Their Fractured Light (Starbound #3)(87)

Instead there’s no one.

We cross the perimeter one by one, swinging our legs over the cement barriers. Though we’re still too far away to see the wreck, my eyes pick out a dizzying emptiness in the distance where there ought to be skyscrapers. With a city that stretches across almost an entire planet, there’s no recognizable skyline—and yet my memory knows there should be something there, that it’s like the world’s been wiped clean just beyond the horizon.

A metallic clang shatters the quiet, making me jump so violently that I bang into one of the barriers, stifling an oath. Both soldiers have their weapons out, eyes scanning the alleyway where the sound came from. They move together without even seeming to communicate a plan—one glance, a nod, and then Jubilee’s circling around wide to the mouth of the alley, shoulders pressing back against the brick, as Tarver crouches low, using the cover of the parked hovercars to remain unseen as he takes the other side. The rest of us move to follow, and as Tarver and Jubilee move on down the alley, we take up positions by its mouth.

Another, quieter clang, alerts us all to the source of the sound—there’s someone inside one of the dumpsters at the end of the alley. Tarver tilts his head at Jubilee, who silently steps around behind it as he shifts his grip on his gun to free one hand. I glance over my shoulder, neck prickling, to see a figure a block away pause—turn—and start moving toward us. Swallowing the urge to call out alarm, I reach out to touch Sofia’s elbow so she’ll follow my line of sight. Flynn catches the movement, and after he casts a quick, fearful glance back at me, we all ease into the mouth of the alley, hoping that noise hasn’t drawn more attention. Tarver’s shield will protect him and Jubilee, and Sofia and I stay close to Flynn and his.

Tarver’s gripping the edge of the dumpster lid, Jubilee creeping closer so she can train her weapon on whoever’s inside as he gets ready to haul it open. Just as Tarver’s muscles start to tense, Sofia’s sharp whisper cuts through the tense silence.

“Wait!”

Jubilee’s gun twitches our direction, eyes scanning behind us even before she registers that Sofia’s speaking. We’re invisible in here, no other danger evident, and her gun twitches back. Her brow’s crowding in, and I can tell she’s about to signal Tarver to continue.

But Sofia doesn’t speak for no reason—that much about her is real, and no lie or misdirection can change it. “What is it?” I ask softly, forestalling Jubilee.

Sofia’s eyes flick from me to the dumpster. “The husks,” she breathes, voice barely audible. “They don’t hide. They’re on a mission—you said it yourself,” she adds, nodding at Jubilee. “They’re running a search pattern. Why would one corner itself in here?”

Tarver lets go of the edge of the dumpster, though he doesn’t lower his gun, eyes darting between me and Sofia.

But before anyone can respond, the dumpster lid flies open, knocking Tarver back and making a sound like thunder crashing up and down the alley. A figure tries to vault out of it, but he’s clearly too cramped, too panicked, for acrobatics. He stumbles forward against the far wall, tripping and then dropping to the streets. Before any of us can speak, he’s got his hands up, as though protecting his face from us.

“Please!” he gasps, voice ringing. “Don’t hurt me—please don’t hurt me.”

“Shhh!” Jubilee’s eyeing the mouth of the alleyway, her gun trained on this new arrival.

But he doesn’t respond to that warning, still babbling pleas. He’s in his fifties or sixties and out of shape, clad in the ruins of a suit. He’s filthy, the odor of garbage and fear ripening the air, but as his eyes flash, terrified, between the five of us, I can see it: his eyes are hazel. And though they’re dilated with fear, they’re not empty.

“You have to calm down!” Tarver’s voice is low and urgent, and though it cuts across the man’s babbling, it seems to have no effect.

An image of that husk in the next block turning our way flashes up in my memory, and I’m moving before I have time to think—dropping into a crouch, I reach out and press my hand against the guy’s mouth, forcing a moment of silence. He groans, eyes rolling from the two soldiers, to me, and back again.

Sofia’s moving to crouch beside me, and glances up to follow the man’s gaze. “Guys—” She lifts a hand, then turns it palm-down to gesture as she murmurs, “Lower the guns.”

“We’re not going to hurt you,” I whisper. “But you’ve got to be quiet. If I take my hand away, will you promise not to make noise?”

He nods, eyes rolling back toward me again.

I ease my hand away and the man gulps air.

“Who are you? What’re you doing here?” Sofia’s voice is soft, despite her line of questioning.

“We were—I’m Chuck. My wife and I were…There were evacuation sirens. They said this part of the city wasn’t safe, might collapse. We were…we were…” He trails off, staring wildly into the middle distance.

Sofia reaches out, her hand coming to rest gently on his shoulder. “It’s okay. Just take a deep breath.” The genetag tattoo she worked so hard to conceal is exposed now, and stands out stark against her inner arm as she gives the man’s shoulder a squeeze. My stomach clenches as I realize this probably isn’t the first time she’s talked someone through a violent trauma, growing up on Avon in the middle of a war.