Paul Collins - Earthborn The

They dropped to the ground when the first shot echoed through the night. None of them was exactly in peak condition. Sarah's forced diet and subsequent erratic lifestyle, Patrick and Mira's ordeal in coping with Sarah's plans while keeping Gillian at a manageable distance, and Welkin and Gillian's tortuous few weeks had blunted their reflexes.

The O'Shannesseys edged forward on knees and elbows. Patrick's movements were hampered by his injured arm. "Patrick," Sarah said, "give Welkin the laserlite. You're no good to us with that arm."

Patrick grumbled but handed the weapon over. Welkin took it, checked the charge, and flipped off the safety. There was something practiced about the way he did this. Sarah realized that Welkin had grown up while she was gone.

"Any suggestions?" Sarah asked.

"You move around back, Gillian and I will take the front," Welkin said. "Mira can give us supporting cover. And Patrick still has his knife. He can look for stragglers."

Sarah raised her eyebrows. "Good plan. Let's do it." She became a fast-moving shadow that was soon lost to sight.

Another shot rang out, punctuating the steady rumbling of the falls to their left.

Welkin beckoned Gillian away from the roar of tumbling water. The wind rose, but with it the rain turned to mist. Gillian pushed her way through the gray shroud and found Welkin squatting by a rusting hay barn.

Welkin put a finger to his lips, then pointed in several directions. It was hard to see clearly, but Zocky's Amazonian body in the doorway of a shack was unmistakable. The blond girl rose, drew back her bow, and loosed an arrow. There was a dull thumk as it struck home. Then Zocky was gone.

Welkin half rose but paused. Laserlite fire suddenly cut through the veil of mist. Moments later another barrage ripped into a shack close by the hay barn.

Gillian rubbed her eyes. Before she could clear them, Welkin was up and running. For someone who had been exhausted earlier, he had surprising speed. Gillian tensed herself, then went after him.

Another shot rang out and Gillian was relieved not to see Welkin stumble and fall. Instead she felt something rip into her leg and the ground race up to meet her. She hit the packed earth hard, then lay flat on her face. Her left leg convulsed, and try as she might it wouldn't obey her. She opened her eyes and thanked her nameless gods when she saw Welkin reach a stone church building and disappear inside.

When no further shots rang out, Gillian took a chance and moved slowly forward. Her leg throbbed achingly, but she knew she couldn'tstay out here. Besides, if Welkin realized where she was, he'd come out to get her. The thought lent her renewed energy and she crab-crawled through the dark. The church seemed miles away.Welkin cursed inwardly. Gillian hadn't followed him. She was capable of looking after herself, but this situation was dicey. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkened hall before examining his surroundings. Feeling his way around the walls he finally stumbled across a body.

Alert, he squatted and rolled the corpse over. Lars. Blood congealing on his throat. No weapon.

Welkin's mind took it all in. If anything, Lars would have had a bow. Bruick's men were mostly armed with ballistics. He'd seen them leave the Stockade what seemed like ages ago. Obvious deduction: No one would have taken his bow. Elab was known to have taken a laserlite; Lars would have been the obvious choice to carry it.

He tightened his grip on Patrick's laserlite and sniffed the air like a hunting animal, sensing that something was wrong. He stepped over the body and peered out through the broken window. Across the square stood a lone shack. Zocky had killed someone in there. Laserlite fire had been directed at its front entrance. The laserlite fire, he reasoned, hadn't belonged to Blab's crew.

Then Welkin's heart missed a beat. Gillian was frantically scrabbling across the rutted square toward the shack. All reason left him and he moved quickly to the door, totally unaware of another man's presence.

"EYES OPEN!" Bruick mocked. He launched a roundhouse kick that caught Welkin in the side of the head and slammed him into the wall.

Suddenly the back door burst open as Sarah dived through. She got off one shot that plucked at Bruick's sleeve but left him untouched. Bruick fired, and Sarah's cuff flapped loose. She dropped the laserlite and rolled to her feet.

"Hiya, Sarah," Bruick said.

Sarah had a moment to step back into a defensive crouch, but Bruick was too quick. He broke through her blocking hands and headbutted her.

The impact knocked her sprawling, her eyes swimming in and out of focus. She was only dimly aware of the blood that flowed from her ruptured forehead.

"Long time no see," Bruick spat as he moved forward. He retrieved Sarah's fallen laserlite. "You won't need this where you're going," he said, swinging the weapon toward her.

Welkin scrabbled to get up, and Bruick turned to him and leveled a savage kick at his ribs. Welkin rolled with the impact, but there was no mistaking the audible crack as a rib snapped. His head struck the wooden floor twice. In a kind of slow motion, Welkin saw the laserlite come around and take aim. There was a bright flash of light that almost blinded him and instant searing pain in his shoulder.

"WELKIN!" Gillian cried.

Bruick swung about and fired instinctively. It took him a second to realize that no one was standing in the doorway. His eyes dropped to where Gillian had dragged herself. Her left hand was pulled back. The arrow would go right through him at this range. His mind raced. He slowly lowered the laserlite to the floor. "You wouldn't kill an unarmed man, would you?" he said calculatingly. He kept his hands outstretched, palms up.

"Kill him!" Welkin said, gasping with pain. He pushed himself up onto his good elbow. To his blood-smeared eyes, the room seemed a shifting mass of dark shadows. The laserlite at Bruick's feet was an ugly extension of the man.

"Welkin?" Gillian repeated hesitantly.

"I could've killed you back at the Stockade," Bruick reminded Gillian. He let his hands drop slowly to his side. He risked a quick look at Welkin. When he faced Gillian he smiled. "Your boyfriend's okay."

"Move away from him!" Gillian wailed. Her voice was cracking and her hands were wavering.

In the other corner, Sarah sat up groggily. "Welkin's right! Kill him!"

Then Devan's honey-smooth voice: "It's okay, Gillian. I've got him covered."

"Thank God," Sarah sighed and fainted.

"Uh-uh," Bruick smiled.

Welkin froze. Why would Bruick smile? Unless ... an arrow thudded into a body. The next moment the room flared with laserlite fire. Someone screamed. Gillian? Welkin felt for his boot with his good arm, then groaned, cursing the laser wound that flared in agony every time he moved. His hand gripped a knife haft. In one movement he had it out and his arm flung back ready to throw.

Bruick, his face a grotesque mask of loathing, with an arrow protruding from his chest, spun around in a lazy spiral before toppling headfirst to the floor.

Two figures struggled in the doorway. Welkin was confused. It was too dark and his eyes were too full of blood to see clearly who they were.

Then a third person joined the melee: Harry! He grabbed a head by the hair. Was it Gillian's?

Welkin's mind reeled.

Harry hesitated a split second, then pulled a knife across Devan's throat and stepped back as the boy fell forward.

"Gillian?" Welkin managed. Through a miasma of pain he got to his feet, staggered forward.

"She's okay," Harry said breathlessly.

"My leg's shot to pieces, that's all," Gillian wheezed. She pushed the dead Devan from her.

Harry looked around. "Where's Lars?"

"Don't go over there," Welkin said. "They got him."