Father and Nathaniel carried Walter away.

Jocelyn followed, her rifle at the ready.

The world seemed distant, echoed.

His vision darkened, breath wheezing through the filters.

Mother and her team ran to him, their own faces obscured behind the garish masks.

Father and Nathaniel helped him to sit with his back against one of the transports, left leg extended, and Mother and the other medics inspected it.

"Something's coming," Jocelyn shouted.

Father and Nathaniel raced to her side, weapons at the ready, focusing on an area just ahead in the trees.

Mother gasped when she saw his injury, and he got a look at it himself.

The mortar had struck him worse than he thought. A chunk of shrapnel was lodged deep into his thigh. Sticky red tracks of blood spidered across his pale skin, muscle visible through the tattered flesh surrounding.

One of the medics twisted a tourniquet, and agony contorted his entire body. His own cry sounded distant.

The medics stood suddenly, surrounding him.

Mother drew her pistol.

Something moved around them. It shone in the sunlight, a segmented, chromed form snaking through the trees, too swiftly to catch a glimpse.

"Take cover," Father yelled, loading his rifle with one of the bullets from Stonecipher.

Jocelyn and Nathaniel did the same.

Walter tried to get up, to join them. His muscles strained as he forced himself to his good leg, one hand against the transport. He looked about for anything that would serve as a weapon.

The medics tried to force him back down, but he pushed them aside, out of his way.

He'd only heard stories about this kind of robot. It was an assassin model, set loose during the Kaezer's attacks to seek and destroy any weak or concealed targets. Something like a large, yet elusive millipede, it had many fibrous legs, sweeping across all terrain at deadly speed.

He spotted his rifle on the ground, and nearly blacked out as he retrieved it. Struggling one-handed, he loaded it with another deactivation bullet from his belt. This one was single target, with a higher charge, designed for the larger and more durable types of robots.

He held the butt of the rifle under one arm, and leaned against the transport.

Trembling. Couldn't stop. But he managed to take aim, and steeled himself for the attack.

The robot streaked out of the trees, like a flash of death across the ground. The edges of its sinuous form were trimmed with slicing blades.

He heard the others shoot, and they caught it in their webs.

But only for a moment. The segments of the thrashing, metallic body broke apart, leaving the disabled parts behind. It scurried away, into the trees, and looped around. Within seconds, all of the crawling pieces reformed into one. Then it rose upon its slender frame, like a viper about to strike.

That pivotal moment, when it paused, was Walter's. He fired the specialized bullet and struck the machine in its optical pane, of all the lucky shots he could wish for.

The sizzled reek of overheated circuitry cloistered.

He stumbled, and nearly lost balance, but he grinned. It seemed everything was safe.

He was wrong.

Again, the robot split apart. And it moved faster than anyone could foresee.

Jocelyn tried to evade, and didn't get far enough. One of the whirling, razored segments hit her, as she tried to lunge behind the transport.

Walter heard her cry, and rushed to her with all the resilience he had left.

But it was Nathaniel who caught her as she fell.

Walter landed on the ground beside them.

Nathaniel knelt, with Jocelyn's head cradled in his arms. Her right arm hung at an unnatural angle, severed to the neck. An arc of blood spurted crimson.

She looked at Nathaniel, reaching with her one good hand toward his face. But it fell. Her breathing sputtered through the mask, then was still. She died quickly. Too quickly for one so brave, so young.

Walter's grief and rage overcame him. In spite of his fading strength, he turned to face the enemy once more, and struggled to pull himself upright.

He heard Nathaniel's choked sob. Mother's wail. Father yelling Jocelyn's name. All of them were crippled in shock and sorrow, while death scurried around them.

The robot's appendages whisked over the cold, merciless ground.

He grabbed another modified bullet from his belt. He would keep firing, and loading, until every damned piece of that mechanical wreck was deactivated, until he ran out of ammo, or fell unconscious. Whichever came first, he didn't care.

His own tears burned hot trails down his face.

He swayed, and attempted again to raise himself to that one leg. The pain throbbed, stiff and constant, but it didn't thwart him.

The medical team cowered beside the transport, all terrified.

His parents and Nathaniel were collapsed in various states of mourning around Jocelyn. Her listless head and arms were thrown back.

