"Get back!" Mazer shouted. "Cover your mouth!"
Bingwen retreated back into the darkness. The creature kicked and thrashed. Mazer wrapped his arms around the Formic's head and jerked it violently to one side. Something cracked. Mazer felt muscle and bone or cartilage tear. The Formic went limp.
Mazer held it a moment longer, then released it, kicking it away. His heart was pounding. There was moisture on his arms and legs. He wasn't sure if it was his sweat or the Formic's. He gagged. But then he extended his neck and controlled the reflex.
He heard the soft patter of feet. Footsteps. But not human ones. They were coming from behind the barn. Danwen's sword lay in the dirt near the doorway. Mazer looked for any remnant of the mist, but could see nothing in the dark. It might be there, or it might not. He wasn't sure. The footsteps were getting closer. Mazer reached for the sword, grabbed it, and rolled away, coming up on the balls of his feet, ready to move. He ran for the barn, keeping his steps silent. He put his back to the wall of the barn just as another Formic with a mist sprayer came around the corner to his left, moving right past him. The Formic saw its dead companion in the yard and stopped.
Mazer brought the sword down from behind hard and fast. It sunk into the Formic's head with little resistance and drove down clear to its neck where it stuck. The creature dropped, nearly pulling the sword from Mazer's grip. Mazer jerked it free and stepped back against the barn, listening.
More footsteps. This time to his right. He sidled in that direction, his bare feet moving silently in the dirt. The Formic came around the corner before Mazer had reached it. It saw him, hesitated, then fumbled with the wand.
Mazer lunged, skewering the creature in its center mass. The blade struck the backpack and stopped. The creature looked down at the blade protruding from its chest. Mazer retracted the blade and thrust again, piercing the creature through once more. The Formic didn't make a sound. Mazer yanked the blade free again, and the Formic crumpled at his feet.
Mazer crouched again, listening. He stayed that way for a full minute. Then two. He counted the seconds in his head. He heard nothing.
Then he was up, sprinting for the farmhouse. Danwen's body was folded there in the doorway, half inside, half outs
ide. Mazer grabbed the old man by the wrists and dragged him out into the yard, away from where the mist had been sprayed. Danwen was limp. Mazer already knew he was dead. Bingwen appeared near the doorway.
"Don't go through the door," said Mazer. "That's where it was sprayed. Grab my boots and climb out the side window."
Bingwen disappeared again inside.
Mazer knelt by Danwen. The creature had sprayed the old man in the face, and there was moisture on his forehead and cheeks. Mazer wanted to check Danwen's pulse, but he dare not touch the man's neck. He picked up his wrist instead.
No pulse.
He tried the other wrist as well.
Nothing.
He put a hand to Danwen's chest. No heartbeat. Mazer looked up. Bingwen was standing there holding Mazer's boots in his hands, staring down at his grandfather. He had thought to put on his own shoes. Mazer went to him and turned Bingwen's face to his own. "Bingwen, look at me."
The boy blinked. He was in shock.
"Your grandfather is gone. We can't stay here. We need to move now. Do you understand?"
Bingwen nodded. Mazer sat down in the dirt and threw on his boots, tightening the straps as fast as he could.
Bingwen stood over his grandfather's body. "We can't leave him here like this. They will come and take him and put him with the dead things. They will dishonor him."
Mazer took Bingwen's hand. "There's no time to bury him, Bingwen. We have to move now."
Bingwen jerked his hand free. "No. We can't let them take him."
Mazer reached for Bingwen, but the boy was quick and dodged his grasp. Bingwen ran to the fire pit they used for cooking. He grabbed one of the pots and scooped around in the coals. A few of the coals at the bottom were still red hot and smoldering. Bingwen used a stick to scoop them into the pot.
"What are you doing?" Mazer asked.
Bingwen didn't respond. He ran to the barn and dumped the coals in a corner where an old bundle of hay lay rotting. The hay caught fire immediately, igniting like a match. The flames spread quickly, licking at the old, dry wooden wall of the barn. Bingwen dropped the pot and ran back across the yard to where Danwen lay in the dirt. He grabbed the old man by the ankles and pulled with all his strength. Danwen didn't budge, light as he was.
Mazer came over, bent down, and scooped the old man up into his arms, being careful not to touch Danwen's face. Smoke was pouring out of the barn now. Flames crawled up the interior wall like it was kindling. There was a square wooden box on the ground near the back wall where more tools were kept. Mazer laid Danwen atop it and kicked some of the untouched hay around it. The fire was close now. Mazer kicked at a burning plank to knock it free of the wall. It splintered and broke away, burning at the edges. Mazer grabbed a corner that wasn't on fire and placed it at the base of the box Danwen lay on. The smoke was thick and burned Mazer's eyes. The heat was intense. Mazer retreated out of the barn coughing and brushing burning ashes from his clothes.
Bingwen stood outside in the yard, staring at the flames, the sword loose in his hand, blood glistening on the blade in the firelight.
Mazer knelt beside him. "We can't stay, Bingwen. Can you run?"
They needed to move. The troop transports were silent and light as leaves. They could be here at any moment. Bingwen turned to Mazer, his movements slow, as if in a trance. He didn't respond. He wouldn't be able to run, Mazer realized. Not quickly. Mazer took the sword and gently picked up Bingwen in his arms. Then he ran, heading down the mountain, the flames and the farmhouse at their backs--moving north, into the darkness.