Flynn grabbed the lantern and they ran for the front. Reaper or no, it was the only way out. Molly aimed her gun into the darkness of the stairwell to cover Flynn while he managed the door. From above, there was another shuffling noise followed by the creak of a footstep.
Flynn paused with his hand on the bolt. “Ready?”
Molly nodded. The bolt clanked, and Flynn shoved at the warped door.
They burst out onto the street, their boot heels hitting the old planking of the front entrance with enough force to raise a racket. The noise echoed back from the walls of the silent town. Flynn turned to throw the lantern through the door. The glass shattered, casting oil all over the place. The fire caught and flared.
Fire wouldn’t stop a Reaper from coming after them, but it might buy them a few minutes.
They pelted down the street. Molly tripped twice over hidden ruts in the road from long-gone wagon wheels. The beat of her feet on the ground, her harsh breath and the rush of her blood filled her ears.
They said Reapers could hear a beating heart from a mile away. She’d always dismissed that as pure nonsense. Now she prayed it wasn’t true.
Flynn matched steps with her, gun drawn, face grim. And wasn’t that scary? Flynn never looked grim. They’d been in tight spots before, lots of them, and Flynn’d always met them head-on and grinning.
Flynn stumbled, and she paused, glancing behind her. There was a Reaper about fifty feet back. It was burning as it ran after them, embers trailing in its wake.
She grabbed Flynn’s arm to help him up. His leg buckled, and he pushed her away. “Go.”
“You are out of you damned mind if you think I’m leaving you here.”
“Mol…”
She yanked harder on his arm. “Get up.”
She wanted to get him somewhere safe where she could murder him at leisure. Flynn lurched to his feet, and she ducked her head under his arm so he could lean on her. They managed a hobbling run.
A glance back told her the Reaper was gaining on them, but she wasn’t going to shoot it until she had no choice. A gunshot would draw the attention of every Reaper for miles around. On the off chance that any were still unaware of their presence, she didn’t want to wake them.
She could see the airship up ahead. The inflated skin was so pale it seemed to softly glow in the twilight. Flynn’s ship was of the small smuggler variety that could be anchored anywhere. They’d only set the one rope so they could get out quickly, and the ship drifted in the light breeze.
So close. They might actually make it.
Flynn stopped running. She pulled him forward a single step before he caught her and jerked her back to his side.
“We need—”
“Up ahead,” Flynn said sharply. “To the right.”
There was another Reaper outside the general store. Molly looked over her shoulder. The first Reaper was less than twenty yards back. The fire had gone out, but the Reaper’s hair was still smoking.
The flesh-eater was close enough that Molly could see the blistered, bubbled skin on one half of its body. If the burns hurt it any, she saw no sign of it. Its pace was steady and fast. She had no choice. They might be able to outrun one Reaper, but they didn’t stand a chance against two.
She lifted her rifle to take aim.
She’d need to hit it in the head. A bullet wound anywhere else would heal within moments, wouldn’t even slow the thing down. A direct shot to the head was the only thing that would kill a Reaper for good. Even then, Rangers usually decapitated fallen Reapers and burned the bodies to be sure there was no chance of reanimation.
Molly wasn’t immune like the Rangers were. If she got bitten, she would die. Flynn might stand a chance of surviving. Some men turned into Reapers, though the scientists didn’t understand why the parasites were able to take control of some men’s bodies and not others.
A dozen yards now. Ten. Eight.
She pulled the trigger.
The Reaper dodged, its reflexes faster than she could track. She fired again and this time clipped the thing in the shoulder, throwing it off balance and giving her the extra second she needed to put a bullet in its brain. The Reaper fell into the grass, and she stared, expecting it to get up again.
Flynn touched her arm, drawing her attention. The second Reaper waited at the corner of the general store. Watching. Lounging around like a cowhand at leisure. A filthy, naked cowhand with a long, straggly beard. This one was older than the last, who’d still had a few tatters of clothes wrapped around its body.
That wasn’t what had Flynn locked in place, though.
The gunshot.
The gunshot had woken more of them up, and they were creeping out of their dens now to join the party. One jumped out of a second-story window to land on its feet. Another stepped through the gaping door of a leaning house.
“The vault?” Flynn said softly, his voice admirably steady.
“They’ll wait us out. We have to make it to the ship.” There was a gap between the buildings to their left. “This way.”
She dragged Flynn toward the alley. They careened down it like drunkards, zigging and zagging to avoid the debris of a fallen wall and the remains of a line of rotted barrels. She didn’t pause when they reached the end. She turned right and almost ran straight into a Reaper’s arms.
Time slowed, turning thick as honey. She couldn’t stop. Her momentum pushed her forward before her brain could force her muscles to change course. She didn’t even have time to loosen her grip on Flynn’s arm so she could meet the threat head-on. The Reaper’s clawed hand dragged across her chest in a swiping motion and found purchase in the fabric of her shirt.
She jerked back. A seam ripped as the Reaper pulled her closer. And Molly knew—in that still and silent moment—she knew that she was going to die.
The Reaper grinned. It had perfect teeth, bright white in a dirty face surrounded by a halo of matted hair. Its eyes were as blue as the darkening sky, the pupils shrunk down to pinpricks.
She sucked in a breath to scream.
