Page 71 of Embers

My mind has reduced down to a pained blur. If there was something to do, I’d do it. I think I’m still capable of moving although there’s no way I can put any weight on my ankle right now. I can barely lift my head without exposing myself to the shooters, however, so there’s nothing left but to hunker down and wait.

I start to hear voices. Urgent shouts. It takes a minute for me to recognize them as my friends. My people. I hear Grant calling out orders to the others. He’s always taken charge in crises. Then I hear Jackson shouting about covering her, getting her, and somehow I know he’s talking about Gail.

Maybe she’s not dead. Maybe she was able to get back to the others.

I hope so. Of course, the others might not make it either, but at least with them Gail will have a chance.

At least she’s not trapped, injured, and all alone like I am.

Then there’s another voice. So familiar. Shouting roughly. So loud it echoes against the rock walls. “Where the fuck is Rachel? Where’s Rachel?”

“She was right behind me.” That’s Gail. Alive but sounding weak.

“We’ll get her out as soon as we can.” Grant again, always trying to supervise. “Peter, move to the left there. Cal, wait! Cal, no! You can’t just—”

I’m seeing the whole thing like a dim, fuzzy movie, and I know exactly what’s happening right now. Defying all sense and strategy and safety, Cal is coming after me.

He’s going to get killed. A horrifying but inevitable outcome. I try to push myself up in a futile attempt to stop him until a bullet whizzes just past my head.

So I flatten myself again and repeat desperate prayers in my head to anyone out there who might hear.

Don’t let the stubborn asshole get killed.

The shooting near me picks up again. It’s because of Cal. I know for sure. Then suddenly he’s almost on top of me, diving for the same bunch of fallen rocks I’m using for protection. He probably doesn’t even know I’m here. He’s simply looking for cover the way I did.

“Oh fuck!” He’s here. He’s somehow here. Big and panting and urgent. “Fuck, baby. Did I hurt you? Are you hurt?” He’s trying to keep low, but he’s also touching me all over, evidently searching for injuries.

“I’m okay. Just my bad ankle. It’s really bad.”

He makes a helpless sound in his throat and grabs me in a fierce hug, both of us still stretched out behind the rocks.

I hug him back for a few seconds, but my relief at his presence doesn’t last long. “What the hell were you thinking? Coming after me this way. You could have gotten yourself killed!” I pull back enough to see his face, and I notice blood on his left cheek. Gurgling, I feel around through his hair and see where it’s bleeding. A bullet must have grazed him. “Oh fuck, Cal! Your head almost got blown off! What were you even thinking?”

His hands have moved up to cup my face. Not gently. “I told you before. If you get hit, it’s only because they already got me. If you die, I’m dead already. That’s never gonna change.”

I crumple for just a minute, and he tightens his arms around me again. We’re lying together behind the rocks, and there’s so much shooting. Shouting. I have no idea what’s even happening out there.

Only that Cal is here. Here with me.

“We gotta get out of here, baby,” Cal says after a couple of minutes. “If they were smart, they’d hold the high ground, but it sounds like they’re moving this way. We’ll be sittin’ ducks. We better make a run for it.”

“I can’t run. I’m sorry. My ankle is too bad. But you go. Maybe you can make it. I can at least try to cover you.” I start to push myself into a sitting position again, but Cal stops me before I can.

“No way. I’ll fuckin’ lie down and die before I leave you here alone. I’ll carry you.”

“No! You can’t possibly—”

I don’t finish my anguished objection because Cal is already moving. Climbing to his knees. Then his feet. Leaning down to pull me into his arms.

Then he’s doing it. He’s actually doing it. He’s running out into the gunfire with no weapon aimed and no protection. He’s carrying me back to the others.

The shooters have definitely changed position. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have had a chance. They must be focused on the caravan now. But as soon as we round the curve and the others are in sight, we become a target too.

Cal is racing for all he’s worth. Moving with me at a dead run. That can be the only reason he’s not immediately shot off his feet, taking me with him.

I actually see one of the pickup trucks in front of us. Cal is trying to get us behind it. He almost makes it. We’re so close.

Then the world is entirely upended. And I’m falling. Falling. I see the ground as it approaches in slow motion.

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