“Thievin’ bastards!”

Old Man Barber’s roar hit me the same instant the barn door slammed open. He stood framed in the morning light, hair stickin’ out like he’d been struck by lightning, clutchin’ his double‑barrel to his chest like it was a newborn babe.

I slung the jump cables over my shoulder just as he brought the shotgun up.

The blast cracked the air, loud enough to rattle my teeth. The shot went high — thank every saint in the book — splinterin’ wood above my head. Bits of dust and hay rained down.

Nix let out a screech behind me, somethin’ between a pterodactyl and a blender full of cutlery.

I yanked the tractor battery free, nearly droppin’ the bloody thing. It weighed as much as a small cow, but at least it had a nylon strap. I grabbed it with both hands and staggered toward the back door.

“Run!” I barked, duckin’ low and keepin’ the tractor between us and Barber. He was reloadin’, mutterin’ curses that would make a sailor blush.

We bolted into the bright mornin’, makin’ a beeline for the cornfield. The battery dragged at my arms, my shoulders screamin’ in protest. Sweat prickled my scalp and ran down my neck.

Behind us, Barber kept shoutin’ — threats, oaths, promises of divine retribution — the usual.

Crossin’ the briar‑choked ditch was a nightmare with sixty pounds of lead in my hands, but we made it to the dirt road — just in time to see a caravan of black SUVs fishtail to a stop.

Doors flew open. Men in matte‑black tactical gear poured out, rifles raised.

“Och, brilliant,” I muttered. “Molly, lass, what’ve ye gotten yerself into this time?”

“Soldiers!” Nix gasped, droppin’ into a crouch like she meant to take them all on herself. Her long tail lashed the air.

“Keep movin’, lass!” I shouted, legs burnin’ as I plunged into the corn. Nix followed, her claws tearing through the stalks. Behind us, the soldiers crashed after us, much to Barber’s absolute fury.

We burst out into the clearin’ where Nix’s pod sat half‑buried in the dirt. I heaved the battery into place beside the open panel.

“Take these,” I said, shrugging off the jump cables. “Hook tha’ to the power connectors.”

The moment she clipped the battery in, the pod hummed to life, lights flickerin’ awake.

“Go,” I urged.

“What of you?” Nix asked, eyes wide and earnest.

“Och, I can defend myself.” I waved her on. “Go.”

Nix clasped my hand, her grip firm and warm. “Thank you, friend Molly.”

She climbed into the pod, sealed the canopy, and began to rise.

“Next visit, lass,” I called up, breathless, “ye call first.”

She gave me a thumbs‑up as the pod shot skyward, leavin’ me standin’ in the cornfield with a dead tractor battery, a barn full of buckshot, and a squad of soldiers crashin’ toward me.

Just another Tuesday.