The medic pulled back the enemy sailor’s sleeve and shirttail, inspecting the vicious teeth marks and torn flesh. Gravely meeting her gaze, he answered, “We’ll let her try. In his present condition, I doubt he’d make it back to the garrison.” He motioned for another Marine to help him pick up the wounded man, and they carried him to the truck.
Earlier that day, they’d engaged in a shootout with a band of Republic sailors, capturing a dozen and killing half as many. One Verdancian Marine had been injured, and a couple of bullets dented their jeep. Lark suspected any stray survivors of the sunken enemy ships wouldn’t last long out here.
An hour later, the caravan rolled to a stop at the Saltmarsh Reach exit. The rumble of engines ceased as Lark sprang out of the jeep, racing up to Luke, anticipation lighting her eyes.
He kicked down the motorcycle’s stand and pulled off his helmet. “Lark, why don’t you take point on this one?”
With a beam as fresh as a summer sunflower, she mopped away more sweat. “Thank you, Captain. I’ll introduce everyone. If a couple of you bring the injured fellow, I’ll show them to Gramma’s.”
“Don’t forget,” said Skye, who’d moseyed up to join them in front of the jeep. “You’re supposed to be resting while we’re here.”
“Yeah, I know.” Lark couldn’t imagine how rest was possible. She’d been gone for months, and now she just wanted to visit everyone in town, catch up on news, and share her stories.
“And don’t forget your pigeon duty,” Skye added, pointing a severe finger at Lark.
She rolled her eyes and groaned but trotted back to collect the crate.
“Captain Moreau.” Tall and lean, Lieutenant Griffith passed her. “I’m sending a detail back to New Charleston with the prisoners we’ve rounded up thus far. The rest of us will stick around for another day to pick up more Republic stragglers.”
“A sound plan,” Luke concurred. Lark returned to the head of the line, which now included the rest of the team and a group of Marines.
“This way, if you please.” Hauling the smelly, cooing birds, Lark led a parade through the patchwork town of mud, wood, and tin—old RVs, trailers, and dozens of converted shipping containers, their once-bright orange, yellow, red, and blue paint nearly weathered away.
Curious townsfolk abandoned their tasks to line up and greet them. A few crossed their arms, frowns twisting their faces; most waved and cheered. Children skipped and danced around them while young women fanned themselves, twirling, smiles gleaming at the Marines.
“Why’re ya here?” grumbled an old man. He spat a tobacco wad into the mud, then jutted up his bearded chin.
“Oh, don’t be inhospitable, Abe,” Lark chided in good humor. “They aren’t putting you under martial law. I brought them to make sure you were all safe. New Charleston was attacked yesterday.”
“Attacked?” Hank Hayes stepped out of the crowd wearing a leather apron, his expression guarded. “By who? Pirates?”
A pang of guilt shot through Lark at the sight of Tommy’s father. She hadn’t secured the antibiotics to save her friend, nor had she returned for his funeral.Failure. Coward.She dropped her gaze, the emotions cutting deep.
Luke answered. “No, sir—The Red River Republic.”
“Mother of scrap!” exclaimed Abe, spinning his anger in a new direction. “What’s the Iron Realm want with New Charleston?”
“They’ve launched a full-scale invasion of Verdancia,” Lark said. She braved a glimpse at the brawny miller, a man whose table she’d eaten many a meal around, as Tommy had hers.
“Hey, isn’t that one of them!” Talon Jones edged from behind a frightened woman to jab a finger at the Republic sailor lying on a gurney carried by a Marine and the medic. “Why’d you bring the scum here?”
“So maybe he won’t die,” Lark said emphatically.
“He’s a prisoner,” Skye explained. “If he lives, we hope to exchange him for one of ours.”
“They’ve started taking prisoners?”
“We don’t know.” Marine Lieutenant Griffith pulled off his cap to wipe a bandana across his bristly crew cut. Tugging the cap back into place, he said, “I’m glad they haven’t been here, but I can’t promise they won’t come.”
“I suspect they don’t even know Saltmarsh Reach exists!” The jovial declaration came from Lark’s little brother, who barreled up the path and wrapped her in an exuberant hug. Sam, the family’s brown and white speckled pointer, trotted behind him, ears perked, tongue lolling, and tail wagging. “Lark, you finally came home. I got your letter. You saw Dad? How is he? Gramma will be so excited.” Sam nuzzled in close, ensuring he got some affection as well.
With a nod from Captain Moreau, Lark hurried alongside Leif, the dog loping ahead, to their sturdy house fashioned from shipping containers and a canopy covering the outdoor kitchen and dining space.
“Leif, what in tarnation is all that racket about?” Inez Sutter stepped onto the covered porch, fists on her hips and a disagreeable scowl on her lips. Sam’s wagging tail slapped Lark’s leg.
“Lark!” Bryn squealed with delight and raced to run smack into her, jarring the pigeon crate, and clamped her arms tight around her waist. The startled birds cooed loudly.
Faster than a lizard’s tongue snatching a fly, Gramma’s demeanor shifted to utter joy.