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Without thinking, I scrambled over the pile of concealing rubble and hurried into the churchyard. I didn’t have a plan beyond distracting the guard. Finhadto cover the nulling device. Hehadto free Liam. Hehadto survive.
They both had to make it out of this alive, or there was no future for me. Not without them.
I ran toward the packed cages. “Hey,” I said, my voice raised but not shouting. I wanted to capturethisguard’s attention, not draw the notice of the other two watching the perimeter of the churchyard.
“Mom?” It was Liam. Hills and Lyra shifted so he could move to the edge of their cage and curl his slim fingers around the rusted bars. His eyes were wild with fear. “Mom, no!”
“I’ve been looking for you,” I said once I had caught the guard’s attention.
The guard narrowed his beady eyes at me from the far side of one of the Ferals’ cages, then stomped around the back end of the wagon.
I glanced at Fin, a quick flick of my eyes. He had resumed carefully unfolding the shiny silver blanket, trying to avoid sudden movements or loud noises that might draw the guard’s attention toward him. I slowed to a walk as I neared the beast of a man.
“Oh, yeah?” He scanned me, his attention hitching on my sheathed knife and holstered pistol, and narrowed his eyes to a suspicious glare. “Why?”
“Because you stuck my son in a cage, you asshole.”
His lip curled, his cheek twitching. “I’d be glad to reunite you two.” He grabbed my arm at the exact moment that Fin draped the mylar blanket over the nulling device.
My empathic senses flared to life, and I smacked my hand against the slaver’s throat, curling my fingers around his thick neck. His grip on my arm tightened painfully, and I gritted my teeth.
His confusion flooded me, and I skimmed his surface thoughts in a single heartbeat. He didn’t understand why I hadn’t come in with my weapons out. He didn’t realize there were more of us and that I was merely a distraction, just buying Fin time. Firing my gun—or appearing remotely threatening, even with my knife—might have encouragedhimto fire his shotgun, and I didn’t want to draw the attention of the slavers guarding the perimeter or those gathered inside the ancient church.
He gripped my wrist. “Listen, bitch—”
I cast an illusion of pain over his mind. Of fire and burning flesh. My gifts flickered out, the nulling device momentarily breaking through the imperfect shield of the blanket, and I held my breath as I stared at the guard’s face with unblinking eyes. Had it worked? Was it enough?
The guard released me, sucked in a breath, and let out a scream of pure agony.
“Shit!” I hissed, watching him run away, his arms flailing and his shriek neverending. I hadn’t thought that through. Every slaver in the area was sure to hear him.
Acting on instinct, I drew my pistol and fired twice. The first shot only grazed his shoulder, but the second struck him through the chest, and he dropped, his scream fading to a wet gurgle.
I ducked down, slinking toward one of the cage wagons filled with eerily quiet Ferals, and looked toward the former church. The commotion was bound to draw the attention of the slavers within, no matter how raucous the gathering. I spotted Callon rushing toward the double doors at the front, a shovel in hand. If I could get back to Ada, she could boost my gifts to make me strong enough to cast an illusion over this entire cesspool.
I heard hurried, crunching footsteps and spun around. It was one of the other guards who had been patrolling the perimeter. He stomped toward the cluster of cage wagons, a rifle at the ready, searching for the source of the gunshots.
I crept around the wagon to get out of his line of sight. When I straightened enough to peer over the wooden lip surrounding the cage, I found myself staring directly into the vivid blue eyes of a middle-aged Feral woman.
I gulped and raised my index finger to my lips, silently begging her—and the others with her—to remain quiet.
She stared back, no acknowledgment that she understood. But she didn’t make a sound to alert the guard, either.
I spotted the small silver canister tucked into a loop on the guard’s gun belt at the same moment as he found his dying companion. It looked like one of the gas grenades that knocked out our people back at our camp.
The guard stopped and turned in a slow circle, scanning the area with his eyes and the nozzle of his rifle.
I glanced at the church. It was an enclosed space, and most of the doors and windows were boarded up. Callon had slid the shovel through the front door handles, effectively locking the slavers packed in there inside, for now.
People banged on the doors from within. The shovel’s wooden handle wouldn’t hold forever.
Emboldened by desperation, I darted out from my hiding spot and rushed the guard while his back was to me. I unsnapped the leather loop holding the grenade canister and backed away, but not fast enough.
He spun toward me with his rifle, and I dropped the gas grenade, catching the barrel of his rifle in both hands and shoving it over my head a fraction of a second before he pulled the trigger. The explosive shot made my ears ring.
He released the rifle and reached for my neck.
Fin crashed into the guard, tackling him to the ground. I stumbled backward, scrambling for the gas grenade and clutching it to my chest.
