Page 126 of Dustwalker
They proceeded down the corridor with Newton ahead, their footfalls scraping lightly over the floor. Light fixtures were mounted at five-meter intervals on either side of the tunnel, but none held bulbs within their wire cages, and the hints of letters and numbers painted on the walls were too faded and flaked to decipher.
Each step heightened Ronin’s anxiety. He was carrying his beloved down a pitch-black corridor with nowhere to run, no weapons, no cover. If an ambush awaited them ahead, it would be unforgivingly effective. An increasingly strong thought chain insisted that there was nothing here to help her. There was nothing in all the Dust that could help her. This place would be Lara’s tomb.
No. She will not die.
Newton slowed, glancing over his shoulder. “Nearly there. Just around here.”
The tunnel continued straight, beyond the range of Ronin’s optics, but Newton turned into an opening on the right. Ronin followed close behind.
His vision blazed white as he was hit by a blinding light. He twisted away from it, shielding Lara’s body with his own.
An ambush, after all.
“Don’t move!” someone shouted.
Newton, standing beside Ronin, raised his arms. “Quite reassuring to see security has not grown lax.”
“Are you two bots, too?”
“I am,” Ronin said, turning his head toward the man. With his night vision deactivated, he could see the humanoid silhouettes against the bright spotlight, all of them gathered behind a waist-high barrier with firearms aimed at him and Newton. “The woman is human.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She was severely beaten by the self-titled Warlord of Cheyenne,” Newton said.
The people behind the barricade whispered to each other for several moments before the first man asked, “Did he follow you?”
“No.” Ronin looked down at Lara. “As far as he knows, he ended us. Left us for dead.”
The spotlight shifted, and the man who’d been speaking turned to two of the other figures. “Secure the perimeter.”
The pair—soldiers dressed in matching uniforms—hurried past Ronin and into the perpendicular corridor.
“If you have any weapons, place them on the ground. Now,” the leader said.
Ronin’s jaw actuators ticked. “We’re unarmed, and we’re out of time. If you can’t help her, tell me now, so I can find someone who can before it’s too late.”
“Turn around. Slowly.”
It wasn’t a request, and that made it no easier to comply. Exposing Lara to potential hostiles went against Ronin’s drive to protect her. All the same, disobeying would only push the situation closer to violence.
Ronin turned, bringing the barricade into full view. His optics blurred and focused repeatedly, battling to balance the contrast between the overwhelming light and the thick darkness behind it.
“Garrison, Walker, take the girl to the infirmary,” the leader commanded.
Two figures advanced, features clarifying as they neared. Both held automatic rifles similar to the one Ronin had carried. Their uniforms matched the soldiers who’d gone into the corridor—much repaired, the camouflage patterns faded, but well-kept, nonetheless. The men slung their rifles over their shoulders.
Ronin stepped back. “I’ll carry her.”
The soldiers halted, hands drifting back toward their weapons.
“You’re in no position to make demands,” the leader said as he stepped forward. He was a tall, lean, middle-aged man with short-cropped blond hair and a double bar insignia displayed at the center of his chest. A captain.
That shred of information was from Ronin’s old life, a tiny bit of data reclaimed after many decades.
For nine seconds, Ronin and the captain stared at one another, neither moving. Walker and Garrison stood by uncertainly.
“They will not hurt her,” Newton said.
