Page 19 of The Tree of Spirits
“You’re bleeding!” I gaped at the gash on his forehead.
“It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.”
“None of us will be fine if we stay here for much longer,” Marlow commented as another round of explosions went off, showering us with dust and ash.
“This is all my fault.” I coughed and spat, trying to get that horrible burning metal taste out of my mouth. “Two guards stopped me at the Park’s gate. I told them who I was. I bet they called it in, and then the General sent the Watchers after his favorite anarchist.”
“You’re not an anarchist,” Conner told me as another explosion went off.
“How can you say that? Look around!” This time, the explosion was closer, inside the compound. That one must have come from the Watchers. “The Watchers are here because of me. This place is a war zone because of me!”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, it doesn’t look like this will be a war zone for much longer,” Marlow said, wheezing way too much for it to be good for him.
We were all going to suffocate on debris. That was, if we weren’t crushed under it first.
“What do you mean by that? Why won’t this be a war zone for much longer?” I asked Marlow.
“Because soon there won’t be any Watchers left to fight. Those explosions are taking them out fast,” he replied.
Conner peered over the crates, then ducked back down just before another explosion went off. “He’s right. The Watchers won’t last much longer.”
Marlow looked at him.
“What?” Conner asked.
Marlow plopped his butt down on the ground, folded his legs criss-cross, one hand on his knee, the other holding to mine. “Just waiting for you to march into battle and save us.”
“Oh, you are, are you?”
“Sure. You’re a Knight, aren’t you? You have magic, don’t you?” One eyebrow cranked upward.
“I’m sorry, did I forget to wear my ‘I’m not bombproof’ t-shirt today?” Conner’s laugh was less confident than usual.
Marlow’s brows drooped. And so did his mouth. “So you can’t get us out of here?”
“I can. Just give me a moment to figure out how to do it without getting you—and myself—killed.” Conner looked like he was about to start pacing to work out that problem.
I caught his hand, holding it—and his gaze. And it was a good thing too because another explosion went off.
He shot me an appreciative look. “Thanks, Red,” he whispered in my ear.
“No problem,” I whispered back because I knew he didn’t want Marlow to realize how rattled and vulnerable he was feeling right now. “I’ll help you, whatever you need. You’re not alone. We’re in this together.”
“Yeah, we are.” His confident smile returned. “And don’t think I don’t notice what you’re doing here, Red.”
“What am I doing?”
“Using this explosive situation as an excuse to hold my hand.” He winked at me.
I dropped his hand like a hot potato. “I know you must be feeling better if you’re back to your usual charming self,” I said drily.
He opened his mouth, but the next explosion drowned out whatever he said next. Then I heard a snap, followed by the screech of bending metal. Then lots and lots of shouting. It was coming from inside the compound.
And when I took a peek over the crates, I saw three people in black armor and thick battle helmets sprinting straight up and over the compound’s gate, as though gravity didn’t even apply to them.
“The Rebels are here,” I told my companions.
The Rebels were fighting the commandos. And they were winning.
