Page 80 of Sanctuary

Women make up a small percentage of their numbers, but they’re definitely not all men. Despite the way they abused and victimized women and children, there were still women who joined them. Maybe some of them felt trapped and took the path of least resistance the way Mark did, but others probably jumped into the pack enthusiastically.

As I make my way around and over the bodies and climb back up the mezzanine stairs, the sad truth sits in my gut with everything else.

Women can choose to be monsters too.

The thought disperses as I lay eyes on Aidan’s body still sprawled out where he fell, his hair a tangled mess of deep gold. I rush over and kneel beside him, moving my hands along his abdomen to check his condition.

His eyes are closed. There’s blood all over one shoulder. More soaking his trousers at his thigh. And his left hand is bloodied, mangled, unrecognizable as a hand.

But his body is warm. Very warm. And his cheeks still have some color. I feel his face. His neck. I check for a pulse.

“Oh my God, Aidan, please don’t be dead.” My voice is broken. Painfully hoarse. I can’t tell if his heart is beating. I can’t feel any breath from his nostrils. My brief flicker of hope snuffs out, and a sob lodges in my throat as I drop my head to his chest. “Please, Aidan, you can’t be dead.”

The whole world is a blurred daze from the fear and grief and panic in my mind, but Aidan still doesn’t feel dead. He’s so warm. I shake him by his uninjured shoulder. “Wake up! Do you hear me? I know you think you had to die to make up for what you’ve done, but you don’t. That’s not how it works. So wake the hell up!”

There’s a brief, guttural sound, and I swear it comes from Aidan. I keep shaking him. I’m almost yelling at him now. “You great big obnoxious, clueless martyr! I told you to wake the hell up!”

His eyelids flutter. His whole body gives a very small jerk. Then he’s opening his lids and squinting up at me.

“Oh God, please,” I whimper. “Aidan, you’re not allowed to die. I won’t let you.”

He gives a little huff. Blinks several times. “That you, love?”

“Yes, it’s me.” I’m almost crying now, but not quite. He sounds so incredibly weak.

“Should’ve known… you… bossing me around.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to put up with it because I’m not going to let you pay for your sins with your life.” A tear streams out of one of my eyes and plops down right on his chin.

“Sometimes… it happens.”

“Maybe. But not this time. Do you hear me? Not this time!” For good measure, I give his shoulder another gentle shake.

“Sweetheart, listen.” He sounds so incredibly breathless, but his eyes are opened now. Gazing up at me, reflecting all his feelings.

There’s so much there it stills me. “I’m listening,” I whisper.

“Something I’ve learned the hard way from living the life I’ve led.” He has to clear his throat before he continues. “When you’re trapped in a gunfight…” There’s an irrepressible glint in his green eyes as he finishes. “Play dead.”

I gasp in startled amusement. Then I completely fall apart, collapsing on his chest somewhere between laughter and sobs.

He’s breathing. I can hear and feel it now. His chest is rising and falling. His breath rasps in his throat, but his lungs sound clear. And his heart is beating beneath my ear. His heartbeat is way too fast, but it’s strong and steady.

He’s going to live. I know it for sure. And nothing will ever dampen his bright, fierce spirit or the soft heart he’s always tried to hide.

His heart is still beating.

And it’s beating just for me.

Aidan does live, but he ends up losing his left hand.

A bullet cut right through it, tearing flesh and bone and tendon and muscle. Maybe in the old world, a surgeon would have been able to rebuild it, but that kind of complex surgery is absolutely impossible now.

He might have actually died from the blood loss had I not managed to tourniquet his arm at the wrist as soon as I realized he was going to live.

Leaving the hand as it is would be asking for constant infections and endless pain, so the doctor amputates it at the wrist joint.

Aidan takes it in stride. He’s surprisingly resigned about it and says it’s a very small loss considering he was absolutely certain he would die. Maybe there’s more trauma that will come out about the loss eventually, but for now he seems okay.

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