Page 48 of Alien Devil's Wrath
“And they’ll be guarding it.” She paused, listening. “Six heartbeats. No—seven. Someone’s nervous, pulse elevated. Someone else is injured, rhythm irregular.”
“You can hear that?”
“I love this upgrade! I can smell them too. Fear and gun oil and... one of them is hurt badly. Internal bleeding from the scent.”
The doors were reinforced, designed to withstand prison riots. No way through without?—
Bronwen walked up and knocked.
“Hello!” she called out. “I need you to open the doors please!”
Silence from inside.
She knocked again, harder. The metal dented under her knuckles.
“I can keep knocking until the door breaks. Or you can open it. Your choice!”
Muffled voices inside. An argument: “Don’t open it!” “She’ll break through anyway!” “Slade’s dead, what’s the point?”
Then: “Back away from the door!”
We stepped back. The door opened slightly. A rifle barrel emerged.
Bronwen grabbed it, yanked hard. The guard—young, Polraki, terrified—came flying through the doorway. She caughthim by the throat, gentle enough not to crush it, firm enough to control him.
“Now, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell your friends to stand down. Then we’re going to take a ship and leave. Nobody else has to die.”
“Can’t—” he gasped. “Orders?—”
“Orders from who? Slade?” She examined his face. “He’s dead. I killed him about ten minutes ago. Crushed his throat. The cracking sounds were?—”
She paused, tilted her head.
“Well, you don’t need the details.”
The guard’s expression shifted to shock.
“So really, you’re following orders from a corpse. Seems inefficient.” She set him down but kept one hand on his shoulder. “Tell them to stand down.”
He looked at me, covered in blood and barely standing. Then at her, silver traceries visible in the dim light, smiling like this was all a game.
“Stand down!” he called back through the door. “Just... just let them through!”
“Smart choice.” She patted his head. “You might survive this!”
The doors opened fully. Six more guards inside, weapons lowered but ready. One was slumped against the wall, blood pooling beneath him—the internal bleeding she’d smelled.
We walked past them. They tracked our movement but didn’t raise their weapons. Smart. Or maybe just exhausted. The compound was dying. Their commander was dead. What was the point of dying for nothing?
The impound dock stretched ahead. Rows of confiscated vessels—transports, fighters, commercial haulers. Most were damaged, evidence of hard landings or violent captures.
“That one,” Bronwen said immediately, pointing to a small courier ship. “Fast, efficient, and recently fueled!”
We’d made it three steps when Gravewings shrieked overhead.
Gravewings. But not responding to her calls anymore. These were hunting on their own, maddened by blood and chaos. Three of them dove through the dock’s open ceiling, talons extended toward us.
I tried to push Bronwen aside, protect her?—
