Page 6 of Invasion of Sorority Z

Even more concerning, the hu-nim in my arms does not open her eyes to me, even as her head stops leaking.Stubborn female.

“Marrec, my friend,” Drak greets, looking down at me with wide curious eyes. “Why do you cradle your food?”

I grimace. “She is not food. She lives.”

“Truly?” Excitement lights up in his face. “She lives but she sleeps in your arms?”

“She…fell?” This is hopeless. Drak is not a good male to explain things to. He is much into joking around, even as he ages. It is easier than telling Rem, I imagine. Nothing is serious to Rem. “These creatures are very fragile. She has injured herself.”

His mouth pops open. “By falling?”

“Yes,” I hiss. “I can hear others in this dwelling, and I am sure they will not be un-shocked to see our kind. I do not know how to approach them.”

“I understand,” he tells me, seemingly sincere. “HELLO HU-NIMS!” Drak shouts, cupping his hands over his mouth. Not sincere, then. “WE COME IN PEEZ.”

My nostrils flare as the female in my arms winces. She does not like his loudmouth, and neither do I. “Will you shut up?”

He shakes his head. “They must know that their friend has fallen injured.” He smirks, enjoying this. “YOUR SMALL FRIEND IS INJURED. WE HAVE MENDED HER.”

“We?”

“Daan,” he replies, nodding with a sly grin. Daan is aconfident‘yes’ in our language. “I have killed many undead so that you may mend the sleeping one without bother. You are welcome.”

The sound of a soft blast surprises the pair of us. Even more surprising is the bit of metal that pings off of Drak’s chest.

“Oh, nonono,” an unfamiliar voice chants. “They’rebulletproof?”

“Nothing isbulletproof,” someone else insists, voice sharper than the last. Another blast, and another bit of metal to Drak’s chest.

Around the corner, we spot them. Hu-nims. One holds a metal weapon of their kind, keeping it on Drak. She has a fire in her eyes, burning with determination.

“Is she…” Drak trails off, eyes filling with wonder. “Is she attempting to kill me?”

“I believe so,” I grunt. Her efforts are fruitless. There are not many weapons on Urth that can harm our kind. None that wouldn’t also harm them in the process. Bombs, they are called.

We have done much study of the area, some understanding being necessary for our time here. Terum insisted we install theAng’lishlanguage into our translator capabilities despite the improbability that we may run into living hu-nims. We cannot read its funny symbols but we can hear and speak it with eighty percent accuracy.

He has proved once again to be a wise leader, seeing as we have come face to face with these small Urth dwellers who speak this strange language with far too many words.

“That one is holding Stevie,” one gasps. “Don’t make them mad! What if they hurt her?”

“We are not hurting your friend,” Drak calls, eyes firmly following the one shooting at him. “She has fallen and cracked her tiny head.”

“She’s dead?!” a new once squeaks out, panicked.

Another blast.

“Ouch!” Drak teases. “Stop it, I do not liketickles.”

I give him an annoyed glance. “She is alive,” I say firmly. “I have closed her small cut. She remains unconscious, but she breathes.”

“All right, I’m going to be the one to say it. What the fuck are you guys?”

“Megan!”

“What? We can’t kill them, and they said they helped Stevie!”

Weapon hu-nim snaps. “And you believe them?”

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