Blake didn’t have a weapon, not that one would do him any good. But he didn’t have to down the Off Formers, just buy them some time.
The car the FUD had run into was crushed like a beer can. Gasoline leaked out of the tank, spreading across the street. The smell cut through the dust and blood.
Spinning on his heel, Blake sprinted out of the vet clinic and up over the broken wall. The liquor store was in worse shape than it had been when they arrived. A small fire was crackling in the back of the store, flames struggling to get enough oxygen in the dusty atmosphere.
His boots skidded over the blanket of broken glass. Blinking the smoke from his eyes, Blake tried to find a whole bottle, just one. Half bottles and large pieces caught his attention, but it wasn’t until he saw a clear bottle nestled under a cardboard advertisement that he launched forward. Falling forward on his knee, his fingers closed around the cold bottle. Vodka sloshed in the glass as he worked on twisting open the cap.
Outside, he heard therat-a-tat-tatof gunfire and explosions. It was hard to focus. Sweat dripped into his eyes as his slick fingers struggled to gain purchase on the cap. He got it off, letting it fall to the floor.
Vodka splashed over his hand as he nestled the bottle in the crook of his arm and yanked his shirt up from under his hoodie, looking for the seam so he could rip it. Even though the material was cheap, he couldn’t get a good angle. Another shout followed by the unmistakable sound of the Off Formerordinance slamming into a building made him jump. Adrenaline and fear made his hands shake. Bending over in half, he bit into the fabric. Grit and polyester squealed under his incisors as he tugged, shaking his head like a dog.
It gave, and he was left with a jagged strip of cloth. Stuffing it into the neck, he turned to the fire. Even though the flame was struggling, he could feel the heat from half a store away. Listening to the crack and pop, he wrinkled his nose at the smell of burning plastic as he extended the bottle toward the flame. He held it there until the shirt caught, the synthetic material catching quickly.
Hurry, hurry, hurry.
The fire ate away at the cloth as he ran toward the front of the store, hand protectively cupped around the flame. As soon as he saw daylight, he took a moment to aim and then threw the bottle into the street.
His little league coach was rolling in his grave, but the bottle hit right in front of the Handler. Glass shattered, and the flame caught the alcohol, igniting quickly.
The Handler stuttered to a stop; its big body swaying as it peered down at the small fire. Blake could almost picture it curling its alien lip in a sneer at such a puny flame. Ten feet away, Alvarez and Beaumont were on their feet, guns up as they began backing away.
Blake didn’t wait to see if his stupid idea worked. He vaulted over the half-wall, backpack slamming into his back as he raced back to the woman and child. He grabbed her hand again and ran for the street.
She hesitated, no doubt wanting to stay in the perceived safety of the building. “We have to make a run for it!” he yelled over his shoulder, grip tightening over her wrist until he felt the bones shift. She relented just as the flames exploded.
The gasoline ignited in a whoosh of heat. It spread across the asphalt, licking up the pool until it hit the car. Clacking in irritation, the FUD began pacing the line of fire, as if it wasn’t sure if it could cross or not. Blake didn’t wait to see if it figured it out.
Alvarez and Beaumont booked it after him. Alvarez was curled over his midsection, but he wasn’t letting it slow him down. Blake let go of the woman so she could run more easily, desperately trying to remember the way to the truck.
With the street blocked, it wasn’t a straight line. They had to scramble over downed power poles and tangled lines, circumnavigate holes, and lurch over disabled cars.
Blake was over the hood of a car, turning to grab the woman’s hand when the car suddenly burst out from under him. Something struck his chest, and then he was flying backward.
His head slammed back into the asphalt with a sickening crack. It was only the adrenaline that kept him from blacking out. Blake’s vision swam as he tried to get his bearings. The gray sky above him looked wrong, like he was looking at it upside down. Blinking, he tried to get his legs to work, but nothing happened. Reaching out, he laid a painful palm on the street below him. It helped him to orient himself, and he was able to roll onto his front.
Out of the corner of his eye, near a rooftop, something shifted. He blinked the dirt from his eyes.
The backpack shifted, and Blake checked to make sure it was still on his back. Sluggishly, he thought it might have saved him from fully cracking his head open on the street. Grit and gravel stung the open cuts in his palm as he got his knees under him.
Where the car had been was a smoldering crater. Bits of the Off Former ordinance were valiantly trying to continue burning through the asphalt, widening the hole. Through the smoke andhaze of heat he could see Beaumont and Alvarez getting to their feet.
Where were the woman and child?
Feeling sick for forgetting her, he got to his feet and wobbled toward the crater. His legs felt like partially cooked spaghetti, and he wasn’t sure if he was even fully straightening out his knees.
Through the smoke, he could see the FUD testing the flames. It pawed at the edge of the fire, claws sparking on the street.
He heard a sniffle and turned to see the girl standing over her mother. Her lank hair was hanging in front of her face, the oversized doctor’s coat flapping over her hands. Her mother was on the ground, groggily trying to push herself up.
Blake made to reach for her hand, but then he noticed the blood. It pooled out from under her, spreading across the asphalt until it hit his boot like a speed bump. The blood didn’t slow, only made its way around and through the treads. It filled all the grooves and rents in the street. And more kept coming.
He dropped to his knees. Following the blood, he found a rip in her scrubs where a piece of car was lodged in her inner thigh
Blake’s stomach dropped.
The shrapnel had sliced through her femoral artery.
Behind him, Alvarez shouted. He glanced to see the FUD had made it through the flames, its claws clacking as it loped toward them.
