage of the distraction caused by the Riders, a stampede of dust and sharp blades held above our heads so we don’t accidentally poke one another.

Circ’s beside me with Skye and Wilde in front, and Feve sorta diagonal. I spot Grunt not that far off, ru

I hurdle a fallen horse, its black hide streaked with red stripes.

And then the Glassies are amongst us.

They’re still trying to use their fire sticks, but more like clubs now, swinging at us or poking at us with these long spikes that are stuck to the front of some of ’em. Skye rips through ’em, slashing one and then another. Circ and Feve get in front of me and Circ shouts something I can’t hear on account of all the screaming and the blaring of that searin’ noise from the city, but I know exactly what they’re doing. Protecting me so I can keep shooting.

I nock a pointer and release it into the neck of a Glassy who was pushing Wilde back. A dangerous shot, but these are dangerous times.

Another pointer finds its way into the gut of a Glassy who tries to double up on Circ, who’s already grappling with an enemy soldier. He looks so strong I’d never guess he’s got an injured arm and leg.

Circ’s muscles strain and he gets the advantage, whipping the guy’s neck hard to the side.

I reach for another pointer—the last one. Whirl ’round to find a good target. I see Grunt get hit in the side by a fire stick. He falls over, still gripping his useless sword. The Glassy points the stick at him.

Twang!

Thock!

The Glassy slumps over, feathers sticking from his chest.

Grunt’s eyes are bigger’n the water country ocean. “Run away!” I yell, thinking only of my promise to Veeva. This is no place for Grunt. No place for any of us. ’Cept maybe Circ and Skye and Feve.

Grunt nods and scrambles to his feet, ru

“Siena!” Circ shouts from the side and I spin ’round to see what he’s hollering ’bout.

His cry was too late and I’m too slow, although I duck as the fire stick arcs toward my head.

Crack! It catches me in the face, but sorta on an angle so it doesn’t get me with full force. Even still, it’s enough to send me star-seeing to the ground, tasting durt and blood on my lips.

I look up to see three Glassies, identical, all pointing fire sticks at me. Circ’s yelling something but it sounds so far away, too far away to save me.

The three Glassies shift and fade in and out and then combine into one man, wearing a snarl. “Die you little bitch,” he says.

A big blur flashes from the side, yelling something, thumping into the Glassy with the force of a tug. The Glassy disappears from sight and I’m left staring at a puffy yellow cloud full of shards of light that I think are just a trick of my eyes.

Circ stands over me, speaking, reaching toward me. I can’t hear him, just see his lips moving. He’s saying something like, “Far two to fight.” That can’t be right.

I blink again, try to reach for his hand, but nothing’s working right.

I see Feve behind him, thrusting his sword into the gut of a Glassy, shoving him down.

With a roar, my hearing comes back in booms and clanks and the sound of Circ’s voice. “Are you all right?” he asks, and that makes much more sense.

“Who?” I ask, ’cause all I can seem to think ’bout is that tug of a human who came out of nowhere and saved me.

Grunt appears next to Circ. “I couldn’t run,” he says. “I saw you and I couldn’t…”

“Shanker,” I say, but I take his hand and he and Circ pull me to my feet, holding me up as I get my balance. I feel like I should thank Grunt, hug him or something, but there’s no time to think or do anything, not when there’s death all ’round.

I notice that it’s not just Feve protecting us, but Skye and Wilde too. There are Glassies everywhere, and it seems like less’n less of my people and the Stormers are standing with every second that passes. We’re being slaughtered, just like the Icers.

I give my head a shake and the cobwebs fall out and the stars fade and, although the pounding in my brain is still there, I’m steady on my feet. Drawing my short blade, I say, “We die t’gether.”

As one, we charge into the fray.

Tristan

When we’re less than half a mile from the New City, we hear the gunshots, hammering across the desert like ca

Oh no, I think. The Tri-Tribes have arrived first.

“Move!” I shout, feeling somewhat sick all of a sudden. Memories of bodies in the sand flash through my mind. We have to hurry or I’ll be seeing the same thing again, only it’ll be brown bodies this time.

Like legions of ants, we pour over the final dune separating us from the city, gaining speed as our feet find purchase on more solid ground, cracked and hard, specked with small stones rounded by wind and sand. A loud sound is emanating from inside the Dome, like a siren or an alarm. A call to war perhaps?