Page 69 of Protected

Right then, as the first man speaks, my survival instincts finally kick in. I jerk out of the big man’s grip, catching him by surprise but still wrenching a shoulder and tearing the fabric of my top in the process.

The big guy comes after me, blocking my route back tothe Jeep. In only a few seconds, I’m trapped by the bank of the river.

It’s not a huge river. There’s actually not a lot of water. But it has a steep, rocky bank and big rocks all through the riverbed. If I jump, there’s a good chance I’ll bust my head open on one of them.

“Little bitch,” Trisha says, shaking her head in exasperation. “Always getting in the way. You shouldn’t be surprised. I told you before.” She raises her pistol toward me. “We do what we have to do.”

Three things happen at the same time.

The first man reaches toward Trisha as if he’s trying to stop her. I duck from the bullet I know is coming. And Trisha shoots.

I fall. Down the bank and toward the river. I’m only conscious of the fear and pain for a few seconds before the entire world goes dark.

24

I’m not dead.

That’s my first conscious thought.

I’m not sure how or why I’m still alive after that fall. My entire body hurts, my head and right shoulder the most.

It doesn’t feel like I can move, so I don’t. I lie there in the shallow water at the bank of the river. I’m soaked. And injured. And I’ve lost Deck and everyone else I know and care about. They’ll be long gone now, and without a vehicle I’ll never catch up.

Trisha will for sure have returned to the Jeep, made up a story to excuse my absence to Carl, and left me completely abandoned. Deck would never have knowingly left me behind, but the truck with him and the others had already started driving. He won’t know I’m gone until they stop again, which will probably not be until midday.

He’s gone.

All of them are gone.

He’ll ask where I am. He’ll be worried and upset. But Trisha will have concocted some sort of plausible excuse by then, and because Deck and I have been fighting, he might believe her. Even if he doesn’t, Logan will never let him leave to come look for me on a doomed quest. Logan is practical—more so than any of his other traits—and he’ll know there’s no chance of finding me in such a situation.

So no one will come.

No one will save me.

I’m all alone and always will be.

This brutal world has finally won.

So I might as well just lie here until something comes along that kills me. An animal or a bad guy or something.

It doesn’t seem worth fighting anymore.

I’ve done enough.

In this state of mind, I lie there in a few inches of water on a rocky riverbed for a long time. What finally gets me to move is an aggravating itch between my shoulder blades. It nags at me for a while until I can’t stand it anymore. With an exasperated groan, I manage to sit up and reach around with my left arm so I can scratch it.

My clothes are soaked. My head is still throbbing. My skin is cut in several places, and my jeans have ripped from one knee and up toward the thigh. My shoulder only hurts when I move it the wrong way, but when I do it’s torment.

If Deck were here, he’d help me to my feet. Check myshoulder and probably improvise some kind of sling. Then make me start walking until I got where I need to go.

I want him so much I start crying. Honestly, I’d take anyone. Logan would tell me to toughen up and get moving. Burgundy would sympathize. Even Micah would make a few smart comments to provoke me into proving him wrong.

But none of them are here. Just me.

I pull out my gun to make sure it’s still working. It is. It didn’t even get very wet. Then I stand up to make sure my legs are still functional.

They are.

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