“Want me with, boss?” Walters said, before fastening his dust mask. He turned on the back vents, which served the purpose of limiting the amount of dust that would get in once the door was opened by violently pushing it out the back.

  “No!” Payton had to shout over the noise of the vents. “Need you ready to get us out, man the Macher in case we need covering fire.”

  “Got it boss!” Walters said, flipping the switch to let the back doors open, “God be with you!”

  Payton took the front and Harper followed close behind, the crunch of settled dust like snow under her black combat boots, already painting the sole gray. Dust ships usually landed on flat rooftops if they could, limiting their exposure to dust deposits on the ground. In this instance, it looked like Walters had found an old warehouse, overlooking a construction yard.

  The two were dressed identically to every duster that had ever been foolish enough to venture into the forgotten bones of humanity’s old cities. Both had their hoods up, covering up as much skin as possible. Most of all, it was crucial they kept their mouths and eyes covered. One could take in a fair amount of dust before it became a problem. It’s just that once that line was crossed, there was no coming back…

  When she looked down, she saw a railway with a long, derailed train, rusting into the ground and overgrown with thick, gray vines. She saw some of those old-school land trucks sinking into the dust and vegetation beneath. And in the distance, she saw the smoldering wreck of the Siegfried, having landed in what had once been a park, now overgrown into a tiny jungle. The giant freighter had managed to let out its back chutes before it crashed, but the impact had still broken it in half. Dozens of cargo containers had fallen out of its side like spilled guts. Everything further than that was concealed in smoke and dust.

  Payton found a hatch on the roof and waved her down. She followed down the ladder, seeing the rusty old vehicles and machinery within, spared the worst of the dust. They made their way to the metallic door and walked back into the smoky air outside.

  In some ways, this part of the city wasn’t that different from her home in New Helsinki. Everything was cold, industrial, built quickly and efficiently. She was disappointed that the true beauty of the old world was so near and yet so far, concealed by destruction and dust.

  Even so, she found beauty here that she had never seen in the corridors of her hometown. The wide open spaces, not built with verticality and maximum efficiency in mind. Thorny vines laced around old wheels, cracking the concrete below to break free into the open air. Two hundred years after the Storm, plant life seemed to thrive down here, in spite of the lack of sunlight.

  Payton stepped forward towards the wreck and gestured for Harper to follow. “Don’t get distracted, kid. If anyone survived, they might be a slayer by now.”

  The distant fires of the Siegfried acted like a beacon through the graying tree trunks. Harper nodded and followed, the Hail Mary disappearing in the ancient mechanical fog behind them. She felt each breath grow heavy, and it was hard to tell how much of that weight was due to the twin filters of her dust mask struggling to keep the dust ‘nites out of her throat.

  The rough needles of gray pines scraped against her leather duster as she pushed through the overgrown park. She felt the unmistakable warmth of hot breath against the back of her neck. She swiveled around quickly, her twin shotgun barrels pressing against the chest of her stalker.

  It was no monster that had nearly snuck up on her, just a man who could have been a typical cartel office drone, just like her brother. Short brown hair cut in the most simple, straightforward style imaginable, dull gray or blue eyes. It was hard to tell through the slight tint of her goggles. Twenty-three, twenty-five or so? Just a few years older than her. Wearing a blue suit with no tie, a bit scruffed and torn up, no doubt from the crash and pine needles.

  There was a very human fear in his wide eyes. He had not expected her to hear him, he did not expect the gun pressed to his chest. He looked harmless, pathetic even, apart from the metal rod he held above his head, as if frozen mid-strike.

  “P-put it down…” Harper said. She didn’t feel her hands start to shake, but she heard the rattling of her shotgun, the cold tingle in her fingers. Perhaps he was just scared? He couldn’t have been breathing in the dust that long.

  A gunshot. Half the drone’s head splattered across Harper’s coat. A stray shotgun pellet scratched the surface of her goggles, leaving a thin white line across her field of vision. She could smell the rusty blood staining her dust mask. The body dropped to the ground and Harper choked, trying her hardest not to vomit into her mask.

