Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 51862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
“Zain!” The boys call him too. “Come learn how to shoot!”
Zain comes in from the fields. Mrs Trotter has made him a pair of denim shorts, cutoffs from old Mr Trotter’s wardrobe. He wears them with a tall pair of alien boots and nothing else. With every move he makes, his abdomen ripples with a hundred alien muscles, and I get thoroughly distracted from issues of morality.
“Stop right there!” The town guard are already calling out, readying their weapons. Deek insists we don’t waste bullets, and he’ll give any of these young bucks a right bollocking if they shoot when they don’t have to, but judging by the sound of things, whoever is out there is not stopping.
Zain goes bounding up onto the barricade, and I follow. Instinct is telling me I need to be here. I can’t hide away like I usually would and let the men deal with the situation.
“It’s a woman!” I call out. “That’s no man.”
“I don’t care if it’s a cow, she can’t come in here,” Bart says. “And if she crosses that line, she’s going to be eating lead.”
It almost seems as though the woman can’t hear the shouts. She’s moving with an unsteady gait, almost stumbling more than walking. My sympathies go out to her, but I cannot protect her. Not from here. She is not one of mine, and my influence is practically nonexistent outside the village walls.
“Red line! Red line!” Bart whoops as she crosses the point of no return. We agreed as a village, we won’t shoot anyone who turns back, but if they cross the line that lets them get a running start at the barrier, they’re fair game.
The sound of firearms being discharged is painful to my unshielded ears. I watch, horrified, as bullets fly at the solitary figure of the female moving toward our town. Maybe she doesn’t know it’s dangerous out here. Or maybe whatever she’s running from is worse than what she can imagine she’s running toward.
I know the shooters don’t care. City dwellers get it, big, small, male or female.
She drops and lies still, unmoving in the dirt.
The sounds of gunfire roll out into the eternity of the wastes and there is a moment of awful solemnity.
“No.”
I hear a deep growl come from Zain, and in the next moment he is bounding out from behind the barricades, ignoring the shouts of the townsfolk. They start to yell at me.
“Get him back! Make him stop!”
“I can’t control him,” I say.
“Bullshit, Emily. You control everything. You could lead that alien around by the nose like a prize pig if you wanted to.”
By now, Zain has picked up the young woman and is carrying her back toward the village. She has been shot in the leg, and judging by the way he is gripping her thigh while blood still seeps out around his scaled fingers, I am almost certain she will not survive.
He is greeted by our militia, none of whom are prepared to let him in. He walks through them, the way a full grown man might walk through a pack of puppies, ignoring their yapping.
I know he’s going to take her to our house, so I start moving toward the door. Meanwhile, Bart starts to freak out, practically foaming with rage.
“Put her back out there! Put her back out there, or I’ll shoot her in the fucking head!”
Still holding onto the young woman, Zain backhands Bart so hard he flies across the village square, spinning like an angry, gun-wielding top. It is a testament to the impeccable control Zain has over his strength that he didn’t knock Bart’s head right off.
“You are all humans,” he growls. “She is a human. Stop acting like vicious animals and get out of my way.”
Zain
I carry the wounded human into Emily’s house. I know she will be safe there, though I don’t entirely know why. The villagers respect Emily, but they also seem to respect this house too.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Emily says. “It was the right thing to do, but… here, bring her into the spare room. Good. Rest her gently. Perfect.”
I stand back and watch as Emily rolls up her sleeves and gets to work. She may not be a doctor, but she acts with the cool, determined detachment of one. Her first act is to sedate her patient with something dabbed onto a cloth and placed beneath the woman’s nose. She is barely sensate as it is, but the fumes of whatever concoction Emily has used puts her right out.
Emily then proceeds to take a long pair of pliers, heats them well over a hot flame and reaches into the wound, extracting the bullet.
“Missed the major vessels,” she says. “This girl owes her life to what awful shots they are.”
The girl has pale brown skin dashed with freckles, and thick dark curling hair. She looks to be around the same age as Emily, perhaps a little younger. She does not look like a threat, though she does perhaps look a little sick.