The day you stop feeling remorse over taking life is the day you no longer have a heart.
—CHRISTOPHER REEVES, THE FATHER OF SOPHIA REEVES
Tires shriek as the Humvees skid to a stop. Hunters pour from their innards, dressed in black fatigues, like a swarm of spiders.
“You!” one shouts. “Stop!”
Fear takes me in a vise grip. My thoughts scatter like the broken shards of an icicle as it crashes to the ground. We’d only been escorting these people to a safer area! We weren’t doing anything wrong.
“Take the kids!” yells my squad mate, Rodrigo.
“You, there!” the Hunter says again. “On your knees!”
Tekqua and I usher the children toward another squad mate, Daniela.
“Go!” Tekqua hisses to her.
Nodding, Daniela lifts the smallest child and takes off at a run, urging the kids and their mothers to follow.
“Get behind us,” a sergeant commands as his combat squad forms a barricade in front of us.
“What do we do?” I whisper.
“If we run, they’ll chase,” Rodrigo says.
“If we don’t run, we’re theirs,” I reply. My hand brushes the gun holstered at my hip, the cold metal as foreign and unpleasant as the hate in those Hunters’ eyes.
Their leader bears down on us, face hidden by his combat helmet. “On your knees, I said!”
My heartbeat clogs my throat.
“On my mark, you run,” says our sergeant. “Zigzag through the neighborhood. Force them to split up.”
“Lower your weapons and get on your knees!” the Hunter shouts.
A shot blasts through the sky.
I choke on a startled gasp. Was that a gun? Was it ours or theirs? Is anyone dead?
My ears ring.
“Now!” Sergeant yells. “Run!”
Tekqua grabs my wrist and yanks. I trip in my effort to keep up. The others fan out, but Tekqua and I stay together.
More gunshots pop behind me. Beside my head, a burst of disturbed air has me ducking. “Shit! Did you see that?” Just a few inches to the left…
“Come on,” Tekqua says, dragging me into the neighborhood.
The large front yards in this older area of town—now abandoned to the war—bloom with stately oaks and budding poplars, fantastic for hiding. Parked cars and hedges provide cover as we dart for safety.
Footsteps pound behind us, and a smattering of gunfire rents the once placid air.
Six houses down, Tekqua’s hand curls around the handle of an SUV. It speaks to the previous wealth of this area that the owner hadn’t bothered to lock it. The door wedges open, providing us cover so I can catch my breath.
Shouts ofGo right!andBehind you!play a harmony to the gunfire.
Firearm in hand, Tekqua creeps into the SUV’s backseat, her gaze on a pair of Hunters jogging our way. She raises her pistol.
