A sharp crack above their heads made her ears ring. They fell at once, many covering their heads, but Layla kept her eyes upwards so she saw what they didn’t: the colours sweeping into one central point at the centre of the ceiling, thrusting like the tail of a cyclone towards the transport door. It blew it from the hinges, a sheet of paper on the wind, off and away. Light poured in. They got to their feet, surging towards their escape point. There was another crack, louder this time, and the transport roared, trembling as it was pounded from outside. She could see. They could all see, a multitude of heads craned upwards, bright sunlight flooding their eyes. There was vast sky and somewhere far from them something black flapped and spun like a dark coin, catching the sun as it went higher and higher. The roof. The transport roof.

A painful squeal of protesting metal. The carriage rocked like metro trains. She was thrown against Meade’s shoulder hard, hearing the thud of connection and seeing more colours, this time inside her head. Silence. All around Layla nobody dared say anything or even move for fear of what might come next. There were faint moans, almost sounding like chants, though no one spoke a word. Heat pounded their backs, pushing them to the floor. She heard a familiar noise and saw Marshan crying on his knees, covering his head. Layla bent down, whispered into his ear, saying what she’d seen. She pulled him to his feet and took Meade by the hand. Leading both, she walked to the red open space where the transport door had been.

Every soldier was dead, or dying. Bodies gouged with circular holes through their torsos, organs trailed behind them in the dirt like the tentacles of jellyfish. Bloody red circles where their eyes should have been, hands on guns. Skin pale, dark with burn marks, bloodless. Further along the segments of transport carriages Cosmogrammas jumped down in groups of threes and fours, helping the less able with a hand, looking up at the darkening sky with hands on hips, inspecting the fallen remains of dead men. Meade touched the lump on Layla’s head gently, and when she forced a smile, hugged her tight. She held on, squeezing him breathless. Her eyes began to burn and she shuddered against him, gasping for breath.

They released each other, leaping carefully from the carriage one by one. Awkward, wincing into sunlight, the chill of air accentuating the sticky damp of Layla’s skin. Dust played tag around their feet. A fingernail glint of the moon. The silent land seemed infinite as they gathered themselves and walked to join the others.

BUCK