  Payton’s firm hand gripped the scruff of her turtleneck with one hand, pulling her up to face him eye to eye. His eyes scanned the bloodstains on her torso and mask. “You hurt?” he shouted, the barrel of his shotgun still exhaling smoke.

  “No… no,” she said, the way he had shook her making it even harder for her to keep in her breakfast. “Let go…”

  Payton complied, just a moment before the young woman would have let loose, alternating between coughing and swallowing. “Don’t make me do that again…” he said as he replaced the spent shell in his gun. “Could’ve hit you… don’t fucking hesitate.”

  Harper hadn’t noticed she dropped her shotgun. She stumbled to pick it up, turning her eyes up at her boss. Shame, anger, regret, relief. Payton wasn’t sure which of those she was feeling, but he didn’t judge her for any. He sighed and put a hand on her shoulder, helping her steady herself.

  “Remember, if it’s not wearing a mask, just kill it,” he said, his voice softening just a tone, “We’re looking for signs of sanity at this point, not the other way around. Assume everyone’s a slayer until they prove otherwise. And even then, well… sneaks are rare, but they’re real. Be. Fucking. Careful.”

  “Right,” Harper said, nodding, gathering herself, “Sorry boss.”

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Don’t apologize, just get your shit together. Let’s go,” he said, heading on ahead and giving the woman no choice but to follow, no time to consider anything else. It was better that way and they both knew it.

  The wreck came into view. The giant parachutes behind the ship were draped over trees and old power lines like a giant tent. Mangled bodies littered the dusty white ground, most of which weren’t wearing their masks. Dozens, perhaps hundreds. And dozens of crates, some small, some cargo containers rivalling the size of the Hail Mary. The ones that were broken spilled out videotapes, cassette players, and other small devices and electronics Harper couldn’t recognize.

  “Sorry about that kid,” Payton said, picking up one of the tapes and tossing it to Harper, who wasn’t quite fast enough to catch it. The tape bounced on the ground, tossing up a tiny cloud of ash.

  “The fuck?” Harper said, picking it up. A thin white label on its side read Property of Neo-Classica CO, a division of the Zindler Cartel.

  “Looks like you’ll be stuck with my tapes for a while,” Payton said, “Heard some rumors Nordrun was buying off Neo-Classica from Zindler. This must be why they were flying towards New Helsinki.”

  “So… these are the employees? Their families?” she asked.

  “Yep, and the gear. All packed up and ready for their new home,” Payton said.

  There was no point in checking for vital signs on any of these bodies. Still, that drone had survived, intact enough to be wandering through the park. There had to be others, perhaps other sections of the ship didn’t suffer as much from the impact.

  A scream and a gunshot drew their attention. Harper’s eyes snapped to the back part of the freighter. She pointed her shotgun towards a figure in the distance. He appeared to be wearing a blue cartel security outfit and kevlar vest, his ash mask dangling from a solitary strap attached to his helmet.

  He turned his pistol to another body, whimpering and trying to crawl away. He fired again. The survivor stopped moving. “Stop that!” Harper yelled, stepping closer, her gun pointed forward. The guard looked up with cold eyes, pointing his pistol at the duster. This time, she didn’t hesitate.

  She fired one shell, then the other. The first made the guard stumble and drop his gun, the second made him tumble to the ground, lifeless and still. Harper felt cold sweat trickle down her forehead. Had she just killed a man?

  Payton’s hand landed on her shoulder. The older man nodded at her shotgun. She popped it open, letting the shells fall out mechanically and taking two more from the bandolier and loaded them in. Like she knew she had learned in her brief training at the shooting range of Lower Helsinki. “Much better kid… much better.”

  I’ll deal with these feelings later…

  That was her only thought as she stepped forward, following Payton. The rest was just wordless instinct, reflexes. Her job was to keep herself alive, and if possible, try to save even just one life from this hellish wreck. If she could do that, anything else that happened here was worth it.

