The Drowned Cities (Ship Breaker #2)(47)

Hoopie looked down at the doctor. “He don’t look too good.”

“ ’Cause you shot his ass!” Ocho waved at Pook and Stork. “Get this one back to the command.”

He turned and caught sight of movement in the trees. “Dammit, Hoopie! You got your zone controlled or not?”

It was some little civvy licebiter, watching from the jungle. “Get that civvy. See if he knows anything about the half-man.” He grabbed Hoopie as he was about to go. “And if you bring him back like the doc, I’ll put a bullet in your head, personal.”

Hoopie’s bloodshot eyes regarded Ocho with total enmity, but he saluted and headed out. Ocho wondered if the armies up north, all those big corporate war bosses, had so much trouble keeping troops in line. Hoopie would need discipline, for sure, for tagging the doc. Maybe Ocho would bust him down to half-bar again. Give his rifle to someone who at least knew who to shoot.

Ocho stared down at the doctor. The old man was gasping and blood was coming out of his mouth, staining his salt-and-pepper beard. Already his eyes were glazing over.

Pook and Stork grabbed the doctor’s shoulders and got ready to drag him, but Ocho motioned them off. “Don’t bother. He’s already dying.” Ocho sighed as he looked down at the old guy.

“What were you thinking, old man?”

Maybe there was someone he wanted to save. But that doctor girl of his hadn’t been anywhere in the area. Maybe someone else, then. Ocho scanned the village. It didn’t make sense.

The man gasped again, and more blood came out of his mouth. It looked like he’d taken a couple in the chest. Surprising that he was even breathing, but the blood and bubbles frothing his lips made Ocho think the man wouldn’t last long.

Ocho squatted down beside the dying man. “Hey,” he said. “You remember me?” The man’s hand came up. Ocho took it. “Yeah. You fixed me up.” He looked down at the man’s blood-bloomed shirt. “Sorry about that, right? None of these warboys got any discipline. Half the time, they don’t even know which way to point a gun.”

The doctor wasn’t looking at him. Ocho couldn’t tell if the man was hearing him, or if he was already gone to his dying place. It was a stupid way to die. Hoopie’s squad just pinging him for no reason. They were supposed to herd people back into town and put them on work gangs, but this had just been an execution. Hoopie had been pissed about how the girl had gotten him burned, and figured the doc deserved it.

No damn discipline.

The doctor’s breathing slowed. Stopped. His hand went limp, and Ocho let it fall. “Sorry, old man.” He straightened. “Get that licebiter out of the trees, and make sure Hoopie doesn’t smoke him before I get to ask some questions.”

He strode back across the muddy fields, leaving the dead doctor behind, still irritated at Hoopie.

Sayle talked a good game about unit discipline, but at the end of the day, they might as well have been coywolv for all the restraint they had.

Mahlia watched from the trees. There was a cluster of soldiers standing in the blackened fields and then one of them straightened, and she recognized him.

Ocho. The sergeant she’d saved. Her hand curled into a fist, and then she saw what he and his boys had been standing over, and she gasped.

Doctor Mahfouz. She recognized the green pants and dirty yellow-and-blue shirt he’d been wearing. Stupid clothes for running and hiding, but the man had liked bright things. And now he lay in the mud. Stupid. Too damn stupid.

Soldiers were jogging in her direction. Tool pulled her back deeper into the jungle. For a second, she thought she’d been seen, but then soldier boys dove into the trees a hundred meters off. Gunshots echoed, followed by shouts. A moment later, they reemerged with some licebiter—

Mouse.

Mahlia lurched forward, but Tool grabbed her. He brought his head close. “You cannot survive this fight.”

Mahlia watched, sick, as Mouse was dragged across the fields. Beyond, the town burned, buildings flaming like monumental torches. A roof crashed down, blazing bright, and a cheer went up from the soldier boys.

Somewhere far away, Mahlia could hear a girl screaming, but Mahlia only had eyes for Mouse. The skinny red-headed boy, small between the older soldier boys. Mahlia tried to shake Tool’s hand off her shoulder. “They’re going to cut his hands off,” she whispered. “It’s how they do.”

Tool’s grip tightened. “You cannot save him.”

“He saved me! I owe him.”

“I’m saving you,” Tool said. “I owe you.”

“There’s got to be a way.”

“Why? Because you wish it? Because you made offerings to the Fates or the Scavenge God? Because you repented to the Christians and drank their deep waters?” Tool shook his head. “As soon as you start crossing those fields, you will be spotted. There are fire teams to our left and right, still combing the trees, and they, too, watch the fields. That”—he pointed to the open land—“is nothing but a killing field.”

Mahlia gave him a withering look. “Don’t you care about anyone?”

Tool growled. To Mahlia’s surprise, he suddenly released her. “You wish to prove your love for the boy? Go, then. Prove it.” He gave her a rough shove. “Charge. Attack. Take your little knife and attack. Show your love and bravery, girl.”