The heavy thunderclap of gunfire sounded beside her head. She felt the percussion of it in her chest. The Reaper’s eyes widened as a trickle of blood wept from the bullet hole in its forehead. That was ghastly enough, but the worst part was when the Reaper’s expression changed. For just a split second she wasn’t looking at a Reaper anymore. There was just a sad and filthy man standing in front of her, one realizing suddenly, shockingly, that his life was over.
The hand fisted in her shirt flexed once and went lax. She gaped at the Reaper sagging toward the ground and Flynn tugged her back, into his arms. He hugged her fiercely and then wrapped an arm tightly around her shoulders.
“Come on. We need to move.”
His voice sounded muffled and distant. The gunshot was still ringing in her ears.
“Molly,” Flynn yelled, and that snapped her out of it.
She shook her head and turned her back on the body. There were only two houses and a stretch of open ground to the ship.
Please, God, let us make it.
She’d turn honest like Flynn. Give up thieving and smuggling and cursing. She’d find a quiet little farm and hide from trouble for the rest of her days. Maybe she’d work on Ellie’s ranch. A Ranger like Garrett wouldn’t let Reapers anywhere near his wife.
Footsteps pounded behind them, but Molly didn’t dare look back. When they reached the last house, the Reaper near the general store finally made its move. Molly veered to the left, putting the old wagon bed between them as an obstacle.
She freed her arm from Flynn and raised her rifle, trusting Flynn to handle the Reaper on their heels.
She got the Reaper in the first shot. Part of its skull blew away and the flesh-eater crumpled to the ground mid-leap. Its leg twitched, and that was worrisome. There was a chance she hadn’t killed it-killed it, but it was down for now.
She turned to Flynn. He fired, missed, fired again and, this time, hit the Reaper in the throat. It was a bloody mess, and a neck shot wasn’t a mortal wound for a Reaper. But they didn’t have the time to finish the job.
Flynn caught her arm and pulled her up. “Go. Start the ship. I can make it the rest of the way.”
She nodded and raced for the airship, dropping her rifle so she could grab the wheel to the hatch. Wrenching it open, she scrambled into the pilot’s seat and started up the engine. There were two shots just outside the door and the ship dipped slightly as Flynn climbed aboard.
“Get us out of here.”
Like she was going to change her mind and ask for the grand tour? Maybe do a little sightseeing. Flynn fired through the open door. They couldn’t risk taking on a clinger.
She released the anchor and pulled the lever between her legs. The ship began to rise, too damn slowly for her piece of mind. Flynn took one last shot and then sealed the hatch. He didn’t join her right away. When she looked back, he was lying on his back on the floor, knees bent and hands covering his face.
“You get bit?”
She had to ask the question. It’d been close.
“No.” His voice was flat. “You?”
“You’d know it if I had.”
He’d know it because she’d be dead.
His voice took on a strange, sharp edge. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” she said. “No, I’m not hurt.”
“Good.”
He pushed himself off the floor, walked to her and set a hand on her shoulder. She tipped her head to rub her cheek along the backs of his knuckles. Something hot and tight untangled inside her.
“What do we do now?”
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t have a fucking clue. We needed that money for repairs and supplies. We needed it to bribe our way into the right parties to chase down this rumor.”
Flynn worked as a spy for the Rangers. He assured her it was nothing dangerous. That he only kept the Rangers informed about what was happening in Scraper circles for extra money while he got his shipping business up and running. As if she’d care if he were doing something crooked. Going respectable was his dream, not hers.
She leaned forward and flicked the necklace dangling above the altitude gauge. It swung in a little circle, the diamonds sparkling like tiny stars.
“We’re not entirely without resources.”
“That’s yours,” Flynn said after a long moment. “You can’t sell it for this.”
She looked up at him. He had his Scraper face on now, all cool and remote. “Where am I going to wear something like this? Besides, I gave it to you to pay for the ship I…” Stole. “…took. It’s not mine anymore.”
His mouth tightened, but he didn’t argue. Flynn was smart and practical. It was why he’d survived long enough to retire from the smuggling business.
“We won’t get as much as it’s worth from a quick sale.”
She shrugged. “It’ll be enough to see us through this job. I suppose it all depends on how much this job means to you. Do we fold now or go all in?”
“We can’t fold.”
“Sure we can.”
“And let the Federation win? Let them take over the plains so they can rule over everyone down here like they do up in the mountains? I don’t want to live in that world, Mol.”
“Me either.” Though Flynn, she thought, was more afraid of Stark winning than of the Federation in general. “What do you want to do?”
Flynn looked grimly at the necklace and then nodded. “Set course for Ballonet.”
She’d hoped for a request to head for home, but she wasn’t surprised he wanted to go on. Flynn didn’t give up easy. Wasn’t that why she was here?
They’d worked together for years—scavenging ghost towns, smuggling for Stormking, stealing whatever Scraper cargo they could get their hands on. Then Flynn had ruined everything by confessing he was actually a Scraper himself, the son of a founding family from Eyrion. He’d told her he wanted to turn respectable, and he’d asked her to marry him.
It was ridiculous. Who could imagine her as a lady? She didn’t want to be a lady. She didn’t want to get married, and she didn’t want to give up her life.
She’d walked away, and she’d been miserable without him.
Her new plan was to stick around until he got over the idea, and then convince him that things should go back to the way they were before—her and Flynn against the world, smuggling, thieving, raising hell.
She wasn’t walking away again. This time she was playing out the hand.
“Ballonet,” she said, turning the ship toward the mountains. “All in it is.”