Page 10 of Gunslinger Girl
She inspected the trio. They were young but with a coarse, dirty look to them, the kind of rough that didn’t wash off. Not commune workers, then, and she didn’t see any CONA patches on their clothing. All three were armed, the riders with handguns on their belts. As for the truck driver, Pity didn’t see a gun, but strapped across his chest were half a dozen grenades. She eyed the truck.
Metal scraps. Wiring. A pile of mismatched tires.
Scroungers.
They could be looking to trade, she told herself. Being armed didn’t mean anything out here. But she remained crouched as Finn responded to the greeting, her words too faint to make out.
The men looked at one another. One pointed at the rifle and said something. Finn started for the gun, but he put himself between her and it, a split-wound grin on his face.
Pity’s heart slid into her stomach. Her free hand drew. Scroungers, maybe, but something about them was old-milk sour. She gauged the distance between her and the men, cursing herself again for leaving the rifle behind. With it, she could have sent warning shots at the intruders—or worse maybe, if they refused to take the hint. But this far away, and with three against one, her pistols were a chancy proposition at best.
What do I do?
If she broke cover now, they’d be on her in an instant. And for all that she would have joined the commune’s defenses in a heartbeat, she had only ever shot at targets, never a live human. Her palms began to sweat as the sick sensation in her gut spread.
“Go on!” Finn spoke loud enough for Pity to hear this time. “Take it and go. I ain’t got anything else worth stealing.” She waved dismissively and set her hands on her hips, back still to Pity.
She knows I’m close. A line of sweat slid from her forehead to the bridge of her nose. Why hasn’t she called for help? She isn’t so much as glancing in this direction.
Realization bloomed in her like a frost.
They think Finn’s alone. They have no idea I’m here.
And Finn was trying to keep it that way.
The grinning rider grabbed the rifle. When Finn took an angry step toward him, the man closest to her drew his handgun. He grabbed her arm and twisted, shoving her to her knees. She went stone-still as he shoved the muzzle against her temple.
“You stay right where you are, now.”
Pity read the words on his lips as much as she heard them. Her muscles screamed to move, but she felt no more mobile than the surrounding trees. A primal direction rooted her, a fear-soaked sense of preservation.
Don’t… Her thoughts were hard to hold on to, the pounding blood in her veins drowning them out. Wait. Think. Don’t toss away what advantage Finn’s bought you.
Now that Finn was partially turned toward the trees, Pity could see her eyes running back and forth over the brush, blank fear painted on her features.
I’m here, Pity thought, jaw aching with desperation to cry out. Finn, I’m here.
An idea struck her. She raised her gun, angling it so that sunlight winked off the silver plating.
I’m here.
Finn locked on the signal. Pity flashed one more time and dropped her arm, before the scroungers could take notice.
“Anything good?” Finn’s guard called to his companions, who had begun rooting through the Ranger.
The driver pulled Finn’s tools from the vehicle and tossed them to the ground. “Nothin’ that’ll buy you the moon, but not bad.” He straightened, a cross air about him. “Finish up and come help, would you? We’re not doin’ all the work this time!”
Finish—
Terror prickling her skin, Pity snapped back to Finn. Her friend stared directly at her.
“For sayin’ you do all the work, you two sure never get your hands dirty!”
Move! The word screamed through Pity’s mind, but her body refused. Every inch of her felt carved from ice. In her hand, the gun she could pick the petals from a daisy with remained half raised, heavy as a concrete block.
Finn’s gaze never left her. But the fear in her eyes was gone, replaced by soft resignation. As Pity watched, her head slid back and forth once, the movement barely perceptible. Her mouth formed a single word.
Run.