Nathaniel hugged her, shivering, covered in her blood.

The assassin circled, and surrounded them. But it didn't attack. It lurked nearby, waiting.

Walter faded out once more, falling to his hands and knees, but he still tried to take aim. Damn his weakness. He crawled. Pathetic, yet determined. A flare of agony took him, and only his anger kept him from falling onto his face. He dropped the rifle, fingers digging into the soil. Though he struggled to keep alert, his breath was rapid and desperate.

Then came the sound of an approaching engine.

The others shouted in alarm.

Just a series of images followed, as he was only able to focus for a few minutes at a time.

A rotorcraft landed near them. Emblazoned on the side was the familiar fist, gear, and sword emblem, glaring its might in red on a black circle-the symbol of the Kaezer.

The door of the vehicle opened, and the assassin robot slithered back, wrapping itself around one of the landing beams. Several troopers got out. Heavy boots crunched through brush as they approached. Long black coats flapped in the rush of air from the turbines. The dark, austere circles of their masks focused on Walter and his family.

More than a dozen attendant robots followed.

They were outnumbered, at least three to one.

One trooper stepped forth, before all of the others. He was gaunt, wearing the stripes of an officer, and had a long, thin black cane. The forced sound of his breathing through the gas mask was bloodcurdling. The officer said nothing, just pointed, and the robots and troopers at his side moved swiftly, obediently, to do his will.

Shouts and struggle ensued. The robots seized Father, Mother, Nathaniel, and the medics. Jocelyn's body fell discarded to the ground, as the others fought against their captors.

Walter passed out seconds later. He didn't remember them taking him as well.

But it didn't surprise him when he woke to the mind-rattling drone of the transport's engine, the odors of sweat and fear, trapped in a small space. He caught a glimpse of the haggard, defeated faces around him. His parents, Nathaniel, and all of the medics crouched nearby, their weapons and gas masks confiscated.

Captured by the enemy.

He lay on the floor, in what must be the cargo hold of the enemy rotorcraft. The realization brought a new swirl of fear. He tried to sit up, but the pain in his leg flared anew. He writhed, and cried out.

Mother knelt beside him, and quieted him. Though she smiled, he'd never seen such sadness in her eyes. She put her arms around him, and held him as if he were a small child.

He lost consciousness again.

In his next flash of reality, the rotorcraft had landed. The bay doors were open. He still lay on the hard floor. Nathaniel and the medics were in restraints, a fleet of robots leading them away. The troopers clamped a pair of cuffs to Mother's wrists, and pulled her down the ramp. But she resisted.

"No," she said, sobbing. "You can't take my child from me. Let me go."

They pushed her forward, to force her to walk, but she dropped to her knees instead.

The robots surrounding her were driver models, the type used by the Kaezer to control and move unruly prisoners. And, as was well known, to forcibly separate parents from their children upon entering the ration camps. They had round bodies of durable brass, angled heads with optics all the way around, so they could see both ahead and behind. Their effectors were sturdy, unrelenting vises, and they had several cruel, retractable devices to restrain and subdue built into their hulls.

Father crouched nearby, one hand on Walter's shoulder, the other balled into a taut fist.

Two driver robots entered, their footsteps heavy and menacing against the steel ramp of the transport.

Walter wanted desperately to speak, but his throat felt like it was full of burning sand.

"Don't ever let them defeat you," Father whispered. "Stay strong, no matter what happens. You're my son."

The robots tried to grab Father.

He stood, and spun to the back of one of them. His shirt tore, a loud rending sound as the clawed metallic hands grasped, revealing the strong, toil-ridden lines of his arms and stomach.

He shoved one robot into the other with a loud clang, causing them to swerve a moment in confusion. Then he dashed out the door to help Mother.

The troopers shouted in their ugly foreign language. One of them swung the butt of a rifle, and hit Father in the skull.

He staggered, but didn't fall, turning to face his opponent. Blood dripped from his temple.

The robots in the vehicle recovered, and advanced.

Walter tried to shout, to help. Though his body was useless, his mind and heart screamed.

He was aware just long enough to see the long, corded tasers shoot.

Father convulsed beneath the surging current, and slumped to the ground.

Mother wept beside him.