Her father had sat by the window with his clear bright liquor as gunfire echoed through the canals and he had named them all. “.45, 30-06, AK-47, .22, QBZ-95, M-60, AA-19, AK-74, .50-caliber, 999.” Mahlia knew the many voices of war from her father’s chant.

Later, when those guns were turned on her and she was belly-crawling out of hell, she’d known them, too: the chatter of the AKs and the bellowing of 12-gauges as they ripped the grasses and tore the swamp waters around her.

Mahlia had whispered their names to herself as she’d tried not to be stupid and jump up like a rabbit in the open as bullets zinged all around. Trying to think like Sun Tzu and not make a fatal mistake. Anything at all to keep herself from panicking the way all the other stupid civvies were panicking and getting themselves all shot to hell.

Another explosion rocked the distance—999, for sure. A lucky gun and a lucky number.

For someone, at any rate.

Mahlia looked down at her hand and was surprised to see blood still on it. Remembered the baby and Tani’s death. Remembered why she’d come looking for Mouse in the first place.

“Mahfouz wants us to go find some food and drop it by Amaya’s place. Help feed her since she’s going to be taking on Tani’s baby.”

“The doc’s too damn nice.”

Mahlia jostled him with an elbow. “Well, he takes in lazy-ass war maggots like you, so yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Hey!” Mouse grabbed for support before he toppled off the beam. “You trying to kill me?”

“Fates, no. You hit the ground, then I got to do all the work myself.”

“And we both know you don’t got the hands for that!”

Before Mahlia could slug him, Mouse swung down off the girder, dangling nimble as a monkey. He hand-over-handed across open air to a down girder.

Mahlia felt briefly envious of his easy movement. Forced herself not to watch too hungrily. Some things, it was better not to think about. It just made you mad and angry.

Mouse slid down the girder to the next level. “Why we bother working so hard hunting up dinner if we know the doc’s just going to give it away?” he asked as Mahlia balance-beamed back to her own route off the building.

“Hell if I know. Because Mahfouz thinks goes-around-comes-around works for the good stuff, too. Balancing the scales and all that.”

Mouse laughed. “That’s all Scavenge God foo-foo stuff. ‘Balancing the scales.’ ”

“Mahfouz ain’t Scavenge God.”