The Burn (A Runner Series Companion)

Chapter 16: Will (Part II)

207 A.B.

(2 years before the Runner's Rebellion)

A mighty explosion rattles the earth and I throw myself to the ground, shielding my head from the shards of flying wood and pelting sand. I grit my teeth, wincing as a piece of debris slices across my arm. Shouts and indiscernible commands echo around me and I raise my head cautiously, squinting into the chaos.

Our airship has been effectively obliterated. It lies in pieces amidst our scattered army, the silver balloon shredded and the mighty wooden hull in splinters.

Keep moving. Get out of the line of fire.

Keeping low to the ground, I dart towards a piece of the wreckage and duck in behind it. My breaths are ragged as I press myself against the shoddy bit of cover. I can't stay here, I need to keep moving. I can hear the distant sound of the Wasters as they shout commands at one another and instinctively grip the hilt of my sword more tightly. I duck lower and swivel my head, scanning the battlefield as I try vainly to locate my comrades.

I recognize Lee a few yards off. His disheveled mop of hair bobs up from behind a drift of sand before he scrambles up the embankment and army-crawls to another piece of debris. We exchange a grim nod as he unsheathes his sword and checks over his shoulder, holding up a pair of fingers to warn me of two approaching Wasters.

As if on cue, there is the thud of arrows striking the wood at my back. I curse and drop back onto my stomach, rolling across the sand towards Lee.

"Bloody Wasters." He grumbles, offering me a hand and yanking me to my feet. We both flinch as another arrow flies past our cover. "Where did they get those wheeled contraptions from?"

"Made them, I'd wager." I say through clenched teeth. The Wasters' mechanical weapons are crude approximations of ancient catapults; oversized and cumbersome but — as demonstrated by the current state of our airship — devastatingly effective.

"Serves us right, loafing about the camp when we should have been changing positions." Lee casts another glance around the side of the debris. "I hate having my feet on the ground in this accursed desert."

"I know what you mean." I mutter.

Thud thud thud. More arrows strike the planking at our backs. The Wasters and trying to scare us out of our hiding spot; it's only a matter of time until they switch tactics.

"Where's the Commander?" I ask, chancing a glance over my shoulder. The Wasters have shifted, making to flank us. We need to move.

"I've no idea." Lee replies. "Do you think the Wasters got him?"

"I hope not, for our sakes." I take a deep breath, straining my ears for any sound of the approaching enemy. It's no use; the madness of battle and the terrifying silence at which the Wasters can move make my attempts fruitless.

They're coming for you. You have to run or you have to fight.

"We need to get out of here." I hear myself say. "Come on."

Lee follows me as I duck and weave my way towards the hill, sliding down the side of it just as another volley of arrows flies over our heads. We land in a heap at the bottom of the incline and I immediately take off towards the largest scrap of ruined airship. When Lee and I join the Commander and the rest of our squadron behind it, we receive only the barest nod of recognition.

"Did you manage to see how many of them are out there?" The Commander barks in our general direction. His jacket is torn and coated in blood and he wears a pained grimace as he clutches at his arm.