Page 21 of The Last Hope
Another person launches a shoe but misses Bludrader and smacks Mykal in the jaw.
Anger surges,hisanger, and he whips harshly toward the crowd. Court lets go of my hand and clasps Mykal’s, pulling him back onto the path.
“Stay with me,” he urges.
Mykal looks every which way, hearingBludrader!echoing around us, and confusion replaces his fury.
As we approach the burgundy exit, I pick up my pace and ask Bludrader in a quiet breath, “How do they all know your name?”
I don’t hear him answer over the cacophony. “What?” I ask, pushing so close that my arm skims the cold metal of his bronze breastplate.
“I saidthat’s not my name.”
I frown. “Then what are they calling you?”
He peers over his shoulder.
Meeting my eyes, he says, “Blood traitor.”
FIVE
Mykal
A whole lot of fools allow us to leave theRomuluswithout any show of valor. We prance on out as though we hadn’t been sitting lazily in a room. As though we weren’t famished for so many wretched days with nothing to do or see.
The man-boy guides us onto another starcraft: one much smaller than theRomulus, even tinier than theSaga,but wide enough to comfortably fit all four of us.
We strap into jump chairs, and the man-boy settles his ass in the single-pilot cockpit. He flies us somewhere.
None of us are liking that he’s in control of our destination. Of what we know, he’s Saltarian and loyal to some odd-sounding land.
He’s given us nearly nothing, and we’re trusting him with our lives.
But anything’s better than having Court die in a prison. I dunno much, but I do know that.
Soaring through dark space, the starcraft begins to hum like the hush of winds sweeping coolly through a mountainside. As though letting us know it’s safe to move about.
Court, Franny, and I leave our jump chairs and gather around a midnight-blue corner booth, located in the bridge along with the cockpit.
We have our eyes on the man-boy.
Even as I tend to Court’s stitches with the med kit. Even as we fill our bellies with packaged meals in tin trays. Looks like brown mush. Tastes like soured potatoes and dry mystery meat.
The lack of freshness doesn’t bother me. I lick my thumb. Scarfing down the meal.
Court is slower. Meticulous. Setting his fork down often and staring out the round window more than he eats. His head is churning with thoughts. Could be, he’s planning our next move.
Next escape.
I’m just glad he’s not shivering with a fever anymore.
Franny shoves her food down as fast as I. But she scowls every now and again at the man-boy. Who has taken us for a ride, and I know she’d rather be in his seat.
Once I lick my tray clean, I push the tin aside and stare hard at the cockpit.
I lean into Court’s shoulder. “We outnumber him,” I whisper to them both. “I can take him from behind.”
Franny, on the other side of Court, pops her spoon out of her mouth and angles toward me. Elbow to the round table, she says hushed, “He just rescued us.”
