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THEY ALL RAN ACROSS the battlefield. Under Ash-Ka’s direction they veered towards the large stand of garden where there was cover of large plants and fungi, to hide them from Air-sense. While crashes rang out left and right and the zips of incoming fire sang past their heads, Fluppit held tight to the handle of the trolley and dragged and prayed to all the gods she knew, old and new. The ride was bumpy as hell, as the earthen floor of the Hab was pockmarked and churned from the spans of conflict on its surface. Fluppit had to stop and drag the cart out of holes and over fallen debris but wasn’t the worst off: Sha-cha and the medics were herding their charges and still carrying Sari on a stretcher.
A loud clang rang off the cover of the cart. There was no accompanying shattering noise, so Fluppit was glad of that at least. She couldn’t help but think that the jangling freight she pulled made her a massive target. Anything in bottles on the battlefield was going to be heard longstrides away and would be considered a weapon. Another clang and a crunch. Ahead, the front of the column had made it to cover. But far in the distance she could also hear the whoomph of steam catapults lofting their missiles into the air. She knew where those missiles were heading. She ran and dragged for all she was worth.
The first crash landed ahead of her in the thicket. She heard screams. Then the trolley lurched. “Damn it. Come- on!” She dragged but it didn’t follow. Had she lost a wheel? That was going to make life difficult. More difficult. She leaned back into the pull, but the thing was stuck. “Shreds.” She wanted to get Chik-chik to help her, but she could hear him farther down the column back the way she’d come, the wrong side of the missiles. Gods alone knew what they were getting dropped on them, but bits of it fell all over the battlefield as it flew—springs and bolts and bits of scrap metal all heavy and sharp.
Someone came down the column from the thicket ahead, “Ash-ka is down, Ja-chey has taken command.” Was he the corporal she’d helped across the bubble earlier? She’d never asked his name directly. “Ve go on,” said the messenger.
She didn’t know her name either. It seemed rude to interrupt her while she was rushing down the column delivering vital news. She put a friendly hand on her shoulder on the way past and rushed on. She knew why they wanted to keep moving: if they were getting bombs rained on them from above, as a thinly spread-out moving string of folk, they were harder to hit. That was what good leadership was, she thought, when every instinct inside her folk brain was to huddle together with her burrow mates for shelter and comfort
Another steam burst and whizzing hissing signalled an incoming missile. Fluppit hunkered down behind the trolley and clenched everything. It sounded close. A crash. Screaming. Metallic spattering like rain fell on the trolley’s canopy, she hoped nothing too big would fall on it. Fluppit lifted her head from behind her trolley barricade then whipped it back down again as her instincts kicked in. A piece of metal about the size of a door whizzed past her head and settled. She reached towards it. It was corrugated, not entirely oblong and every edge to it was sharp. If she hadn’t ducked it would have had her head off for sure. She shuddered, then went to kick her would-be assailant, thought better of it and carefully reached to move it. Maybe she could use it to lever the trolley out of the hole?
She lifted it to shove under the back axle, then stopped. There was a noise coming from everywhere at once. A low animal growl groan of pain? No, a voice. In anger? Distress? It was the most awful, terrifying, heart-wrenching cry she’d ever heard. It froze everyone in place, attackers and defenders alike.
“Uuuuurrrrrrrrhhhhhh,” the noise went on like the drone of a broken fan. It seemed to hold everyone in place. No more missiles, no more shooting. Nothing except the bottomless anguish of the voice.
Fluppit felt a tug at her sleeve, “Hey,” the word in her ear from right next to her.
“Chik-chik!” she embraced her young friend, “You’re safe!”
“Yeah, Sari says that noise is OneLove and we need go now.”
“I can’t, the trolley’s bogged down.”
“Oh.”
“Can you go on through the thicket and pass your message on to...”, Gods what was the name of the new leader? ‘Ja...?”
“Ja-chey?”
“Thank you Chicky, yes, Ja-chey and get him to send someone back to help us get the trolley and Sari to safety?”
“Yup. On it.” And off he went. Fluppit returned to her trolley and her metal sheet with fresh vigour and hoped it would be enough.
