Page 79 of Beacon

But we still live in the world. And The Wild has never been safe.

And this is undoubtedly a trap for the most gullible of travelers. Evidently today that’s us.

Before I can reach the prostrate woman, a man steps out from behind a thick tree. The woman isn’t armed, buthe is. And he lifts his pistol, aiming it unwaveringly at the largest threat.

That’s Mack, of course.

I can’t even take a breath before he’s pulled the trigger, firing directly at Mack.

I act on pure instinct. Not because I’ve thought it through in even the slightest of ways. This stranger is shooting a gun at Mack, and Mack will always—always,always—be mine.

So I jump right at the man, blocking Mack from the bullet that would have killed him.

Unfortunately that means the bullet hits me instead.

15

It’s morethe shock than anything else. That’s what gets me.

The pain, I feel. Absolutely. It slices through my side and radiates all over. But the shock is the most overwhelming thing. I really can’t believe this happened.

Right now. When things were finally good with me and Mack.

It’s that shock that’s filling my head as I hit the ground.

I’m still conscious and weirdly alert, so I hear a fierce growl from behind me. It takes a few seconds to realize the growl came from Mack. He has a gun. More than one of them on his person. He really should have pulled one out and fired. For some reason, he doesn’t. He must have leaped off the vehicle and thrown himself on top of the man who fired at us.

He sounds absolutely ferocious, and the fight onlylasts a few seconds. The man is clearly dead when the grappling noises cease. I hear fast footsteps retreating that I assume is the woman running away.

Then Mack is beside me, gently turning me over. I stare up, still dazed and bewildered and shocked beyond all measure. “Oh fuck, angel. What did you do? What did youdo?”

“I…” My voice sounds weird. Kind of stretched and wobbly. “I saved you. Didn’t I?”

Mack makes a strange sobbing sound and lowers his face briefly to my chest. “You did.” Then he’s pulling away my jacket and my shirt, searching for the wound.

I can feel it burning on my side, and being exposed to the open air from Mack’s fumbling doesn’t make it any better. “Shit, it really hurts. I guess it’s bleeding. Are my guts hanging out?”

He chokes on what might have been a huff of anxious amusement. “No. They’re definitely not. You’re bleeding but not as bad as I thought it would be. Maybe it didn’t get you too bad.”

“Oh.” I’m focusing on taking deep breaths, trying to will the pain away so I can think more clearly. I’m hot and cold at the exact same time, and both my head and my chest are pounding violently. “Okay. So I’m not going to die?”

“No!” He makes some weird, jerky motions, and it takes longer than it should for me to figure out he’s pulled off his T-shirt. He wads it up to hold it against the placethat’s hurting on my side. “You’re not gonna die. I won’t let you.”

“Do you think you can stop it?” I’m genuinely curious since he sounded so certain.

“Yes. I don’t think you got shot too bad, but even if it’s bad, I’m gonna fix it. You’re not gonna die now. Not when I just got you for real. I’m not gonna let it happen. Not while I’m alive.” While he’s muttering out the hoarse words, he’s working on me, checking my side again and then moving my hand so I’m holding his bundled shirt to the wound myself. “Hold this right here. I’ll be right back.”

“You’re leaving me?” I ask the words in a groggy blur since I have no clear idea what’s happening.

“Course not. Just need somethin’ to wrap you up.”

I don’t know what this means. I consider telling him I don’t need to be wrapped up because I’m as hot as I am cold even though I’ve started to shiver. But I don’t get the words out, and it doesn’t end up mattering because he returns with another one of his shirts. This one he wraps like a sash tightly around my middle, so snugly it holds his wadded T-shirt in place.

“There’s first aid stuff at the cabin. I need to get you there so I can fix you up better. You think you can get up?”

He sounds so upset and stressed I wouldn’t dream of telling him no. “I can do it.”

My words are more confident than is warranted by my condition. I do make an attempt, but it’s mostly Macklifting my full weight on his own and then carrying me over to the quad. He considers various options for positions, but there’s no safe way for us both to ride this thing except in the normal arrangement with me behind him.

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