The Elves of Cintra (Book 2 of The Genesis of Shannara)

THE HANDGUN FIRED BY the boy with the ruined face made a soft popping sound as it discharged a pair of filament-thin wires. Owl could barely make out the wires in the darkness, could only just see the gleam of metal threads as they connected with their target. It happened so fast that it was over almost before she knew it was happening. Her hand was still raised to stay the boy’s precipitous action. She was still saying, “No!”

Then the wires found their target, the charge exploded out of the solar pack, and it was too late.

But not for Owl. Although the charge was meant for her, fired directly at her midsection, it was Squirrel who took the hit. Curled up in her lap, he provided an unintended shield against the strike. Perhaps the boy with the ruined face hadn’t even seen him, his vision limited by his injuries. Perhaps he really didn’t care. That he acted carelessly and out of fear and confusion was a given. That he actually understood what he was doing was less certain.

Whatever the case, the wires from the handgun struck Squirrel, and the electrical charge surged into him. Owl heard the little boy gasp sharply and felt his small body jerk. In the next instant the wires retracted into the barrel of the handgun, and Squirrel went limp and still.

Bear was already charging for the boy with the ruined face, roaring with rage, his heavy cudgel lifted. It was a terrible sight, for Bear was big and powerful, and when he was angry, as he was now, he looked as if he could go right through a stone wall. The boy with the stun gun wheeled toward him, trying to defend himself. He had gotten close to Owl before firing his weapon because he knew it wasn’t accurate beyond twelve to fifteen feet. But getting close to Owl meant getting close to the other Ghosts, as well, and Bear was on top of him in seconds. The boy had just enough time to aim and fire his weapon once more. But the gun jammed, and then there was no time at all. Bear’s cudgel came down with an audible whack on the boy’s head, and the boy dropped like a stone, his weapon spinning away into the dark.

Bear was still roaring, looking for fresh targets, and he would have had plenty to choose from if the boy’s companions had chosen to stay and fight. But when they saw their leader fall, they turned and ran as fast as they could manage, vanishing back into the tangle of abandoned vehicles, spilling down the ramp, and fleeing into the darkness until the last of them were out of sight.

Owl sat in the wheelchair watching, unable to move. While Squirrel had received the brunt of the attack, she had been its secondary victim, the recipient of the residue of the electrical charge. It hadn’t been enough to knock her out, but it had shocked her nevertheless, ripping through her body and leaving her temporarily paralyzed. The jolt had been powerful enough that it had even knocked Chalk backward because he had been holding on to the metal arm of the wheelchair with one hand.

River and Candle rushed to Owl’s side, panic mirrored on their young faces.

Both began talking to her at once, asking if she was all right, begging her to say something. They touched her cheeks and rubbed her hands. They didn’t realize that the seemingly sleeping Squirrel was the one who was most seriously injured, and Owl couldn’t tell them. She tried, but the words came out as odd sounds.

“Not me!” she managed finally, gasping from the effort. “He shot Squirrel!”

Immediately they turned their attention to the little boy, lifting him out of Owl’s arms and laying him on the ground. River bent close, putting her head to his chest, her ear to his mouth, checking his pulse, her hands moving everywhere, her face stricken. “He isn’t breathing!”

She began CPR on him, pumping his chest, breathing into his mouth, working to revive him. It was a skill Owl had taught her, one that she had learned from one of her scavenged books. Fixit hurried over with a blanket, but River motioned him away. Chalk was on one knee next to her, urging her on, telling her that she could do it, she could save him. Bear stalked out of the darkness, the heavy cudgel gripped in one hand, his face twisted with anger.

The boy with the ruined face lay where he had fallen, and Owl could not tell if he was dead or alive.

“Breathe, Squirrel, breathe!” Chalk was saying, over and over.