  The pair of dusters hurried. They came across a row of bodies. Dead. Dead. Dead again. Some had perished in the crash. Some had time to don their masks, only to take a bullet in the head. Too late for all of them.

  Then both of them heard the unmistakable click of a revolver. Turning quickly, they saw a figure standing on the wreck of one of the eight giant ducted fans that once enabled the Siegfried’s flight. Masked, hooded, wearing a long black trenchcoat. He was indeed holding a gun, but he raised it quick, then let it drop to the ground below. “Woah, woah! Easy there! Dusters?”

  “I think this one’s clean, boss…” Harper said, lowering her shotgun, not quite all the way. The thoughts she had tuned out came back when she realized she could have easily shot the man with no questions asked.

  “Name,” Payton said. He did not lower his. “Now.”

  “Mirko!” the figure replied, lowering his gun and placing it on the ground before rising back, “Mirko Wasik… Freelancer. You?”

  “Viktor Payton, former NCD, now a freelancer too,” Payton said, stepping around to glance behind Mirko. The man was tall and lanky, wisps of long black hair the only hints of his appearance underneath the mask. “This is my partner Harper North.”

  Harper gave the newcomer a nod, hoping Payton would lower his gun quicker. A sentiment Mirko seemed to share. “Come on now…” he said, “If I was a slayer I would have shot you by now…”

  “Maybe,” Payton said, glancing over his shoulder at the burning interior of the Siegfried. “What’s a freelancer doing aboard a ship like this? Seems the cartel had plenty of security of their own…”

  “Navigation,” Mirko said, then climbed down from the wreck, “The Siegfried’s usual crew don’t normally fly this far north. But freelancers like us? Pfft, do it at least three times a year, no problem.”

  “Say I believe you…” Payton said, “You know what happened here?”

  “Dunno for sure,” Mirko said and shrugged, “But I can guess… Dust leaks don’t just happen, not on a ship like this. Wouldn’t shock me if it was a farewell gift from the Zindler Cartel to their wayward employees.”

  “Fuck…” Payton swore. Harper looked at both men in turn. She had seen the cruelty of the cartels first hand. But the type she knew was a kind of cold indifference, soldiers and drones slumming it on the lower levels, paying desperate girls a week’s salary to use their bodies as they saw fit. But this was something else. She had to hope his wild speculation was wrong.

  “Yeah… so you got a ship?” Mirko asked, feeling safe enough to pick up his revolver from the dust-covered ground, “Had mine in the cargo hold, just a small dust car. But the old thing didn’t survive the crash. Ha! Mama always used to say I’d crash the thing, but never thought it’d happen when I wasn’t even behind the wheel!”

  Harper wondered if she’d be able to joke like Payton and Mirko had during moments like this some day. But if they could bring Mirko home, it would all be worth it. A small, selfish part of her didn’t even want to check inside for more.

  No time to think about it. Payton already took a step into the wreckage, turning away from Mirko without answering. Harper followed close behind, peering into the metallic carnage within. She had to go back to instinct.

  “Hey, don’t bother looking for survivors in there,” Mirko shouted, “I didn’t leave any…”

  A gunshot. A quiet grunt from Payton. Blood began to stain his gray duster red. He turned.

  A second gunshot. The left side of his goggles cracked, blood splattered on the inside of the glass. And he fell to the ground.

  “No!” Harper shouted, turning to face her shotgun at Mirko. Was he a sneak? Just a damn psychopath? She fired one shot, then two, but the slippery shadow ducked behind the wreck, taking two shots at Harper.

  One missed. The other hit her index finger of her left hand, causing it to fall to the ground along with her shotgun. Hot blood filled her black leather glove, the hole exposing it to the cold air.

  She howled in pain as she reached for the Zaykov on her holster, firing one more shot before ducking into the carcass of the Siegfried.