Ember by James K. Decker

eyes.
    â€œWho?” I asked, but he just shook his head.
    â€œWe’re leaving. Now.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNow,” he said. “Take only what you need.”
    â€œWe can’t just leave, D. What’s wrong with you?”
    â€œListen,” he said, raising his voice. “Take just what you need and—”
    Tanchi squawked from the other side of the room, and at the sound Dragan’s eyes went wide. He stepped back, crashing into the wet bar and knocking glasses down to shatter on the floor. He turned to the crib, and I saw his hand move toward his gun.
    â€œDragan!”
    He eased his hand back down, still not taking his eyes off the kid.
    â€œNow,” he said. “We’re leaving here in five minutes.”
    His boots crunched through the broken glass as he crossed to the doorway and down the hall to his bedroom. I went to Tanchi and stroked his cheek, humming softly until the mewling stopped. His slack limbs twitched as he metabolized, still warm to the touch, but when he looked up at me from the crib, his flame orange eyes were alert. His growing fear seeped through the mites, like a spastic electric current that sent jolts through my forehead.
    â€œIt’s okay,” I told him. Dragan came tromping back into the living room, and I saw he had a second gun in his hand, which he slipped into his belt just behind the first.
    â€œLeave it,” he said.
    â€œWhat . . . Tanchi?”
    â€œLeave it.”
    â€œDragan, we can’t just leave him here. If he doesn’t get fed he could die—”
    â€œDon’t argue with me, Sam!”
    The front door’s knob turned, and the door thumped as the bolt kept it from opening. Dragan spun around and drew his pistol as something pounded against the other side, hard.
    â€œDragan . . .”
    â€œThey tracked me,” he said to himself.
    A loud boom shook the apartment and sent an avalanche of paper trash sliding off the kitchen counter. A second crash came as the front door’s bolt tore loose from the jamb and it blew open in a shower of splinters and drywall powder. Tanchi screamed as Dragan grabbed my wrist and pulled me close, hissing into my ear.
    â€œWhen I say run, you run,” he said. I nodded. “If you don’t hear from me in an hour, I’ve arranged a transport out of the country to Duongroi. Go to Central Transport and—”
    â€œDuongroi? D, why?”
    â€œPlease, Sam, just—”
    He stopped short as several figures came tromping through the doorway.
    â€œNobody move,” a woman’s voice said from behind him.
    Dragan put his hand on my cheek.
    â€œYou’re going to hear some things about me,” he said. “Don’t believe them. I love you like you were my own flesh and blood, Sam. Remember that.”
    A lump rose in my throat as two men and a woman, all dressed in black body armor, came marching into the room with us through a haze of dust. Their scaly, formfitting combat suits hummed, creating static that made my hair stand on end, and their faces were shielded by light disruptors, giving their hooded heads the look of empty black eggshells.
    Dragan turned, standing between us and facing them. He aimed the pistol, but before he could get a shot off, the closest soldier lashed out in a blur and clamped down on his wrist. Dragan fired twice, the bullets thudding into the far wall before the suit whined and I heard the crack of bone. He grunted, and the gun clunked down onto the floor between them. The goon stomped on it and kicked it back behind him with his boot.
    Still pinned, Dragan reached back with his free hand and drew the second pistol he’d tucked in his belt. He plowed into the guy who had his wrist, and fired two shots into his side while the other soldiers piled on.
    â€œNow!” he yelled. “Sam, Go!”
    Across the room I could see the front door hanging from one twisted hinge, offering