Kayla drags me to the Uhrwerkmänn that Clyde felled before we entered the room. Hannah stands there, shooting with one hand, shaking Clyde with the other. “I can’t focus,” I hear him saying. “Say it one more time.”
“Concentrate, damnit.” Tabitha eschews encouragement in favor of castigation.
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” My voice is thick thanks to my bitten tongue. But I’m done trying to communicate. The room stinks of gasoline. My pistol is still clenched in a death grip in my hand. I point it at an advancing Uhrwerkmänn, dripping black oil from numerous gashes. I aim at its bleeding head. The first three shots go wide, the next two hit armor, raising sparks. The third shot raises enough to do what I’m looking for.
Flame encases the Uhrwerkmänn’s head. It bellows, flailing. Its hemorrhaging arm catches fire, slams into one of its cohorts, forced next to it in the tight confines of the room. Fire rips from one Uhrwerkmänn to the next.
With Kayla still propping me up, I turn to Clyde. “Can you at least blow a hole in that wall?”
He seems to understand me, despite my mangled tongue. At least, he turns, stretches out an arm, and mutters. His arm jolts and bricks spray out into the Oxford street.
“That bloody way!” I am done with this mission. Bloody done.
At least Hannah doesn’t question the order. Or try to shoot me in the legs or something.
We careen over the fallen Uhrwerkmänn. Kayla still half carries me. I have a feeling I’m not going to like it when the adrenaline wears off and I can feel all of this. But for now I let the madness of it all carry me along. If I can just keep moving, find my way back to the status quo.
Brick dust clogs the world, and then a cool breeze is sweeping it away. The world is clear and we are free. We skid to a halt, out in the open Oxford street.
Except, no, not quite open.
“Told you,” comes Tabitha’s voice in my ear. “Street is not a good idea.”
And no. No it was not.