She felt for her touchstone at the end of its lanyard and navigated to the screen that would register if the blood had gone through. It still read 00.00. She’d gotten the blood to distribution but wouldn’t receive credit if it had spoiled. Holding her breath, she watched the numbers and willed them to change. They had to change. They had to. Afraid to blink, her eyes started to burn.

... 47.52 liters

Relief. A stay of execution. Only two and a half liters rejected.

She exhaled and stood up. Aside from the exiting parade of blood drones, she was alone. The air smelled like rain. She pulled up the hood on her reaper’s black and began walking. Maybe she’d get home before it really came down.

She stopped after only a few steps, thinking that she’d heard something like a distant mosquito. It became more pronounced, a high-pitched whining that seemed to emanate from the squadron. One of the drones had fallen below formation. Even if it cleared the wall, she could see it wouldn’t make it over the trees. A tick of panic came at the loss of such a large amount of blood, especially after she’d exerted so much effort to save a single vault. She briefly envisioned herself running underneath to try and catch it. Much as she disliked the Harvest, the Gray Zones needed every drop. Willa drew up her touchstone and alerted Patriot Emergency.

The motors on the drone struggled as it sank, with one exploding in a torus of glowing shrapnel. It hit the compound’s outer wall and smashed to the ground, sending prop blades into the hull and gashing the steel. Vaults tumbled onto the pavement as the twisted carcass came to rest. Willa felt herself drawn through the debris field, but stopped short of the drone, still showering sparks. Calm down, she thought, there’s no one in there.

A metal ring rolled lazily to her foot where it toppled over, and silence returned. She took stock of the scene and began toward the wreckage, careful to avoid the red slick of donor blood that would soon coat the asphalt. But as she neared the drone, her stomach twisted.

There wasn’t any.

She triggered her touchstone’s light and flashed it over the ground. Not so much as a drop of red, and no bags whatsoever. Had they remained inside the vaults through the crash? Had they all somehow held? Their poly construction was strong, sure, but those fan blades... it seemed impossible. Nearby, a dented vault laid open on its side, one wheel still spinning. She knelt to look inside.

Suddenly a white light blanched her vision. Willa turned into the beam eyes closed, her touchstone held aloft. “Willa Mae Wallace!” she yelled. “Station Eight, SCS.”