Trent fired three feet above the Gharrian's head.
"Here!" Trent called, but the girl was already running toward him, scrambling up the sloping bank at his side of the gully.
He reached out to give her a hand, and she caught his in a grip that was remarkably strong. Below, noise filled the gully, and dirt blasted upward from the slide. The Gharrian was blowing himself free with his concussor box.
"This way," the girl said, and began to run.
She raced toward the river, scrambled down the bank, going directly toward a large log at the bank. Trent followed, sliding and slipping, beginning to breathe hard from the unaccustomed exertion.
"Wait," he called. "He'll see us swimming."
Then wonder came to his mind; for the girl had bent and swung back the top of the log, showing the interior of a crudely camouflaged canoe. She scrambled into it, beckoning for him to follow, and he stepped in, helped close the lid over their heads.
"We're safe now," the girl breathed, touched a single lever at her head. A slight humming came from somewhere, and motion came to the canoe, and there was the slightest sensation of movement.