40 - 20 - Flinging Horks

I knuckle-ran over to Rachel. Somehow she'd gotten herself in a too-narrow alley between train cars.

I tore the Hork-Bajir from her flank. Flung him behind me, into the side of a caboose.

<Back out, Rachel. I'll watch your, uh . . .>

<Don't say it,> she snapped. <Just don't say it.>

But I was already gone, hurling oncoming Hork-Bajir left and right. The wound on my shoulder throbbing, my head now bleeding, too. I touched the damage and felt bone.

It was so dark and suddenly, there were so, so many.