Chapter 15 #2
Then a shot rang out in the darkness. One of the bandits on the wall right in front of Heather tipped forward and fell to the ground below with a sickening thud.
Bang! Another shot and another.
Heather ducked down and quickly pulled the knife from her boot. With it in her hand, she moved through people, nudging them out of the way until she reached the captive women.
Clary was there, cutting their bonds. She smiled at Heather. “See, the knife was a good idea, right?”
“Yes, it was,” Heather agreed.
Quickly, they cut the women free.
“Now, let’s have some fun,” Evenly said. She lifted her skirt demurely and pulled a pistol from under it. Then she aimed and pulled the trigger. An advancing bandit fell face-first on the ground.
Heather’s heart soared. Looking around, she saw Diane strike a match and apply it to one of the tents. The fabric quickly caught, and it went up in seconds, sharing its flames with the two tents on either side of it.
A man lunged for her, and Heather instinctively raised her hands. One of them still held the knife, and as she and the man toppled over, he cried out in pain. Something hat and sticky covered her hands, and she pushed the man off her and sat up. Her knife had gone deep into his chest.
Heather stood, wiping her hands on her skirt as chaos swirled around her. She pulled her knife from the dead man’s body.
She collided with Ethan, who was running the other way, a pick in his hands.
“Sorry!” he yelled.
“Have you seen Mark?” she asked.
“He’s opening the mine gate,” Ethan cried as he righted himself and then carried on charging at a bandit.
The mine gate. Heather steeled her nerves and began to weave between the fighters. Although it seemed that only some of the guns from the storeroom had made it out and into Unity citizens’ hands, the others grabbed whatever they could find and joined the fight.
It was more than the bandits had bargained for. They seemed to be taken unawares, and for the first few minutes of the battle, the Unity fighters had the upper hand. Heather was so glad to see the people she had come to know and care about looking more like themselves and less like sheep.
It was good that they were fighting for their home, because they had everything to lose and that made them tenacious and formidable. This was their little piece of the world, and there wasn’t a force that could take it from them for long.
Heather hurried on until she came to the wall. The fighting was ferocious there, and she had to take cover as shots flew through the air around her. One lodged in the wood of a barrel she was hiding behind, while another zinged into the wall behind her at just above head height.
Where was Mark? He was supposed to be opening the gate. But from what she could see, the large iron gate was still firmly closed.
“Mark!” she called.
There came a muffled cry from within the machinery beside the gate. It was complicated and large, with ropes and pulleys that Heather couldn’t hope to understand.
“Mark?” she called again.
A muffled voice replied. Was that him?
“Mark!”
“Yeah!”
It was his voice. Heather’s heart soared. He was still alive, but it sounded like he needed help. She followed the sound, stepping around a huge block, and found Mark pressed up against the wall, fighting a large bandit.
The man was easily twice Mark’s size and choking Heather’s beau so ferociously that he was turning blue.
Heather walked up behind the big man and, standing on tiptoe, thrust her knife into his neck.
The man made a gurgling, coughing sound and scrabbled at the knife, loosening his grip on Mark. The bandit’s large fingers closed over the handle, and he pulled the knife free. Blood gushed, and in a second, the bandit was dead on the floor.
Mark slid down the wall until he was sitting on the ground, breathing hard. His face was pale from what she could see in the light of Unity burning.
“Mark, are you okay?” Heather asked, rushing to his side and taking him in her arms.
It felt like heaven to be near him again. She smoothed his hair and kissed his cheek. He was breathing hard but soon got himself under control. His voice was harsh and hoarse when it came.
“We have to open the gate,” he croaked.
“How?” she asked.
He pointed off to the side. “The lever.”
Heather saw it, and she hurried over and wrapped her fingers around it, pushing down with all her might. The lever wouldn’t budge.
Oh wonderful, now what?
“The latch,” he said, staggering over to her. He rubbed his throat. It had to be paining him something awful.
Mark reached down and pulled a little piece of metal on a chain from the underside of the lever and then, like magic, the metal rod dipped in Heather’s hands. She let out a whoop of joy as the gate began to rumble and open.
From the moment there was enough space for them to fit through, men came racing into the fray, guns in their hands, determined looks on their faces. Heather felt a wave of relief and happiness fill her. Everything was going to be fine now. They were saved.
That was when the boom sounded right by her ear.
Heather screamed and clutched at her head, the noise ringing inside it as though it were a cavern.
Movement in front of her caught her attention, and she watched in horror as Mark jerked backward and then fell to the ground.
Blood oozed from a wound in his shoulder.
She screamed again and tried to fling herself after him, but someone had her. They had an arm around her waist, and they were dragging her away.
“Mark! No!” she cried, but it was useless.