Shattered Skies. Alice Henderson

in flames, flying up into the air just as a concussive wave hit her maglev. The copters whirred into high RPMs and began plunging down toward the ground.

      To her left, Byron’s sled went out of control. He crashed to the ground hard, and she could see now where the spear had torn through his thigh, his pants ragged and bloody. He stumbled to his feet, limping, grabbing the maglev parts and waving frantically through its controls on his PRD.

      As H124’s maglev sailed past several Death Riders on foot, she kicked one in the head, grabbing his shotgun as he fell. But she went off balance. Her maglev crashed all the way to the dirt and the rotors stopped. Two Death Riders ran forward, closing in, only a hundred feet away. She struggled to restart the maglev. The copters recalibrated themselves, moving into position, and she jumped on again just as the Death Riders raised their guns. They fired as she veered off toward Byron.

      As she approached him, she saw the train had once again reversed direction; it was powering toward them now. Two Death Riders approached Byron, carrying chains and closing in on him. One held a revolver, the other a blood-encrusted trident. H124 flew in over them, lowering the shotgun and blasting the man with the revolver. His head erupted in a crimson geyser, and his body slumped to the ground. The one with the trident took off, dropping the chains, and she gave pursuit, seeing that two more Death Riders were homing in, one with a flash burster and another with a chainsaw.

      Behind her, Byron struggled to get his maglev functional again. He picked up one of the copters and shook it, surveying the ground for something. It had broken. He wasn’t going to be able to get airborne again. The chainsaw-wielding Death Rider was almost on top of him, and Byron took off, limping, but the one with the flash burster closed in and aimed. Chainsaw shouted at his friend, his eyes wild with delight, and raised the chainsaw over his head, ready to bring it down onto Byron.

      H124 swooped low, brought the shotgun to bear, and flew past, blasting a hole through Chainsaw’s neck. She cocked the shotgun, banked around, and hit Flash Burster point blank in the chest. Blood erupted from his shirt.

      Six more Death Riders approached from the east. H124 lowered the maglev, holding a hand out to Byron. He gripped it, his hand hot in hers, and swung up onto the maglev beside her. She veered around and took off for the train, hearing the loud boom of a gun to their rear. She weaved and banked wildly, trying to make a difficult target. She approached the train at a dangerous clip, but she couldn’t risk going any slower. Behind her Byron groaned, grasping his leg, blood seeping out at an alarming rate.

      As the train readied to pass beneath them, she saw the roof hatch slide open. She slowed, hovering just above it. Then she lowered the maglev into the cool of the engine control booth.

      Grant sealed the hatch above them.

      They were almost on the area where the barricade had been. “I hope the track is intact!” he shouted as they sailed over it, gaining speed. A jarring vibration shuddered through the train as she hopped off the sled. She almost lost her footing, but Raven caught her. He then helped Byron down off the sled.

      Grant picked up speed, the buggies no longer able to keep up as the train powered west. He glanced over at Byron, seeing the seeping wound. “There’s a medpod in the back. Three cars down.”

      She braced her shoulder under Byron’s arm and helped him through the door, through the cars, all the way back. Despite his pain, Byron kept chuckling. As she pressed the red cross in the wall and watched the medpod emerge and lower itself, she met Byron’s eyes. He was still grinning. “Now that was fun,” he said.

      She grinned back.

      * * * *

      Later they all ate dinner together. Dirk had emerged from the sleeping car, startled awake by the Death Rider attack, and joined them for the meal. But after he picked halfheartedly at his food, he returned to bed. H124 knew how exhausted he was, how little sleep he’d gotten lately. He was a ghost of himself.

      H124 brought a plate of food up to Grant, who looked drained. “Not used to making a continuous run,” he told her. “But I don’t dare stop now.”

      “We could take turns,” she offered.

      He regarded her with a shriveling look that clearly expressed his firm belief in her insanity. “No one drives her except me.”

      But in the end, they did all take turns, though Grant insisted on only taking very short naps propped up behind the temporary driver. During these shifts, he continually jerked awake, crying, “What was that?” even if it had been smooth sailing.

      After dinner on the second day, she longed for some fresh air. She pushed the door release and stepped out onto the small platform between two cars. The hot, humid night air enveloped her. She climbed a ladder to the top of the neighboring car. Struggling to maintain her balance as the train rocketed down the tracks, she moved to the center of the roof. The wind ruffled her hair, a welcome breeze.

      A sense of freedom washed over her, and a flurry of images hit her. She thought of laboring in New Atlantic, knowing only her small room and the tasks set before her each day, retrieving corpses and dragging them to the incinerator, then returning to her tiny room to do the same thing the next day.

      She braced her feet, gazing out at the darkened landscape around her. She’d come so far. Her life felt so different now that she could barely grasp hold of it. The empty, aching feeling that had plagued her for as long as she could remember had now melted away. She’d found companionship, a sense of belonging, a greater purpose. For a moment her heart felt too big for her chest. She drew in a deep breath, smelling the tang of rain in the air. She was free. Her life could be anything she dreamed of. She could craft it exactly as she wanted to, her own choices guiding her. Her own conscience. Not someone else’s orders, not the rules of a rigid society she’d been born into. Out here, she was free to build whatever kind of life she wanted.

      She glanced skyward, the stars above brilliant in a sea of black. She had this one task ahead of her, and though stopping the asteroid was monumental, if they succeeded, the immense freedom of her life filled her with such longing and excitement that it was almost too big to process. Pure joy. Pure relief. What adventures awaited her out here? What grand experiences?

      She sat down cross-legged on the roof of the train, the rhythmic clacking of the wheels echoing into the night. She heard the car door whoosh open, and a few moments later, Raven appeared at the top of the ladder.

      “Mind if I join you?”

      She smiled. “Not at all.”

      He worked his way deftly across the top of the train and sat down next to her. The landscape was flat, lit in silver and blues by a waning crescent moon.

      When she’d lived in New Atlantic, artificial lights burned constantly, beating down on the city at all hours. To see the moon, you had to scan the sky, and even then it was mostly obscured by the ubiquitous amber glow of the atmospheric shield. The garish lights outshone the moon, and she’d never known the enchanting, silver light of the earth’s natural satellite until she’d left the city behind her.

      The arc of the Milky Way spanned the darkness, dense clusters of stars and dreamy nebulosity. They rode in silence for a time, and H124 couldn’t help but think of the last time they’d sat together like this beneath the stars. She’d just lost Astoria. Her mind flashed on her friend racing toward the attacking soldiers, ripping the grenade belt off her chest, then the brilliant explosion as H124 had drifted helplessly toward the ground in her flight suit, unable to help her friend. She swallowed hard and looked over at Raven. His gaze was far away, his long black hair fluttering in the wind. He sat with his knees up, arms resting on them, staring up at the stars.

      “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

      He inhaled, leaning his head back. “My parents. They would have loved a night like this. They taught me all the names of the stars and the stories behind them.” The crescent moon played silver over his face. “We’d play this stick game, tsìdìł, in the winter. I always loved that. I still have their set.”

      “We should play it,” she said,