The snowfall had lightened, the flakes smaller and swirling on the wind. But it was starting to accumulate in a thin sheet of white, almost like frost on top of the slush. Wren glanced to his left as they passed an alley and caught a glimpse of two figures at the far end. They seemed to have just been standing there, and Wren got the feeling that maybe they’d been waiting there.
Off to his right, a loud squawking call went up, echoed through the side streets. Further ahead on their left, it was answered by a screech. They sounded more like animal noises than any kind of human.
Swoop halted, and quickly scanned the narrow street ahead. Further down on the corner, a five-story building had collapsed in the center, looking as if some titanic fist had smashed the roof all the way to the foundation. Somewhere near the third or fourth floor, Wren could see a red door frame with the door still intact, right at the edge of the gaping hole. It was a strange detail to notice just then.
Swoop turned and grabbed Wren by the shoulder, and dragged him into a narrow space between two buildings. Not really an alley, it was barely wide enough for Swoop to walk down without his broad shoulders touching both sides. When they reached the midpoint, Swoop stopped and dropped to a knee.
“I gotta get out in front of these guys, see how many we’re dealin’ with. Wait here, stay low.”
“What if th-th-they find us?” Painter whispered in a harsh tone. “What do we do?”
“Fight. With everything you got. Be right back.”
Swoop continued down the alley and disappeared to the right. Wren drew his knife and gripped it tightly.
“Lean back against me,” he whispered to Painter. “You watch the way we came, I’ll watch this way.”
Painter scooted closer, so their backs were touching. It was some comfort knowing his back wasn’t completely exposed, but not much. There was a sharp noise from above them, like sheet metal falling flat — and then quickly silenced. It sounded like it came from a rooftop somewhere, but the way the noise carried made it impossible to pinpoint.
They waited in that narrow space for three terrible minutes. Wren’s heart leapt in fright when a silhouette appeared at his end of the alley, but it was just Swoop coming back. He only came part of the way towards them, and then motioned with his hand for them to follow quickly.
Wren reached back and patted Painter’s arm, and they rejoined Swoop.
Swoop bent close and whispered, “Looks like eight, maybe nine total. Trying to ring us in. We need to keep movin’.”
“Can’t you just shoot ’em?” Painter asked.
Swoop shook his head. “Last resort. Real low on ammo, and there’s no telling what else that much noise might bring. Come on.”
He didn’t wait for a response before turning back around and leading them out. They paused at the end for a second while Swoop scanned, and then he stepped out and grabbed Wren’s coat again.
“There,” Swoop said in an intense whisper, and he pointed across an open stretch to a wider alley on the other side. “Run there.” He gave Wren a little shove, and then walked out into lane with his weapon up and ready. Wren ran to the alley as he was told, with Painter right behind him. As he ran, he noticed there were already footprints in the snow. A bunch of them.
They made it to the alley and stopped. A few moments later Swoop followed them in, and then passed by.
“Come on, with me,” he said.
They kept moving like that, leapfrogging from alley to alley. Every time Swoop wanted them to start, stop, or reposition, he’d grab some part of Wren or his coat and drag him around: an arm, a shoulder, once behind his neck. It hurt a little. But Swoop knew right where he wanted everyone to be, and he had no problem putting them there. Wren still hadn’t seen who was chasing them, but he could hear their strange calls back and forth.
Swoop held them in place for a moment, and leaned out weapon first to check if it was clear. He kept his gun up and shouldered, but he let go of it with his left hand to reach for Wren. Just as he did so, there was a funny tonk sound, and Swoop grunted and fell back hard against the wall of the alley. He slid part way down, but caught himself, and managed to push Wren and Painter back away from the entrance. He motioned for them to go back the way they’d come.
But Wren noticed Swoop wasn’t standing up straight, he was kind of hunched over to his left, and when Wren looked down, he gasped. There was what looked like a six-inch-long steel rod sticking out of Swoop’s middle, about two inches below and to the left of his heart.
“Go, go,” Swoop said.
They backtracked, but as they came out into the open space, there were three figures further down the street. Scrapers. One of them let out a high-pitched whoop.
They were too far away for Wren to make out many details, but he saw enough to know he would rather fight to the death than be caught by them.
Swoop forced Painter and Wren to cut to their right, but as they crossed the mouth of another alley, they saw two more scrapers heading their way. Swoop drove them towards another gap between buildings, but when they entered it, they saw the far end was blocked by a wall of debris.
Instead of turning around, though, Swoop pushed them further in. Wren didn’t understand why, unless he was just trying to get distance between them. He was going to have to gun them down as they entered. But then Wren understood. He hadn’t seen it from the other end, but as they got closer, he saw a gap in the ground.
It was a stairwell that led down to a door a few feet below street level. Swoop shepherded them down the steps.
“There, back against the door. Make yourselves as small as you can.”
Wren did as he was told, and balled himself up in the corner. Painter squatted down beside him.
Swoop sprawled on his back in what seemed like a terribly uncomfortable position on the stairs, with his legs kicked wide for support. Across his body he laid his weapon, pointed back down the alley and braced on his right fist, which he rested on the lip where the ground met the stairwell. Very little of Swoop would be visible from the opening of the alley, but Wren had no doubt that Swoop had a clear and deadly view. The rod was still jutting out of his ribcage, and it made Wren feel sick to see it, but Swoop didn’t seem to be paying any attention to it.
Wren pressed his hands over his ears, knowing at any second one or more of their pursuers would round the corner, and Swoop would open fire. Every pounding heartbeat seemed like the last one before the fight would start. But Swoop didn’t shoot.
Wren uncovered his ears and listened. Painter was panting next to him. Swoop might’ve been holding his breath for all the sound he was making. And there was the soft patter of snow falling. There was a cry from one of the scrapers, and another several seconds later. And then all was still.
They waited ten maybe fifteen minutes there in that alley, waiting for the end to come. But nothing ever happened. Swoop finally took the time to glance down at the thing sticking out of him. He grunted again, like he was unimpressed.
He sat up part way, and shifted position so he was seated on one of the stairs, with his weapon still pointed at the entrance. He transferred the grip back over to his right hand, and then with his left, he took hold of the rod and waggled it back and forth with a grimace. It didn’t budge.