Page 39 of Burn Like An Angel

Ripley studies Rick’s unconscious body in the distance. His companions have deserted him already. I wonder if her mind is chewing over whether she could forgive him… Whether she could forget.

Would his death appease her? If I find a sharp instrument to carve out his organs with, will I earn her forgiveness? Will she curl up in my arms again? All she has to do is say the word.

“Would you like me to go back and finish the job?” I ask plainly.

Her teeth seize her inflamed bottom lip. I’m calculating the best place to dissect the bastard, limb from limb, when she shakes her head.

“He’ll get what he deserves. We have bigger concerns.”

Stepping back from me, she crouches to pick up the bag at her side that I didn’t notice. I move the flashlight to illuminate the backpack, noting that it’s bulging as Ripley swings it over her shoulder.

“Some food I scavenged,” she explains quickly. “And the last of my contraband stash.”

“That’s some survival kit.”

Ripley jerks her head towards the medical wing. “We have mouths to feed.”

“You’re done running from us?”

“I’m done running. Period.”

To my surprise, she stretches out a hand in offering. I stare at the tattoo-wrapped limb, uncertain how to respond. What is she offering me? Does she want me to… hold it? How do I even do that?

“Just take the hand, Xan.”

Her palm is warm as it slots into mine.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she jibes.

Our fingers tightly intertwine, and she gives a barely-there squeeze. From the corner of my eye, I watch her frown at our connected grips.

Ripley tugs me onwards, leaving the bloody mess behind us. Illuminating our path to the medical wing, I let her guide the way as I keep a wary eye out for any more patients.

Creeping through the darkness, I’m so focused on our surroundings, I almost smack into her back when she suddenly halts. The door leading into the medical wing is hanging off its hinges.

“Shit,” she mutters softly.

I move fast, stepping in front of her. “Stay here.”

“Forget it.” Ripley quickly drops my hand. “Raine is in there!”

“Rip! Wait!”

Running after her, we race into the darkened wing, picking our way over smashed detritus. Gloom from outside and the swinging flashlight reveals a catastrophic mess.

Furniture overturned. Cabinets raided. Medical supplies scattered. Lennox’s bed is empty, lying on its side with the sheets tangled on the floor. My gaze lands on a puddle of congealed blood smeared across the floor.

“Hello?” Ripley shouts frantically.

Her voice echoes—a panicked reverberation bouncing off the walls and vaulted ceiling. Its high-pitched tenor fades without a response.

The wing is abandoned.

They’re gone.

CHAPTER 6

RIPLEY

---