Page 34 of High Noon

“It’s a clone,” he confirmed. “No fangs.”

I pictured Abram lying there, fangless, a gaping hole in his chest, blood spilling all over his torso. I did that. Even though he left me with no other choice. He could’ve killed us all if he’d fired enough shots.

“What year?”

“What?”

“There’ll be a tattoo on his wrist of a year.”

“Eighteen sixty-eight.”

“Oh, so this year. A new model. Nice. Wonderful.”

Kohana rifled through a small bag attached to his hip and yelled something to Hotah. Hotah said something back.

I really wished my flesh would stop hurting, and that they’d stop speaking in their language. Not that it didn’t make sense that they would, I was just nosy and wanted to know what they were saying. And when a girl was wounded, her pain receptors were trashed, and she felt like crying – again, I could only think of small things. Insignificant things. Like understanding someone else. Or not.

Maru and I should start talking in pig-Latin next, just so they know how it feels.

When is my suit going to start freaking helping me? Do these things come with a warranty? This is bullshit.

Kohana stopped fidgeting in his pack and leveled me with a glare. “Sit up and keep still.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to help you.”

“How?”

His brows drew together. “By dressing your wound.”

“Why would you do that?” I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. His hand stilled halfway to me, as if considering the validity of my question. “My suit should start working.”

“When?” he asked.

I wasn’t so sure about that at the moment… I opened my mouth to say Soon, but shut it again.

Then, as if he’d made up his mind again, he continued. With a sharp knife, he cut a square of my suit away, tearing through some of the circuitry. The fabric dimmed where it was damaged. He repeated the cutting at the back of my shoulder where the exit wound was.

Maru returned. “I can help.”

“I am healing her.”

My suit should heal me.“Her suit should heal her,” Maru replied, as if plucking the sentence straight from my brain.

“It isn’t,” was all Kohana offered in reply. “You people are all alike. You dress the same. Think the same way,” he grumbled as he extracted things from his bag.

Before I knew it, he’d chewed up some sort of herb and used the spit and herb mixture to stave the bleeding bullet wounds. Hotah threw him a shirt. He tore off a long strip of fabric and then threw it to Maru. “I need more like this one.”

Kohana was a man of few words, but behind his gruff exterior was a heart of gold. A heart I prayed my stake never pierced.

When he was finished and my arm was tightly bound to my body, I tried to stand. Unfortunately, the earth began to spin and my legs wouldn’t support me.

“Easy,” Maru grunted, easing me back down. “You lost a lot of blood.” He let out a curse.

“What is it?”

“Your suit.”

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