I see Sam taking several deep breaths, as if she’s psyching herself up for something. I’m about to ask if she’s okay when she throws open the door and fires six rounds from her USW rifle.

“Quickly, Luka!” she hisses, and then disappears into the street.

“What … what’s happening?” I mutter, and stumble after her.

Out in the street, four soldiers lie dead. A USW round has hit one of them right in the mouth and the toothless grin left on her face sends a shiver down my spine.

Sam is dragging one of the dead soldiers by the heels into the pub. “Get the others,” she seethes as I stare dumbly at the corpses.

“Yeah, right, okay, sure,” I say, and grab the toothless one under the arms, pulling her inside.

We get the others into the pub, and Sam begins to undress the female soldier. I get the idea and take the body armor off one of the men, his dead eyes staring up into nothing.

I hop up and down as I force my feet into the soldier’s boots, which are at least two sizes too small for me, but they look to be the closest fit. Sam watches with an exasperated look on her face.

“Are you done?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say, patting at the uncomfortable bulletproof body armor that is supposed to decrease USW round impact by up to 14 percent. “I think so.”

“Final Gods,” she sighs. She walks over to me, unclips the chest plate, and spins it around.

“Oh, that’s much better,” I say, grinning stupidly.

“Okay,” she breathes, “this is the easy part: We walk out into the city as if we own the place, then we wait at Hollie Park Station, get on the city train going west, and get off near Old Town; from there we can access the sewer and get back to the library.”

“So, we just walk right into the middle of the city?” I ask.

“Pretty much.”

“Great,” I say, throwing my hands up and smiling brightly, “why not.”

“If we come across soldiers … well, we’ll improvise.”

I pick up one of the soldier’s USW guns. “What about this?” I ask, nodding toward the LucidVision headset I’ve tucked under one arm.

“Fuck,” Sam mutters, “give it to me.”

I lean toward her and she grabs the headset, resting it on the bar and examining it; then she lifts it into the air and smashes it down onto the hard wood with all her might. The headset shatters, detaching from the arm. Pieces of metal and plastic fly in all directions, along with circuit boards and wires. Sam digs through the debris.

“One of these things has got to be the processor,” she says.

“Igby said it was silver and about the size of a thumbnail,” I offer.