Run

By Katie Hanna

Malther is lucky I have a family to avenge. Otherwise, I’d have left his squad long ago.

He leers at me through the drizzling rain. I meet his gaze with a stony stare. Malther may wear a sergeant’s stripes, but the notches in my gun barrel speak louder than any rank. I’m more than a match for you.

Malther knows it, and he resents it. Same old story. I’ve been the lone woman in the Vorlander army for fifteen years. I’ve made enemies on both sides of this war.

“Care to join me by the campfire, Rahel?” Malther challenges. The other soldiers are out foraging… which would make his advances more dangerous, if they weren’t so pathetic.

I smirk, surveying the soaked embers. Steam hisses fitfully as raindrops batter the coals. “Doesn’t look much like a fire to me, Sarge.”

Malther glowers, but scuffling footsteps cut off his reply.

“Who’s there?” he barks.

The noise comes from the ravine, beyond the campfire. I stride toward the slope, unhooking my gun—

“Don’t shoot, Sarge!” a familiar voice grunts.

Bonn, the brawniest member of the squad, clambers onto level ground. He’s not alone, though. His meaty fist clutches a child’s arm, dragging the small body along. I can’t tell if Bonn’s prisoner is alive or dead.

Bonn shoves him. The child collapses to his knees, but catches himself before he can fall on his face.

I fold my arms, assessing the situation. Although plastered with mud, the boy’s jacket is the bright blue of the Kalki imperial uniform. He has the Kalkis’ golden skin and shaggy black hair, too.

His empire holds my country in a brutal stranglehold. His people killed my son and daughter. These are the facts.

But fresh blood smears his forehead, and terror shimmers in his jet-black eyes. These, too, are facts.

The most glaring fact of all? He can’t be more than twelve years old.

“The imperials are recruiting kids now?” Malther guffaws. The Vorlander army conscripts young boys, but the mighty Kalkis have never stooped so low before.

“Guess so.” Bonn digs the muzzle of his gun into his young prisoner’s hair. “What should we do with the little rat, Sarge? Kill him?”

“Please,” the Kalki boy blurts. Stray raindrops roll down his cheeks like tears. “I never wanted to be a soldier!” He quakes convulsively in his wet jacket. “I… I don’t want to die!”

“You never wanted to be a soldier?” Malther sneers. “You’re in luck, kid. You won’t be one much longer.”

Bonn mirrors Malther’s cruel grin. He flexes his fingers, ready to pull the trigger. But before the sergeant can give the order, I step forward, my boots squelching in the soupy mud.

“What’s your name, boy?”

With Bonn’s gun glued to his skull, the young Kalki doesn’t dare turn his head. But his eyes leap to me like a fleeing deer.

“Altan,” he stammers.

As Altan stares, I have no illusions about what he sees. My stark, lined face. My harsh lips. The lethal notches scarring my gun barrel. I don’t look like anyone’s mother figure. I haven’t for fifteen years… not since the Kalkis murdered my son and daughter.

I want revenge. Every Vorlander wants revenge. But the truth is, Altan has more in common with my children than with the Kalki men who killed them.

Those men would fit right in with Bonn and Malther, though.

“Stand back, Rahel,” Malther growls. “This rat’s going to pay for what the Kalkis did to my sister.”

“Is that right, Sarge?” I deadpan. “You mean the same thing you tried to do to me?”

Malther’s face flushes like a boiled lobster. Just as I expected, he lunges toward me, pawing his holster with hasty hands.

My finger finds the trigger as I swing my gun towards him.

Malther’s eyes pop. His voice sounds thick, strangled. “Insubordinate little bi—”

My bullet slices through his brain before he can finish.

The sergeant topples to the ground, splashing mud and blood in all directions. Some of it spatters my boots.

Ignoring the mess, I train my gun on Bonn’s broad chest. The big man still holds his muzzle to Altan’s head, but he hasn’t squeezed the trigger. He seems paralyzed by the sight of Malther’s corpse sprawled in the mud.

“Drop your weapon, Bonn!” My voice comes out deep and hoarse. “Get down into the ravine, or you’re a dead man!”

Bonn wrenches his gaze from Malther’s body to meet my eyes. Purple rage mottles his cheeks.

He’s never been the sharpest, but I sense his mental gears grinding. He knows what I’m capable of. He knows the notches in my barrel aren’t just for show.

“You traitor,” he spits.

“Drop your weapon before I count to three,” I snap. “One, two—”

Bonn’s massive fist pops open. The gun splats in the muck.

Altan scrambles to his feet. He makes a beeline for me and ducks behind my back.

In the face of my unwavering aim, Bonn retreats to the ravine. Murder gleams in his eyes. “I’ll hunt you down, Rahel. You and that Kalki scum.” He snorts like an angry bull. “I’ll hunt you to the gates of hell.”

“See you there,” I say coolly as Bonn disappears below my line of sight.

“He’ll kill us,” Altan quavers.

I glance down at him. The boy bites his lip to keep from crying. Blood from the ugly cut on his forehead coats his face.

“He’ll try.” I extract the gun from Malther’s holster, his body still warm to the touch. I kick Bonn’s unused weapon in Altan’s direction. He blinks in confusion before scooping it up. “But we’ll have a head start… and we’ll have all the bullets.”

Altan takes a deep breath. He squares his shoulders under his filthy uniform jacket.

“I’ll be right behind you.” I give him a soft shove. “Now, run.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Katie Hanna is a writer in her spare time and a Hufflepunk all the time.  She has a Master’s degree in history from the University of Memphis, and puts it to work writing historical fiction and historical fantasy.  Katie likes strong women in her adventure stories and Oreos in her ice cream.

---

More Stories | Author Website