Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 63920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Armed with Callas’s data cubes, the rebels now knew exactly how to craft explosives, where certain chemicals were stored, and likely locations of other supplies the rebellion’s growing numbers might use.
Once Leslie’s list of necessities had been acquired, Corday began the journey back to the Premier’s Sector, aware he was a target the second his hands were full of anything that could be deemed useful to another.
When the thugs came, Corday simply offered the box of random items to the three unwashed men, unable to reach his gun with his hands full. Before his supplies had even hit the ground, a boney fist connected with his jaw. He’d hit the snow, somewhat surprised a man so skinny packed such a punch. Another got him with a cheap shot to the kidney just as Corday saw the third pull a knife.
A shot was fired… but not from Corday’s gun.
A woman old enough to be his grandmother stood on a stoop with a haggard face, aimed, and fired again. Two of the thugs had been hit—one dead, the other howling from a bullet to the leg. Asshole number three grabbed Corday’s box and ran off, abandoning his bleeding cohort to whatever fate awaited him.
The woman shot one final time, the bleeding man took one to the chest, and she lowered her weapon.
Visibly shaken, far more frightened than he was, the lady offered, “Why don’t you step inside for a minute. I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
She’d just saved his life. It was the best damn tea he’d ever drunk.
He learned her name was Margery, that all her family had died or gone missing as the occupation continued. She and several of her friends had taken refuge together in that apartment—safety in numbers—until those numbers started diminishing too. Being over sixty and a single woman in Thólos was a death sentence... she’d begun to despair, until she found faith in herself.
The woman reached into a pocket of her coat and pulled out something Corday had seen before, something almost everyone in the city still whispered about: Claire’s flyer.
“If she can stand up, so can I.” The way her gnarled fingers brushed the photo spoke of reverence. It spoke of pity and compassion—something Corday had not seen amongst the mustering rebel forces. No, they were hard; they had to be to have chosen to make themselves living weapons to serve the greater good.
Looking at Claire’s picture was like a knife in the heart. Brown eyes shining with pain, he glanced away from the paper. “Claire was my friend.”
“She’s my friend too.” Margery said, that same trembling hand reaching forward to pat Corday’s hand. “Though I have never met her.”
It seemed Claire had gotten her last wish; some part of Thólos had become inspired. And because of it, one old woman had just saved his life.
Claire O’Donnell was right.
Corday sat there like a dunce, worrying the ring on his finger as he talked about his time with the missing Omega. He let Margery fuss over him until the adrenaline wore off and her hands stopped shaking. He told her everything he could remember about his friend.
His supplies were gone, hers were meager, yet she packed him a bag of food anyway.
“There are more of us, you know,” Margery offered, “passing around the flyer. We help each other.” She gave him a fresh copy of Claire’s picture, held out the food, as if she could draw him to the cause.” Rheumy eyes shone bright as she smiled. “We have to help each other.”
Reluctantly, he took her scant offering, certain it would do harm to the woman’s morale if he did not let her do her part.
He was hours late by the time he returned to base, hours Corday had spent regathering the supplies Leslie Kantor needed, but he was not going to skulk in.
“Leslie,” Corday called to the woman walking down the polished marble lobby of the Premier’s mansion.
Her head was bent over a COMscreen, the Alpha female busy passing a litany of orders to the men following at her heels. Hearing someone use her name, glancing up to see one of the few who would presume to address Lady Kantor familiarly, she smiled.
Stopping in her tracks, she asked those circling to give her a minute. “Dear Corday, I have been worried.”
China blue eyes got one glimpse of his face and she reached out cold fingers to trace the growing bruise. Despite the others nearby, Leslie took his hand, led him to a place where they both might sit. “What happened?”
“I was jumped by some thugs. They are all dead.”
Her agitation was replaced with an expression of approval. “Well done. And to cheer you up, let me share fresh news of your Claire.”
That was the last thing Corday had anticipated to hear. He forgot the pain in his jaw, far too focused on listening to anything relevant Leslie might know.