Ark

26

The Candidates emerged from the shelters’ linked orange bubbles, their blankets wrapped around them. None of them were armed, save Don.

Holle tried to take in the scene. Ragged people, a line of them, marched warily toward the shelters. They were armed, but as far as Holle could see only with torches, knives, what looked like machetes. They were all adults, but Holle couldn’t tell their ages in the dim light. She wasn’t even sure if they were men or women. She wondered how they had got past the Academy security cordon. It was obvious what they wanted. The Candidates had good-quality shelter, warm clothing and blankets, food, clean water-a mess of materiel that could transform the lives of these people.

At the center of the line was Susan. She had her jumpsuit pulled down to the waist, revealing her underwear, her white bra; they must have caught her with Pablo. She had her hands tied behind her back, and her head yanked back by a woman who had her hand wrapped in her hair. Susan seemed calm enough, uninjured.

Don stood with his gun held before him in both hands. His blanket had dropped, leaving him naked, his body pale. He said nothing. The others gathered behind him.

“I’m sorry,” Susan called. “They followed me, and when I met Pablo they grabbed us both. I think he’s OK-they hit him-”

“He’s alive,” said the woman holding her. She had a Californian accent. She sounded young, maybe no older than Susan herself. “We’re not killers. We’re just hungry.”

“That’s close enough,” said Don.

They stopped. The woman stepped out from behind Susan, just a single pace. “We just want-”

Don fired.

The woman’s head exploded, a crimson flower. She twitched, dropped. Her hand stayed clamped on Susan’s hair, and Susan was dragged down on top of her, screaming. The other bandits stood in shock, for a heartbeat, two. In that time Don plugged his way along the line, one shot, two, three, a single round for each victim. They fell in the dirt, their blood bright. Before he got to the fourth the others had broken and were running. Don shot off a fourth round, a fifth, but they were soon out of range. Don started speaking to his bare wrist; he must have had an implant radio.

Holle was the first to break out of the shock. She ran to Susan. She was crying, and her right shoulder and breast were covered by streaked blood, and a paler fleshy material, and what looked like shards of bone. She was plucking ineffectually at her coverall. Holle helped her get her arms into the sleeves.

Kelly stood before Don, her blanket wrapped tightly around her body. “You killed them,” she said. “Without hesitation.”

“Fucking eye-dees,” he said flatly. He was breathing hard, but was otherwise calm. Holle was astonished to see he had an erection.

Kelly stared at him, then, abruptly, she clutched her stomach and cried out. She doubled up, the blanket exposing her shoulders, her blond hair drifting over her face.

Venus hurried to her. “Kelly? Kelly, honey? What’s wrong?”

Kelly shuddered and threw up, a thin bile spewing from her mouth in loopy strings. She looked up at Venus, and at Holle, and at Don, with his gun, naked. “Shit.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I think I’m pregnant.”