We’re staying to fight, the priest said. She assumed he was a priest anyway. Scripture quoting and biblical allusions were not completely common in laymen—at least not to the extent of his precise accuracy.
As Ira lay down between Penemue and Gabriel, a strange look overtook his face. It must have been the drugs. Perhaps some hallucination had darted across her face because he was staring at her. Maybe he was just trying to figure out who she was. Penemue had no idea that his experience with outsiders had been so negative as to immediately expect the worst from one.
When Ira handed her his MA rifle, her stomach clenched again. She nodded in response to his orders and looked to the window. “Short controlled bursts,” she repeated. Before she moved, Penemue took a moment to acclimate herself to the new weapon. She considered its weight, briskly examined the ammo, and looked down its sights. She could do this.
The wall beside the three was riddled with gashes and bullet holes. “Should we take cover in another building?” Penemue nodded her head in the direction of a nearby house. “No holes in that one.” As she spoke, her eyes never left the window. She was their cover now. Considering that she may have to help Ira move again, she slung the rifle’s strap over her head, but her aim was still focused on the outside in the event that any more soldiers—that bore an uncomfortable resemblance to Ira—moved in.