Motherfuckers better keep that door open. Jack leads Corva along the dog-legged alleys and corridors on the way to Upper Bule’s north siege cave. They wasted a lot of time getting out of the bar. He watches Zeke ahead of him. The furry little beast bounds from one rocky wall to another, swinging and sliding along bits of piping and conduit that run along the narrow paths between buildings.

Show-off. Jack looks up. Pockets of sky peek down at them through the chaotic nest of stone and metal that make up this rock city. This would go a lot faster if we could take the roofs.

That’s not possible, though. He glances over his shoulder at Corva. She’s keeping up pretty well, but her coordination is off. A mere shadow of the spinning ball of fury he’s watched and rewatched on his playback. She’d need to be a lot more sure-footed to work across Bule’s rooftops without falling.

What’s she on about? “Not a fighter”? He shakes his head. Something isn’t right. How could she not know her own abilities? It doesn’t make sense. Maybe she hit her head and she just can’t remember. Of course, it’s possible that she’s lying. But getting her bell rung by that road merc is one tough-assed way to sell a lie. Also, fuck Harris an’ his bullshit “security audit.” I got your number, you bald bastard.

He straightens his head just in time to see a wall in front of him. His feet don’t have enough traction to stop him. The best he can do is turn his shoulder as he slides into it. The wall is unyielding. His arm grinds into its rough surface before he bounces off it, landing as gracefully as a cow falling from a tightrope.

“You okay?”

Corva stands over him, back straight, head on a swivel. Has she been in a raid before? Of course she has. Everyone has. Still, there’s something off about how she carries herself. She’s intense, alert. Anxious.

It’s not like everyone is super casual during a raid, but these are fairly routine things. Sirens go off and folks either hole up in personal bunkers or work their way to the protection of the caves. Most go to the caves. Personal bunkers might be cozy, but if they’re breached, you’re done. It doesn’t matter how tough you are. At least in the cave, you’ve got other folks as backup. Well-armed backup.

“Hey! Are you alright?”

She’s looking down at him now. Jack pushes himself back to his feet, slapping dust and grit from his clothes. His shoulder is a bit sore, but otherwise he’s fine. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“You even know where you’re going?”

Of all the— Jack’s chin shoots up as if spring-loaded. Back straight, he whirls around to face Corva. “Yes, I know where I’m going! This is my damn town, girlie.”

She takes a step back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“We got three more turns and a short run of steps to the doors. Zeke’s probably already there.” He pivots back in the direction of the path, careful this time to avoid running into anything. He doesn’t look back, just starts jogging again. He turns to yell over his shoulder, “See if you can’t keep up.”

His ears are hot. Of course I know where we’re goin’. Wouldn’ta even run into that wall if I weren’t looking back to make sure you were okay.

They round the last corner and slide to a stop at the base of the wide steps up to the siege cave. Harris is at the top. He and two members of the Bule militia are guiding the last stragglers through the little sliver of space left between the large bay doors closing in front of the cave.

Jack spins around, scanning the buildings that line the edge of the little courtyard. “Where’s Zeke?”

Corva steps up next to him. “Maybe he’s already inside.”

“No. Zeke wouldn’t do that. He’d wait. Make sure we get in.” He gives a harder look at the empty kiosks and darkened windows. “Somethin’ ain’t right.”

She tugs on his arm. “Well, let’s get up the stairs at least. Maybe your militia friend up there has seen him.”

He jerks his arm back. “Harris is not my friend.”

“Whatever. We’ve got to get out of the open. We’re too exposed here.”

Jack squints, and the words come out of his mouth before he can even think about it. His bullshit meter is pinging at nine. “‘Too exposed?’ Funny way to talk for someone who ain’t a fighter.”