Page 54 of Exiles on Earth
The sheep huddle against the hedgerows, their white fleeces blending into the misty rain. At least they’re staying clear of the danger. I wish I could do the same. The cold is relentless, sinking past my drenched coat and biting into my bones. My fingers are numb around the shovel’s handle, and my teeth chatter despite my best effort to clamp my jaw shut.
Ilia moves closer, a towering wall of radiating heat. “Ellen?”
“I’m fine,” I manage, puffing like a steam train. “Let’s get to the lambing shed. It has the best vantage point, plus it’s shelter.”
Ilia nods but doesn’t look convinced. His jaw tightens as he scans the fields again, muscles taut and ready for a fight. His silent efficiency makes me feel clumsy and slow, but I can’t let him do this alone. The thought of him encountering anotherhuman sends a fresh wave of unease through me. What if they panic? At least with me here, I can try to smooth things over—or stop him from accidentally terrifying them. Provided he remembers to stay far enough away and keep his color from changing.
Steam curls off his scales in the rain, the heat radiating from him so strong it creates a faint, swirling haze. Half-naked, soaked, and smoldering—literally. It’s almost absurd, except nothing about this feels funny. Somewhere out there is a murderous machine, and I’ll be damned if I let it claim my land—or anyone else.
Ilia drops to the ground and yanks me down after him, nestling me under his arm. He’s so warm! My freezing cold hands pry open to touch his shoulder, which burns with heat in comparison.
“What’s that, up ahead?” Ilia’s whisper cuts through the icy silence, heat from his breath brushing my chilled skin. I instinctively huddle closer, his body solid as the frozen ground beneath us but his scales soft, yielding under my touch.
I yank my hand back. What am I doing? Hypothermia must be messing with me. I blink against the relentless sting of snowflakes—wait, snow? Panic rises in my chest. “The temperature’s dropped. It’s turning into a snow flurry.”
“Snow… frozen precipitation.” Ilia nods, his nanites no doubt feeding him the translation. But his gaze doesn’t waver. “I meant the structure. Is that the lambing shed?”
I squint into the swirling flakes, my breath hitching as each icy flake bites my cheeks and nose. A low building takes shape on the horizon, barely visible through the storm. “Yes, that’s it! I didn’t realize we were this close.” My voice falters, my body trembling uncontrollably now.
Before I can say more, Ilia clamps a massive hand over my mouth.
His grip is firm but careful, and I freeze, my pulse hammering as I slowly turn to follow his gaze.
The robot.
It click-clacks up the hill from the other side of us on five spindly legs, its blinding red light sweeping over the lambing shed’s wooden walls. Darkness rolls in with the storm, the flurry thickening, but the machine doesn’t seem to care. It’s searching, hunting.
Ilia leans close, his breath warm against my ear. “I will lure it and destroy it. Stay here. No matter what happens.”
“No—” The word barely leaves my lips before he’s gone, rising with a predatory silence that sends a shiver down my spine. The cold rushes in where his heat once was, but it’s nothing compared to the fear pinning me in place.
I crouch in the falling snow, heart pounding, eyes fixed on his retreating form. Calling out for him would attract the robot, but staying still is agony as he moves toward danger. His shoulders flex and his fists bunch, red lines between his scales zigzagging over his back when his armored skin hardens.
But Gara said he couldn’t use his extra power, it would tear him apart.
As if he heard me, Ilia suddenly sags with a grunt of pain. The machine snaps around instantly, its barrel glowing, and a sharp crack echoes down the hill. Ilia goes down hard on his side, slumping in the sleet.
My trembling legs barely obey as I grab the shovel, forcing myself upright. He’s hurt, I have to help him.
I race the robot for Ilia as it scuttles toward him, laser trained on his face. Panic surges, and before I can think, I scream, “Over here!”
SIXTEEN
ILIA
The machine swivels,its weapon locking onto El-len, barrel rising.
Drok na.
Pure rage sears through me, ripping at my arms, a small price to pay for the extra strength to protect El-len. With a guttural snarl, I grab one of its legs and yank, toppling it toward me. My fist crashes against its carapace, a metallic clang reverberating across the valley. Another punch follows with a sickening crunch of my knuckles, and then I tear the metal apart, the red glow of my scales illuminating the storm.
With a final heave, I rip the cannon off the robot and hurl it down the hill. The fibers of my muscles scream, nanites working hard to repair the damage, but I don’t smell any blood.
Yet.
I spin, running for El-len, movements jerky. She limps toward me, eyes wide and face pale. “You shouldn’t have put yourself in danger!”
“You collapsed!” she retorts.
