Blood Ties by Peter David

hook that a rifle was dangling from. Then I grabbed a shield and threw myself over the top of the wall before I had time to consider what I was doing.
    I slid down the rope at high speed, wincing as it tore at the skin of my palms. I should have been wearing my gloves. I didn’t have time to worry about it, though. The rope had hit the bottom and was partly curled up on Russell’s fallen form.
    The attackers were still a distance back because of the fusillade that had kept them at bay. I brought the shield up. It was specially reinforced, metal lined with hardwood. It provided sufficient stopping power for any bullet save a direct hit at close range. Otherwise, bullets deflected off it or were sufficiently slowed that they did not penetrate.
    A fallen ladder lay nearby. It was going to be unwieldy, trying to angle it single-handedly up the wall, but it wasn’t as if I had a lot of choice. Climbing back up the rope with Russell slung over my shoulder wasn’t really an option.
    I made it to Russell and was both gratified and amazed to see that he was still breathing. He looked up at me with startled eyes. “What the hell—?” he managed to whisper.
    â€œDamned if I know,” I said as I started to haul him up.
    Then an angry roar alerted me and I looked up just in time to see a particularly large brute bearing down on me. He had a shotgun that was incredibly large. Compensating for something, the gnome’s voice sounded in my head.
    He fired at nearly point-blank range. I brought up the shield just in time because, had the blast hit home, it would have torn me in half. As it was, it knocked me clean off my feet, and I could see a massive indentation from the shot in the shield. It had dented it severely and, were it given another opportunity, would probably punch right through it.
    I yanked out my pistol and fired blindly. But even my blind shots are better than most men’s shooting with both eyes on the target. The soldier went down with half his face gone.
    More were coming, though, and I slung Russell over my shoulder even as I kept my gun leveled, hoping that my awkward positioning of the shield would be enough to stave off immediate death. Getting to the ladder, getting it upright, climbing up it while fending off attackers, none of it was going to be easy. But I had no choice.
    It turned out that I was exactly right about that, yet wrong at the same time.
    Abruptly the rope around my middle yanked tightly and I was hauled off my feet. Russell was nearly thrown from me but I just managed to hang on to him as we were pulled straight up the wall. I banged against it several times as we hurtled upward and jerked to a halt just short of the top. I had shoved the pistol back into my belt in order to free up my hands and twisted around to keep the shield between us and the attackers. More bullets pinged off it as I shoved Russell over the top of the wall, then, pushing up against it with my feet, drove myself behind its protection as well.
    I had figured that two or three soldiers had teamed up to drag us to safety. I was astounded to find that there was only one man there: Old Henry. He was crouched low, paying no attention to bullets that were flying just over his head. One actually grazed his skull; I saw a thin line of blood appear as if by magic. Either he didn’t realize it was there or, more likely, didn’t care.
    â€œThat was a damned stupid thing to do,” he said tightly. He seemed to want to say more, but instead opted for, “Keep shooting. And no more damned heroics.”
    Doing as I had been bidden, I took up my place again and targeted more of the soldiers. When I glanced over my shoulder once again, Old Henry and Russell were gone. Presumably Henry had taken the boy to safety so that someone could attend to him. I’d seen more wounds in my time than I care to think about, but one of the benefits of that undesirable experience was that I was able to tell