Shotgun pellets tore up the ground where Gaia had been. She kept rolling, each turn forcing the knife deeper into her stomach.
Gaia yanked the knife out, amazed by the pain, and pressed one hand on the wound. Her severed leg was now several feet away.
BOOM!
She was too slow this time, and some of the pellets hit her arm, lacerating her bicep and spraying blood everywhere. Blood was pumping from the hole in her belly and her leg, and Gaia could already feel herself weakening dramatically.
She felt fear. Pain. And worse, a sort of humiliation that she might be beaten.
“Who are you?” Gaia gasped.
The girl froze for a moment. Looked at her. Smiled and said, “Who am I? I’m the Breeze, bitch!”
This person, this blur of a girl, this Breeze, was a mutant. She was the source of the speed. Gaia couldn’t kill her. And yet, if she didn’t . . .
Gaia swept her killing beam in a wide arc, low to aim for the girl’s legs, and so fast she almost caught her with it. But quickly, so quickly, her target leaped to let the beam pass beneath her, and even as she jumped, Gaia could hear her slamming in another shotgun round.
Gaia struck then with telekinetic force, and the mutant girl went flying backward through the air.
Gaia pressed one hand on the deadlier wound, the one in her midsection, and caused her leg to fly to her. It came a bit too fast and hit her in the head, knocking her on her back again, and now Gaia was really afraid, because if the speed demon attacked again, Gaia would be helpless.
But the telekinetic blow against the Breeze must have been effective, because Gaia had time to shut off the loss of blood from her stomach before the counterattack could come.
This time her tormentor was not moving so fast: she had been hurt, too. Gaia had time to aim and fire her deadly light. The aim was poor and the girl was still quick enough to sidestep the worst of it, but the light caught the side of her head, and she screamed in pain and dropped her shotgun.
Just like I was burned, Gaia thought.
Justice.
Gaia shoved the leg stump in place and focused all her healing power, ignoring the fires and screams, the burning bodies, all around her. She waited only until the skin had reattached at the most tenuous, superficial level—she could not walk on the leg, let alone run—and stood on her remaining good leg and hopped away.
It was an undignified, pain-racked retreat, but no one came after her.
FIFTEEN
38 HOURS, 58 MINUTES
THE LAKE SETTLEMENT burned.
Astrid swam to shore, chilled to the bone by the freezing water, and in something like a state of shock.
She climbed heavily from the water, dragging herself up over the wet pebbles and into the sand. Dekka was already on the shore, and Diana was just behind Astrid.
Other survivors were swimming ashore or had just climbed out of the water. No one was talking. Many were crying.
The water of the lake rose suddenly, a massive waterspout that seemed to carry Dekka and Orc in its flow. Astrid saw Orc move. He was alive.
Computer Jack was on his knees, sobbing, hands over his face. Astrid had no time for that. “Jack, get a dinghy, go pick up survivors.”
“Everyone’s dead,” he moaned.
“No, they aren’t. If you don’t want to fight, then you get ambulance duty. Go! Put that strength to some use.”
Brianna was hobbling toward them, cursing loudly with every step. Half her hair was gone. One side of her face was cherry red.
“Brianna!” Dekka cried. She reached land, dropped Orc unceremoniously on the shore, and ran to Brianna.
Brianna sagged into her arms, showing weakness in a way Astrid had never before witnessed. But then Brianna had never had to fight someone like herself.