Marlowe
I didn't have time to be afraid, which felt, afterward, like the strangest part of the whole ambush — one second we were riding hard toward the eastern boundary, and the next I was pulling a wounded club member out of the wreckage of a supply truck while gunfire cracked somewhere far too close for comfort.
My body moved before my mind fully caught up to it. Duck. Assess. Move the wounded first, worry about the fight second. Somewhere in the chaos I registered my own hands doing things I'd never been formally trained for — reading an angle before I took it, finding cover without thinking about where cover actually was, the particular economical stillness that let me get three people clear of the fire line before a single conscious thought about strategy crossed my mind.
"Where di
