Page 59 of Fifth
Voices snarled—”Mine—caught—saw ‘em first—pay up—”
Locus’s voice cut through, cold and absolute. “Day has come. We are outside the gate and inside the encampment. By your law, we win.”
They roared back, fists and rifles raised, disputes turning vicious. The headman stood on his platform, arms lifted for quiet, grin strained, voice drowned by fury. Coins scattered. Arguments snapped into fights.
Locus’s words carried over them, unshaken. “The sun has risen. We passed your gate. The trial is over.”
The camp dissolved into riot, guards fighting gamblers, hunters clawing at hunters for prize and coin. In the middle of it, Hannah and Locus stood bloodied, breathless, unbroken, survivors by right, no matter what the mob decided.
The headman slammed a hand on the railing, shouting something she couldn’t hear. Three rifles swung toward Locus. Aman behind Hannah yanked her hair back to bare her throat, snarling about the bonus.
“Touch her,” Locus said, rising through the hands on him like a storm, “and I will end you all.”
The sun lifted over the trees and lit his eyes. Amethyst flared to wildfire.
Everything stopped for a single beat—the pause before the world broke.
Then a shot cracked from beyond the floodlights.
The headman flinched.
Sparks burst from the loudspeaker horn, metal shrieking as it spun on its bracket. The crowd ducked. That moment of flinch was all Hannah needed. She slammed her heel into the instep of the man fisting her hair and tore free. Locus surged up throughthe hands on him like the ground itself was throwing him. Arifle butt swung. He caught the stock in one palm, twisted, and sent the owner into another man so hard both wentdown.
“Stand down!” a hunter screamed. “He is mine—”
“He is mine!” another bellowed, shoving forward.
The perimeter trucks gunned engines, floodlights slewing. Men shouted over each other. Someone fired wild. The shot struck a drum stacked beside the generator. Fuel gouted in a silver sheet toward the nearest oil-drumfire.
“Locus,” Hannah rasped.
“I see it.” His voice was iron. “Get low.”
The spill touched flame and took. Fire raced, climbing the drum in a roar. Men stumbled back, cursing and kicking sparks. Asecond shot snapped. Another drum bled. The ground lit with veins offire.
“By your law,” Locus called, voice carrying like a clarion through panic, “the trial is ended. Call them back.”
The headman yanked the ruined loudspeaker toward his mouth, spit flying. “No one quits! Bring them—”
The loudspeaker gave a final sputter and died in his hands, coughing static as sparks snapped through the wires. Hannah couldn’t tell if it was a bullet or the fire cutting power to the generator. And she didn’t care. Dropping to one knee, she steadied herself the way Locus had taught her: aim low, eyes open, breathe. She squeezed the trigger. The nearest floodlight exploded in a shower of glass, darkness flooding the gap. Another hunter fired wild at the sound, his bullet striking the leg of the light mast. Metal groaned in protest.
The mast toppled like a tree, cables whipping sparks as it came down. It smashed across the headman’s platform, crushing two guards beneath twisted steel. Chaos erupted. Gamblers scattered. Hunters lunged. Skinners rattled and hissed in their cages as stray rounds ripped across plywood fronts.
The first cage latch blew under a stray bullet. The Skinners spilled out in a clatter of legs and shell, mandibles scissoring. Men whooped, then screamed when the insectoids went for them. Another latch popped. Ahandler jabbed with a pole. The creature dragged him closer, serrated mouthparts clacking. Panic beat theair.
The headman stumbled across the ruined platform, grabbing for balance, one hand still white-knuckled on a gold-topped cane. He went for the pistol at his belt. Locus vaulted the rail, clearing it easily. Aguard rose. Locus struck once and the man went boneless.
Hannah shoved through the crush, pistol low the way he’d shown. Ahunter barreled at her, grin promising things she’d burn the world to stop. She pressed the pistol to his knee and pulled the trigger. He folded, screaming. She kept moving.
The generator took fire and blew. The concussion slapped her breath away. Heat rolled over the yard. Floodlights died in a chain. Darkness bucked and surged. In the ruin of light and flame, Locus found the headman.
He didn’t seize his throat. He didn’t break him outright. He wrenched the gun hand until the pistol fell. Then he set the headman on his knees at the tilted lip of the platform, eye toeye.
“Call them back,” Locussaid.
Sweat ran down the headman’s face, cutting pale paths through soot. “You think you can come in here and—”
“Call them back,” Locus repeated, softer. It raised the hairs on Hannah’s arms more than a shout.
