Page 26 of The First Spark
The hatch slammed shut. Hannover had gotten into the sewer.
Red blasts thudded into the granite behind Zane. He shielded his head as glass shattered, striking the tile floor. His heart hammered.
Red bolts. Not to stun, but to kill.
Zane’s stomach turned as he flicked the switch on his pulser. He’d sworn to never kill again, but the civilians were out of the crossfire, and if the Feds were playing hardball, so would he. There were at least a dozen of them fanning out. Their heavy boots thudded through the room.
His rattling breaths filled the sudden silence. Any moment, they’d be on him.
The grate was five steps away.
The only way to get out of this alive was to run.
Zane inhaled deeply. Then he bolted towards the chute and pried the lid open.
Scalding pain ripped through his arm. He roared, but he couldn’t stop.
Diving into the opening, he slid through the grimy shaft and dropped into a lake of food scraps, human waste, and green water.
Mordir, thesmell...
He righted himself and wiped the muck out of his eyes. Green goop dripped from his hair. His stolen pulser bobbed in the sewage a few feet away, but as he reached for it, pain exploded through his left arm. He spat a curse. Black spots swam in his vision.
He’d been shot.
A legionnaire landed in the lake behind him, spraying sewage everywhere. He squeezed the trigger.
Zane dove for his pulser.
Red bolts soared overhead. Zane gripped the stock and tapped the trigger twice. His pulser recoiled, knocking him into the muck. A shrill scream warbled through the sewage. As Zane popped up, the legionnaire fell into the green lake.
He stared at the body sinking into the sludge. Crimson blood seeped into the grime. Bloodhe’dspilled. An oathhe’dbroken.
Shouts rang out above. As Zane rushed through the grime, his head swam with exhaustion. His heart pulsed, and though the burn had cauterized the wound, he could’ve sworn he felt blood pumping out of him. He needed to look at it, but if he paused, they’d catch up and kill him. Adrenaline thrummed through his veins, propelling him forward.
Another legionnaire dropped into the lake. Zane fired at him before he had the chance to come up for air. A muffled cry rang out.
The body floated in the grime. Something in Zane’s chest twisted, butkill or be killedwas second nature after so many cycles of war.
He stumbled forward, sweating, shaking. His arm burned mercilessly. Sewage splashed behind him. Gasping for air, he darted around a corner and sagged against the wall.
His knuckles whitened on the pulser’s grip. Rallying his courage, he whipped around the corner.
He squeezed the trigger three times, and the legionnaires sank into the lake. The pulser’s charge indicator flashed red.
Low power. Damn it all.
Shouts echoed behind him. Zane ducked around the corner, and as his eyelids crashed down, he considered giving up. He could throw his pulser down, sink into the sewage. He was nobody to Carik. The legionnaires would make it quick and shoot him. Even if he made it out of this, his life was over.
But then he saw it, the island of twenty cycles of dreams and hazy, glittering memories.
Avington.
Zane dragged himself to his feet, forcing his eyelids to open.
Clenching his teeth, he trudged forward, pushing his strained muscles to the limit. His arm had gone numb. Slippery sludge was dripping, moving on his skin.
Sewage sploshed behind him, growing louder and louder. He glanced over his shoulder. Legionnaire, a few yards away.
