I finished him with my hands.
No time for precision. No time for elegance. Just speed and violence and the need to get back to her.
The cart bounced over the bodies as I hauled it toward the gap in the farmhouse wall.
Anhara was crouchedbeside Turnip when I came through. She looked up. Her face was streaked with soot, and her eyes were red from the smoke, but her hands were steady on the boar’s harness.
“You’re bleeding,” she said.
“I know.”
“More than before.”
“I know that too.” I positioned the cart beside Turnip. Dropped to one knee. My leg didn’t want to hold me. I made it hold anyway. “Help me lift him.”
We worked together. She took the front harness, I took the hindquarters. Turnip squealed when we moved him, a sound that made Anhara’s face twist, but he didn’t fight us. He knew we were trying to help.
Two hundred kilos of Frangian boar settled onto the cart. The axle groaned. Held.
“Now what?” Anhara asked.
“My ship. Half kilometer north. Through the orchard.”
“The orchard is on fire.”
“Parts of it. Not all.” I gripped the cart’s handle. “Stay behind me. Move when I move. Stop when I stop.”
“Kallum.” Her hand on my arm. “You can barely stand.”
“I’m aware.”
“Let me pull the cart. You cover us.”
She was right. I knew she was right. But every instinct I had screamed against putting her in front, making her the target, letting her do the work while I stumbled behind.
“Please.” Her voice was quiet. “Let me do this.”
I handed her the cart handle.
The orchard wasa maze of smoke and fire.
Some trees still stood, green and alive, untouched by the flames that consumed their neighbors. Others were torches, columns of fire reaching toward the dawn sky. The smoke obscured everything more than ten meters ahead.
Anhara pulled the cart through the chaos. Strong. Steady. The same way she did everything.
I followed with my rifle up. Searching the smoke. Listening for movement.
Two more hostiles. One from the left. One from directly ahead.
I shot the first one center mass. The second got close enough to see his face. Young. Scared. Not expecting to find a ghost in the burning orchard.
He died scared.
“Keep moving,” I told Anhara. “Don’t slow down.”
She didn’t answer. Just pulled harder.
The smoke was getting thicker. I couldn’t see her anymore, just the shape of her through the gray haze, the sound of the cart wheels grinding over roots and debris.
