Gabriel’s chest was screaming, but he pushed himself up to his hands and knees. He blinked rapidly, reaching for his gun.The Drone was smashed under the FUD. Crushed like Humpty Dumpty.
But the FUD was pushing itself to its feet. Metal crunched under its claws as it righted itself, kicking bits of the Drone away. Its head swayed, pincers silent. Gabriel wondered if it was out before those red eyes locked onto him.
Fuck.
The FUD’s pincers clacked once before it was speared back against the wall. Metal shrieked as the forklift pierced through the FUD’s ribcage and crashed back into the retaining wall. The FUD thrashed, legs uselessly kicking the air.
“Yeah!” Judd screamed from the driver’s seat. “Happy Fourth of July, bitch!”
Gabriel wheezed as he got to his feet. The FUD was slowing down, the red of its eyes dimming. Thick, viscous goo, the color of motor oil dribbled onto the ground under the dying FUD.
He squinted over at Judd. “It’s March.”
Judd hopped off the forklift. “Not in my heart, Commander.”
Gabriel picked up his gun and limped back toward Tommy.
God, he wanted a drink.
Blake’s ears were ringing. He gasped, rolling onto his back. It was difficult to open his eyes against the wash of air from the rotors. Cement crunched under his skull as he wiggled his toes, just to see if he could.
“Move, Medic,” Phin snapped, getting up to one knee so he could scan the rooftop.
Coughing, Blake checked the syringes before getting to his knees. His arms felt like jelly. How far had they fallen? Whywasn’t he broken? He looked Phin over—his right sleeve was shredded, skin stinging red from road rash.
Phin must have protected him with his body.
He didn’t have a chance to thank him. The big man was up, moving across the roof, gun first. Blake wobbled after him, arms out for balance.
The building was commercial with a flat roof, an ugly tableau of industrialization with its AC units and pipes poking out. Blake threw himself over a ventilation shaft, trying to keep pace. His ears were ringing—whether from being dropped fifteen feet onto concrete or the helicopter ride, he wasn’t sure. They hurt, too. His head felt full of cotton, and his joints were sluggish, like there was a significant lag between brain and body.
Swallowing the dirt in his mouth, he balanced against the wall around the edge of the building, using it to keep from falling on his ass.
Across the alley was Queen Dolly’s building. It was red-bricked, older, softer around the edges. Worn from time. Most of the windows were broken, shards of glass glinting in the sun like teeth in a gaping maw. Phin directed his attention to the fire escape.
“I’ll go first. You follow quickly. The metal will be loud, so we won’t have much time to get up to the roof. Draw your weapon, stay behind me, and for the love of God donotshoot me.”
“Stop pushing me out of things, and I might not be so tempted.”
Phin ignored him.
He took a moment to clear the area, using the sight on his gun to look up at the Queen’s roof. They couldn’t see much from where they were crouched. Her building was only two stories taller, but the junk they’d ringed around the roof made it impossible. It was actually kind of impressive how stable thewall was. Blake was pretty sure he saw aVW Bugwedged in with a vacuum and a bookshelf.
Slinging his gun over his shoulder, Phin stepped up onto the wall. He looked big most days, but the idea of such a big guy throwing himselfdownandovermade Blake nervous. The fire escape was rusty. Blake had worked with firefighters. He knew damn well how poorly maintained those things were.
“Are you s?—”
Phin’s thick thighs flexed, and with a look on his face that might have been mortal fear or constipation, he pushed off. Despite his size, he didn’t plummet, and it was surprisingly graceful. He arced just past the fire escape guard rail and landed with a clatter. Forward momentum had him slamming into the wall, but he caught himself with a softoof.
Blake tensed. It had been louder than they thought, metal slamming against the brick wall. Something clanged. But even as Phin whipped his gun around, the alley was silent. The soldier nodded to Blake.
Blake’s hands were clammy as he swung a leg over the wall. He told himself not to look down, but he’d always been questionable at self-preservation, and he peered down into the littered alley. Bits and bobs of things had fallen from the makeshift wall, mingling with the garbage and human remains in the alley.
There were three people. From this height, Blake couldn’t see much besides skulls and a jumble of decomposed bones. A rat was gnawing on a femur. Blake felt sick.
Jerking his head up, he narrowed in on Phin’s eyes. Pretended they were different. Phin wasn’t Phin. He was Gabriel. His hazel eyes would probably be brown against the brick of the building, glowing when the sun hit them. He would extend a hand and tell Blake to jump. Not coaxing like he was talking to a civilian, or a barked order like a fellow soldier.
Gabriel had faith in him.
