"It's coming."
Marybeth pushed up before Lance could stop her.
Arnulf caught the back of her jacket and dragged her down behind the trees. "Stay low."
"It's going to reach them."
"Stay low," he said again, harder. But his eyes wavered.
Harry and Bert stood near the closed fort gate, both bent forward and fighting for air. Harry still had his rifle, but the shotgun was gone somewhere in the dust and broken stone behind him. Bert had one hand pressed to his ribs, his face twisted as he looked from the gate to the thing coming at them.
The tank did not pick anything up.
It did not throw.
It lowered itself instead, hands spread against the pavement, head fixed on Harry and Bert like the guards behind it no longer existed. Bullets struck its back, shoulders, and legs. It flinched once, then ignored the gunfire and ran.
"Harry!" Tilly shouted.
Chanse clamped a hand over her mouth and pulled her lower behind the trees.
