Her Own Hell

hing long and distorted in the hangar' s d

own. I was alone, stranded. Then they rolled in, the Serpents of the Dust. Their

vintage engine. It was a mess, but I rebuilt it from th

build thirteen exact replicas of his legendar

g me in the face, ridden by

yelled, my v

used, look

myself to my feet. "Deacon. I' m the one

a mask of contempt. He slapped me, hard.

?" he sneered. "Every who

him. There' s a hidden compartment welded to the fram

a moment' s pause.

remembering the sad story he' d told

a shaved head, kicked me in the r

eacon doesn' t have a dau

nes filled the air. Headlights cut through the hangar

A surpri

yan' s face. "Get the

d a grimy storage container at the back of the hangar.

aying ponytail. "Slim" Hughes. The man who held the

me. I twisted out of

me! Maria! From the ghost town! I rebuilt the en

ecognition in his eyes. But then it was gone, replaced by a cold mask. He was under p

u," he said, his

men holding me.

container. The heavy steel door slammed shut, plunging us into a f

n the small space. "If you hadn' t been so famous for your st

ead in my hands, the cold reality of our situation settling over m