She held Powell’s free hand tighter.
They reached another door, this time unlocked. Light flooded the tunnel the second Powell heaved his shoulder into it. Any relief Florence could feel was abruptly cut short by the squealing hinges and the screams that rose like heat off a pyre.
The four of them ran along a narrow catwalk suspended over Faroe’s under-city terminal station. Three platforms were vacant; the fourth already had a train departing. Men and women flooded over the platform, trying to press themselves against the vessel in some odd hope that they might stick. That left the fifth train, already billowing steam and clouding their vision high above as the engine began to gather heat.
“We have to make that train!” Powell shouted.
Florence’s legs burned, her feet felt like rocks, but she kept pushing forward. She worked through the numbness to the point that sliding down another, long ladder to the chaos on the platform below didn’t even hurt her bare feet. Powell continued to forge a path for them, Derek at his side. Florence kept her shoulder against Nora’s, elbows linked.
“Powell!” a man from within one of the open cars called. “Powell, here!”
“Max,” Powell shouted in reply. Harvesters flooded around them, everyone desperate for the same opening.
“Let us on! Let us on!” the people chanted and cried. They begged and bartered. But those on the car had no solution for them. To make room for those on the platform below required those on the train above to give up their spots.
Powell jumped onto the car, helping up Derek by the elbow. Florence reached for the offered hand when Nora was ripped from her side.
“This train is for Harvesters,” a man screeched.
“Nora!” Florence and Derek called in unison. Their friend became nothing more than a lump on the floor, hidden under the stampede of feet.
“Let me on!”
“Nora!” Florence tried to push back to her friend. The man stepped in front of her.
His hands reached out. He was going to grab for her shoulders just as he had Nora’s. He was going to take her and throw her to the ground, too. She was going to be nothing more than a lump of flesh on the floor, disregarded in the chaos as nothing more than a life less valuable than those of the people stepping upon her.
Florence reached for the holster that now never left her shoulders. One revolver, six canisters. She drew her gun and tracked the barrel right between the man’s eyes.
“Touch me and I will shoot.”
Fight or flight. Florence breathed heavily.Fight or flight. The man grabbed her shoulders.Fight or flight, fight or flight, fight or—
Fight!
Florence pulled the trigger, blowing off half the man’s face at point-blank range. His skin exploded, curling back and away from the epicenter of the blast. The contact shot vaporized his skull and pulverized his brain. It sent blood and gore flying.
Those around were stunned into a brief moment of silence. The world stilled as everyone realized at once what they should’ve known all along. Every choice, every decision now, was a judgment call of whose life was more valuable. And every man, woman, and child, would always put their own life before any others, by virtue of instinct if nothing else.
“Nora.” Florence took advantage of the moment, pushing people aside, stepping through the gore, grabbing for her friend. Black blood smeared Nora’s body, but she remained breathing—dazed, but intact.
The people closed in again, as Florence pulled her friend toward the car. “Don’t touch us,” she screamed again, cocking the weapon. “Don’t touch us or I will shoot to kill.”
She waved her gun through the air, keeping the people at bay. She had five more shots; they could overpower her in a moment. But people seemed to favor the chance of potentially getting on the train somewhere else rather than certain death from the wrong end of her firearm.
Derek pulled Nora onto the train, then turned to help on Florence. She found her spot pressed between Powell and Derek. The Harvester’s side she was flush against was too hot. It was kindling to the spark of her swift and sudden guilt.
Florence swallowed, looking at the body on the platform. She had never killed a Fenthri before. Not like that.
The train lurched to life, bringing on more screams as the people on the platform were faced with the realization that there simply wasn’t enough room for all of them. They chased the train. They jumped for the vessel. Some missed, tumbling under the train’s wheels with unsettling thuds. Others managed to find a hold, only to be splattered the second the train entered the narrow tunnel leading out of Faroe.
It seemed like an ocean of black and red blood was going to drown them all.
“Powell…” Florence finally began to catch her breath. “That man…”
“It was you or him.” The Harvester at her side verbally recognized the fact, but he didn’t look at her. He remained focused ahead, looking into the wind that carried only the darkness of the tunnel. “You had no choice.”
“He was of your guild…”
