The next fortyminutes were the longest of my life.
They came at the farmhouse in waves. Two or three at a time, probing different approaches. I moved between windows, firing, repositioning, firing again. The rifle grew hot in my hands.
Turnip guarded the north door. Twice, someone tried to breach it.
Twice, they met two hundred kilos of Frangian boar with three-inch tusks.
“Good pig,” I called after the second one stopped screaming. “Very good pig.”
The console beeped in the basement. A warning tone. The readings were drifting.
I couldn’t check them. Not now.
Hold, I told myself.Just hold.
A window shattered. Someone was breaching the kitchen.
I spun, fired twice.
The figure fell. Another appeared behind it.
I fired again. The shot went wide.
He raised his weapon.
Turnip hit him from the side. His weight moving faster than anything that size should move. The man went down, and Turnip finished it.
I didn’t watch. I was already moving to the next window.
“How many left?” I asked the darkness.
Nobody answered.
I reloaded. My hands were shaking now, just slightly. Not fear. Exhaustion. The adrenaline was burning through me faster than I could replace it.
Check the console. You have to check the console.
I sprinted for the basement.
The readings had drifted,but not catastrophically. Torek’s drills kicked in. My hands found the adjustments before my brain caught up, pulling the numbers back toward normal.
“Hour Four complete,” I said to no one. To myself. To the ghost who wasn’t answering. “We’re holding.”
The gunfireabove had gone quiet. Turnip appeared at the top of the stairs, blood on his snout and flanks but still moving, still alert. He descended and planted himself between me and the door.
“Good pig. Keep watching.”
Hour Five approaching. The vault’s systems reaching their peak. And Kallum still wasn’t answering.
They came again.
Not through the door this time. They’d brought something heavy. Something that punched through the farmhouse wall like it was made of paper.
I heard the explosion. Felt the floor shake.
Then I heard Turnip.
Not his war-squeal. Not his hunting sound.
