and fronds slapped and slashed at her face and eyes. She struck a tree trunk at full speed while half blinded by a leaf raking her naked eyeball.
The impact jarred her, but she seized the trunk, using it to maintain her footing.
She glanced back and saw that there were three tentacles winnowing their way around trunks, stretched out at far back as she could see through the trees. Smaragda raised her M-16 and opened fire. Rifle rounds shattered the eerie silence that had fallen in the wake of the last Spartanâs disappearance, but they did nothing to dispel the living darkness stretching and seething after her.
Smaragda turned and ran again, having paused onlyto slide down her eye shield, leaving the advanced optics out of the way.
Smaragda ran for as long and as hard as she could.
Within an hour she was at the coast, on her knees, her chest burning, shoulders aching, trying to vomit but having nothing to spit up.
Twenty-two people were now gone.
She was the lone survivor.
She pulled off her helmet and, for a moment, thought something else had come after her. A sheet of white spilled down over her eyes and she screamed in shock.
Then she realized why she was so stunned.
Before the smoke her hair had been as dark as a ravenâs feathers.
Now the tresses that she could see were as pale and wispy as silken icicles.
Trembling, Smaragda looked around for the boat that had brought the expedition.
âLive to tell what happened,â she said in a terrified murmur.
âLive to tell whatâ¦happenedâ¦â she repeated.
Tears drenched Smaragdaâs cheeks as she struggled to her feet.
Chapter 2
Domi crouched deeply as she faced off with the man in black. Perfectly balanced in her hand was the handle of one of her favorite knives, its flats gleaming under the harsh lights. She was a small woman, hardly five feet in her bare feet, and Domi was almost constantly barefoot. Her body looked thin and frail, her complexion was white as bone and her hair was wispy, silvery and trimmed short so as to provide little more than peach fuzz for an opponent to grab on to. Most startling about Domi was her eyes, ruby-red gems that denoted the cause of her pale flesh and translucent hair.
The girl was an albino. And yet she was facing off against a man a foot taller and easily a hundred pounds heavier than she was, her muscles tense, ready for battle. In the centuries before skydark, the cataclysmic nuclear Armageddon that drove humankind to the brink of extinction, albinos had been considered frail. Indeed, as a child, she had been, but surviving in the deadly world outside of the villes, in the harsh wilderness between tiny islands of civilization, had hardened her.
She was thin of limb, yes. But her muscles were corded tight and had strength and swiftness within them, making her akin to a panther. Her âclawsâ were her knife and her âbiteâ was a deadly little .45-caliber Detonics Combat Master, which she didnât have access to now.
The big man in front of her was powerful, armored,and even inside that armor, had a lightness on his feet, bouncing on the ground in a taunting dance, making it apparent that he expected her to charge him. He was dangling himself as bait, waiting for her to commit to an attack before he turned it around.
Domi was a survivor, though. Before sheâd begun to learn how to read under the tutelage of Lakesh and Brigid Baptiste, her school had been expanses of desert or gnarled, predator-stalked forests. Her teachers had been the cruel and the powerful, seeking to use her as meat or pleasure or, in some grisly cases, both. And the feral albino girl had been a quick student, passing every test thrown at her.
This was not the first time sheâd faced the armored brute in front of her. His head was encased in a glossy but tough helmet, shielding his face and preventing her from seeing if he was blinking or shifting his glance. Without a view of his tells, Domi
The impact jarred her, but she seized the trunk, using it to maintain her footing.
She glanced back and saw that there were three tentacles winnowing their way around trunks, stretched out at far back as she could see through the trees. Smaragda raised her M-16 and opened fire. Rifle rounds shattered the eerie silence that had fallen in the wake of the last Spartanâs disappearance, but they did nothing to dispel the living darkness stretching and seething after her.
Smaragda turned and ran again, having paused onlyto slide down her eye shield, leaving the advanced optics out of the way.
Smaragda ran for as long and as hard as she could.
Within an hour she was at the coast, on her knees, her chest burning, shoulders aching, trying to vomit but having nothing to spit up.
Twenty-two people were now gone.
She was the lone survivor.
She pulled off her helmet and, for a moment, thought something else had come after her. A sheet of white spilled down over her eyes and she screamed in shock.
Then she realized why she was so stunned.
Before the smoke her hair had been as dark as a ravenâs feathers.
Now the tresses that she could see were as pale and wispy as silken icicles.
Trembling, Smaragda looked around for the boat that had brought the expedition.
âLive to tell what happened,â she said in a terrified murmur.
âLive to tell whatâ¦happenedâ¦â she repeated.
Tears drenched Smaragdaâs cheeks as she struggled to her feet.
Chapter 2
Domi crouched deeply as she faced off with the man in black. Perfectly balanced in her hand was the handle of one of her favorite knives, its flats gleaming under the harsh lights. She was a small woman, hardly five feet in her bare feet, and Domi was almost constantly barefoot. Her body looked thin and frail, her complexion was white as bone and her hair was wispy, silvery and trimmed short so as to provide little more than peach fuzz for an opponent to grab on to. Most startling about Domi was her eyes, ruby-red gems that denoted the cause of her pale flesh and translucent hair.
The girl was an albino. And yet she was facing off against a man a foot taller and easily a hundred pounds heavier than she was, her muscles tense, ready for battle. In the centuries before skydark, the cataclysmic nuclear Armageddon that drove humankind to the brink of extinction, albinos had been considered frail. Indeed, as a child, she had been, but surviving in the deadly world outside of the villes, in the harsh wilderness between tiny islands of civilization, had hardened her.
She was thin of limb, yes. But her muscles were corded tight and had strength and swiftness within them, making her akin to a panther. Her âclawsâ were her knife and her âbiteâ was a deadly little .45-caliber Detonics Combat Master, which she didnât have access to now.
The big man in front of her was powerful, armored,and even inside that armor, had a lightness on his feet, bouncing on the ground in a taunting dance, making it apparent that he expected her to charge him. He was dangling himself as bait, waiting for her to commit to an attack before he turned it around.
Domi was a survivor, though. Before sheâd begun to learn how to read under the tutelage of Lakesh and Brigid Baptiste, her school had been expanses of desert or gnarled, predator-stalked forests. Her teachers had been the cruel and the powerful, seeking to use her as meat or pleasure or, in some grisly cases, both. And the feral albino girl had been a quick student, passing every test thrown at her.
This was not the first time sheâd faced the armored brute in front of her. His head was encased in a glossy but tough helmet, shielding his face and preventing her from seeing if he was blinking or shifting his glance. Without a view of his tells, Domi
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