“But I saved you,” she said. “I saved you, I saved you, I—”
A rook tangled on her hair and pecked at her cheek. She swatted it away, then had to squeeze her eyes closed as two more came for her face. She punched at one and clawed at the other, and their cries as they swung away from her were heartrending. Loss rang out across that hillside. Lucy-Anne tripped and fell onto her back in the long grass, and looking up she saw the rooks circling higher and higher, an aerial dance for their dead master.
She crawled to the hole again and looked down, and the worm-thing was eating him now, chewing into his head with awful jaws. A crunching sound, a twitch of his body, and what remained of his face shifted sideways.
Unable to scream, not knowing what to say or do or think, she stood and ran down towards the trees, aimless and thoughtless, until she tripped over something hidden in the grass and smacked her head on the ground.
Vision faded, and sound grew distant. I don't want to wake up, Lucy-Anne thought as she drifted away. Let me stay down here.
Nomad is running towards her. She is in a burning street somewhere in London—buildings are aflame, a vehicle has exploded, bodies litter the road and pavements, and someone is staggering across the road, crying wretchedly as they try to gather their unspooling guts.
Lucy-Anne holds up her hands, but she cannot speak. She tries to back away from Nomad, but her feet will not obey her. She can do nothing as the woman runs closer, jumping past a burning motorcycle whose flames barely seem to touch her.
In the distance, gunfire. Closer by, the sound of heavy footsteps. Bullets strike the road and kick up gravel and dust.
Everything seems to be converging on her.
Nomad reaches her and does not stop running. She knocks Lucy-Anne to the ground and sits astride her, raising one hand high above her head with two fingers pointing down, like a child forming its hand into a gun.
This is my dream, Lucy-Anne thinks, and whatever happens next I can just dream away.
Nomad's hand strikes down and her stiff fingers punch a hole directly into Lucy-Anne's throat.
But this is my…
Jack had been wrong. A terrible thing was not about to happen. He thought perhaps it already had.
“He's laughing even though he's lost,” Jack said.
“Guy looks seriously screwed,” Sparky said. “Your old man do that to him, mate?”
Jack caught Reaper's eye. Reaper looked as hard and determined as ever, but a shadow of doubt shaded his eyes. He was not quite as in control of this situation as he'd hoped.
“The first move they make, kill them,” Reaper said, and he started forward.
“Jenna!” Jack said urgently. His friend nodded because she knew exactly what he wanted—she came to him and took the girl, hugging her close even though she stank. Jack saw the sympathy in his friend's eyes and loved her even more.
Jack started forward and Sparky came with him. Behind them were Breezer and the Irregulars. Fleeter walked close with Reaper, exaggerating the swing of her hips and enjoying the moment, even after what they had just seen and done. As they approached the first of the terrified soldiers she flipped, and the air boomed as it filled the space she had occupied. The Choppers glanced around in a panic. She could have been readying to gut any one of them.
From up on the container stacks, four soldiers were lowered roughly to the ground, their twisted and broken weapons dropping with them. One of them cried out as he struck the ground, and Jack heard the sickening sound of breaking bone. Puppeteer, he thought. At least he hadn't killed them. He caught movement from the corner of his eye and knew that Shade was there also, and perhaps a couple of other Superiors he had yet to meet.