Chapter 13Phoebe was the quickest to react, drawing her ebony-handled pistol and racing past the doorway, firing as she went. There was another rush of air, but the slow air-propelled morphia dart missed her by over a foot, shattering against the far wall. I heard another of those grisly, death rattle exclamations from outside, and the sound of heavy footfalls, rapidly receding.
“Did you hit it?” I asked, with little hope.
“Yes, but not well enough,” she answered, bitterly. “In the shoulder, I think, but at least its cowardice seems to have won out for now. Can you revive him?” she asked Dr. Alcott, who was examining the fallen Staurakios.
“With that stuff swimming around in his bloodstream?” she replied, incredulously. “Not a hope. We’ll have to carry him.”
“No. We’ll have to leave hi
