Fifty-three
Everything stopped.
One minute, the Proteus above him rung with the impact of gunfire, and screams and shouts from inside. The next, the shooting ceased.
Somewhere, a bird called out. The grass in front of Brice’s face bent in the breeze.
Then he heard muffled voices, as if they were behind a closed door. He assumed they were from the Proteus, as the ghouls would surely be sussing.
He peered round the ramp, and the metal barrier was unmoving. One slit was open, a lone weapon poking through. A cloud drifted across the sun, and the metal grew dull and lifeless.
A soft grinding sound forced Brice to turn his head—slowly, so that his vision didn’t swim—and he saw the Hermes. The hatch opened, and the ramp extended to the ground. The space behind was dark, but two figures
