Paradigm Read Free

and very effective, and had proved its worth more than once.
    Sam ambled along, glancing in shop windows and watching as people hurried through town on their way home. It felt nice. It felt like, if you squinted your eyes just a bit, everything was normal. Like an old photograph.
    It wasn’t, of course. For one thing, the sky was a weird kind of yellow and there was a vaguely acrid smell in the air. Sam had heard rumors of places where the sky was still blue. High in the mountains, they said. But he’d never seen it. A blue sky. How weird is that?
    He strolled past a store that had an actual glass window and stopped at the sight of his own reflection. It was always a surprise. Ever since the last wing mirror was stolen from the car, he’d only had the rear-view to go by, and that only told him that his once-blond hair was now dark brown and that one of his eyes was blue and one green. The distorted glimpses of himself in streams and lakes never really told him much about what the rest of him looked like. Not that it really mattered, but it was strange. His face had become long and angular and he was tall in a spidery kind of way. It was as if a stranger was peering out at him from inside the store.
    He was still staring at himself when he heard a noise. It was one he knew all too well—the sound of guns being cocked. He glanced around, but the street was still quiet. People were just going about their business.
    “Hand it over.”
    “No.”
    The first voice was little more than a growl. The second was female and completely calm.
    “Look, girly, we’re the ones with the guns. Hand it over.”
    “You should probably walk away while you still can.”
    “What? You’ve been out in the sun too long.”
    Sam smiled and walked to the corner. He had to see who this frail was. He peeked up the alley. It was narrow and littered with old boxes and trash cans. At the far end there was a high chain-link fence and the walls on either side were old brick, unpunctuated by windows or convenient doors.
    The gunmen were standing with their backs to him, blocking the way out. There were three of them, all armed to the teeth, and although Sam could only see their backs, he knew what their faces would be like. The Wilds were full of men just like them—hard men who had long since lost any feelings of pity or empathy, who lived only for themselves and scavenged off anyone unlucky enough to cross their path.
    “I suggest you walk away right now.”
    She seemed to be talking to the gunmen, but Sam knew she was speaking to him. He’d seen a slight movement of her eyes. Dark, steely eyes that saw everything.
    The gunmen glanced at each other. The girl had been leaning against an old motorbike, a Norton Commando, dusty and much-repaired, but she stood up now, her feet slightly apart. She was tall and slender with black hair pulled back from her face into about six long thick braids that swung around her head like Medusa’s snakes. She was dressed in black and wore a blue and grey poncho that she had thrown back over her shoulders. Her hands hung at her sides and Sam guessed that she usually wore a gun. She watched the men with the intensity of a hawk on a branch waiting for its prey, and Sam found himself feeling a little sorry for the gunmen.
    Then they made their move. But even as they pulled back on the triggers, the girl rolled, and the bullets found only air and the brick wall beyond. The men were surprised, but not for long. The girl’s legs spun beneath them and all three slammed to the ground, a few swift movements of her gloved hands and they were unconscious. The girl brushed herself off and glared at Sam.
    “Thanks for the help.”
    “I didn’t think you’d need it.”
    She looked at him, then strode back to her bike and pulled a gunbelt out of a saddlebag. Sam watched her strap it on.
    “You took that off on purpose, didn’t you?”
    The girl shrugged. “Maybe. Sometimes it’s more interesting when they think you’re