68: Ryann
Ryann
Ryann flinched when the g*n fired. She spun, a dull throb of pain in her arm.
But fell to the side, not backwards. And the pain wasn’t sharp, wasn’t from a bullet.
A shape surged past Ryann, slammed into the woman. There was a guttural roar, then a scream. Crimson sprayed the foliage.
Ryann stayed down, amongst the greenery. She heard gasps. The shape bounded away from the fallen woman.
The shape was grey, and fast. It trailed a trace Ryann knew far too well.
Instinct had pulled the Preben from Ryann’s waist-band, and she lattice-locked. Sights sprang up in her lenses, and she targeted the man in front of her, half-hidden by large green leaves. He ducked behind a tree as she squeezed the trigger.
He jerked, twisted. Ryann’s angle was poor, and she’d only winged him.
