Page 37 of Mutant Mine

“Please,” I gasp. But there’s no need. He’s already thundering past me.

There’s a chaotic few seconds after Roth slams into the older man. I watch breathlessly as they wrestle, unsure who has the advantage. Then Roth emerges with the knife in his fist. He lifts the older man up, swearing and thrashing, by the scruff of his jumpsuit — then plunges the blade towards the man’s throat. I squeeze my eyes shut.

There’s another horrible, gurgling sound — the wet, meaty slap of a body hitting the floor — then nothing.

From chaos to deafening silence. The only sounds are Roth and I, both panting.

I open my eyes. The corridor is splashed with blood, and two men lie dead.

“I’ve never killed someone before,” I say. I feel far away from myself again, as if this is happening to someone else.

“Rory—”

“I think,” I say carefully. “I think I might pass out now, if that’s okay.”

The last thing I’m aware of as the world grays out is Roth catching me in his arms.

21

Roth

“RORY?” Iask. Her eyelids flutter as she drifts between this moment, this room, and the oblivion of unconsciousness. “Rory?”

Her limp body is so light in my arms, so small, so breakable. She could have died today; slipped away from me so easily. If I was just half a minute later… I grit my teeth and hold her closer.

It is years since I have felt this kind of fear. Once she has recovered from this — and shewillrecover — we must make her stronger. I can teach her how to really wield that knife. How to twist out of someone’s grip. How to use a larger opponent’s weight against them. I will teach her everything I know.

Or, even better, she could simply never leave my side. Then she would never be in danger again. I would keep her safe, always. Because if anything were to happen to her—

“Mm…” she mumbles.

I blink my way out of my escalating, irrational thoughts.

“Little bird, can you hear me?”

She twists her fingers into the fabric of my shirt, gripping me tightly. I try to ignore the way this makes my heart hammer. She does not know what she is doing.

As carefully as I can, I sit Rory down on the edge of the bed, then sink to my knees on the floor. She manages to staysitting upright, which must be a good sign — although she is unsteady, and her eyelids are still lulling heavily. As soon as her hands are untangled from my shirt, she reaches up to touch her head, wincing.

Could she have a head injury? I thought she had just passed out from shock, but perhaps not. I chase her hand with my own, threading my fingers into her hairline to feel for wounds.

My gaze refocuses from her head to her eyes — to find that they are open now, and looking right at me.

“You are back,” I breathe in relief. “Good. That is good. Stay awake for me now, Rory.”

She nods, blinking slowly.

“Are you hurt?” I ask.

“I… No,” says Rory. She clears her throat and takes a deep breath. “Just bruised. They didn’t really…”

They did not get to harm her as badly as they planned to. I am well aware. The thought makes me want to smash something. Or throw up. Or throw myself at her feet. I suppose I have already done that last one.

Instead, I focus on the sensations in my fingertips, roving through her short, soft hair. On the crown of her head, I find a distinct bump.

“Your head — they hit you here?”

“Oh… yeah. They slammed it against the door.” She gestures towards the door through to the flight deck.

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