Tool

He led her into his open surgery, and Mahlia gasped. Blood ran all across the cracked concrete of the building’s open lower floor.

No wonder the soldier boys were crazy. Four bodies lay before her and blood ran from them in a river. Two looked already dead for sure; another had a leg ripped open, tourniqueted, but he looked so pale she doubted he would last long, even if he wasn’t actually dead already.

Only one young man remained. His chest was covered with crimson sopping rags, but he was conscious.

Heavy fighting, for sure. But none of their wounds looked like explosions or gunfire. One of the dead ones looked like he’d been nearly snapped in half. The other had his neck torn and snapped.

The conscious boy’s eyes followed her as Mahlia knelt beside him. She peeled away the bloody rags, guessing what she would see, and more afraid because of it.

Four massive, deep parallel gashes cleaved across his chest, tearing his clothes and shearing deep through brown flesh. The white cage of his ribs showed amid the red. Mahlia held her hand over the torn flesh, unwillingly measuring the size of the claw that had dealt the blow.


Page 92 chapter 7 drowned cities.