In a future where outposts swelter beneath a nuclear sun and run-gunners patrol dusty wastelands to protect against winged creatures known as devlars, Trin is the mech at the waystation in Arens. He has a thing for the gunners: rough men with strong hands and hard bodies, who roll through his garage like the hot desert wind. Gerrick’s the best gunner around, a quick draw with a deadly aim and a penchant for sharing his pallet with young men. He has a roving eye and roaming hands, and has left a string of broken hearts in his wake. Having heard the tales of Gerrick's bravery and seen the man in action for himself, Trin has fallen in love with the man he believes Gerrick to be, and he’s sure he can change the gunner’s mind if given the chance. Gerrick’s all he wants out of this blasted world, and he tells anyone who will listen. Then Gerrick rides through Arens. He’s heard the rumors of what Trin will do for a gunner who only mentions his name. What he wants to know is, what will Trin do for him?

Trin

Aissa’s smile is gone in an instant, replaced with a look of distrust. “What do you mean?”


The bells cut him off. No longer simply ringing in the dusk, they begin to peal earnestly, their tinkling sound taking on a jangled edge. Trin frowns at Aissa only to find her already glaring back. “What the hell?” she asks. As if he knows.


“Maybe…” He trails off because he has no suggestions. The bells continue to ring, an alarm that sets his blood racing. Horrible images crowd his mind—devlars swarming the palisade walls, or fire ravaging the town, or preybirds boldly diving at children in the streets. “Oh God,” he moans. The bells always ring twice a day, once in the morning to usher in the sun and once in the evening when the light fades. A tug or two on a weathered rope in the belfry, nothing much. But this, this…the bells are stilltolling outside, and whatever they mean, Trin suddenly doesn’t want to know.


Chapter 39