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- Ричард Морган
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Silence
.
I
swung
the
Nemex
left
and
right
,
covering
the
corners
of
the
room
and
the
front
door
.
The
jagged
edges
of
the
smashed
dome
above
.
Nothing
.
"
Ortega
?
"
"
Yeah
,
fine
.
"
She
was
sprawled
on
the
other
side
of
the
room
,
propping
herself
up
on
one
elbow
.
There
was
a
tightness
in
her
voice
that
belied
her
words
.
I
swayed
to
my
feet
and
made
my
way
across
to
her
,
footsteps
crunching
on
broken
glass
.
"
Where
’
s
it
hurt
?
"
I
demanded
,
crouching
to
help
her
sit
up
.
"
Shoulder
.
Fucking
bitch
got
me
with
the
Sunjet
.
"
I
stowed
the
Nemex
and
looked
at
the
wound
.
The
beam
had
carved
a
long
diagonal
furrow
across
the
back
of
Ortega
’
s
jacket
and
clipped
through
the
left
shoulder
pad
at
the
top
.
The
meat
beneath
the
pad
was
cooked
,
seared
down
to
the
bone
in
a
narrow
line
at
the
centre
.
"
Lucky
,
"
I
said
with
forced
lightness
.
"
You
hadn
’
t
ducked
,
it
would
have
been
your
head
.
"
"
I
wasn
’
t
ducking
,
I
was
fucking
falling
over
.
"
