1269_UgliesFreeBook

288 Scott Westerfeld
out in the wild. She remembered Dr. Cable’s words: We’ll be
there in a few hours. Tally forced the thought from her head.
This attack couldn’t have anything to do with her.
The hovercar struck the dusty ground with a thud.
This was no time to stand there wondering. She turned
and ran.
The camp was a chaos of smoke and running figures.
Cooking fires had been blown from their pits, and scattered
embers burned everywhere. Two of the encampment’s big
buildings were ablaze. Chickens and rabbits scampered
underfoot, dust and ashes coiled in rampant whirlwinds.
Dozens of Smokies ran about, some trying to put out the
fires, some trying to escape, some simply panicking.
Through everything else, the forms of cruel pretties
moved. Their gray uniforms passed like fleeting shadows
through the confusion. Graceful and unhurried, as if
unaware of the chaos around them, they set about subduing
the panicking Smokies. They moved in a blur, without
any weapons that Tally could see, leaving everyone in their
wake lying on the ground, bound and dazed.
They were superhumanly fast and strong. The Special
operation had given them more than just terrible faces.
Near the mess hall, about two dozen Smokies were
making a stand, holding off a handful of Specials with axes
and makeshift clubs. Tally made her way toward the fight,
and the incongruous smells of breakfast reached her
through the choking haze of smoke. Her stomach growled.