Hammer of Mars [antikvár]

A woman crawled from the depths of New Yorg's charred remains. She was bleeding from scores of mi-nor cuts, and a jagged gash ran across one cheek. Her eyes had no expression. She was stunned, but still she moved.She scrabbled slowly over the loose rubble, her feet slipping and catching between chunks of plasticrete and old brick. Her ankles were cut to ribbons. The rags wrapped around her feet were black with blood. Her hands were so swollen they were almost unrec-ognizable, but still she moved.She seemed impervious to the zinging laser blasts that struck periodically from roving Terrine Dragon-flies, or the thudding explosions of the Shock In-vaders' bombs. She reached the illusory protection of a jutting stone wall and sank down next to it, her breathing deep and ragged. She would rest, and then she would go on. Unless she died. Until she died.She rubbed her eyes with a swollen finger, trying not to remember the missile that struck her make-shift shelter, melting the sheet plastic roof until it dropped on those below in flaming, molten globs. Her husband had died screaming, his head covered by it. She squeezed her eyes shut, pushing the memory away. It would not help her now.Her breathing slowed. She gathered her strength and stumbled on, heading for the city's perimeter, where the Terrines seldom bothered to patrol. She vowed not to let them win. Despite the wholesale lev-eling of the city, she knew RAM had not won. It had committed a major error: It had shown its true colors. There was now no more discussion over RAM's mo-tives. It was transparently ruthless and would un-knowingly draw the tortured planet's inhabitants together into a fist.