Page 70 of Protected

At the very least, I can get out of this water. I shuffle onto the bank, searching for the shallowest rise so I can climb up that way.

I wrench my shoulder a few times trying to pull myself up, but I manage.

When I reach the spot where I encountered Trisha and those guys, I jerk to a stop when I see the big man still there, leaning against a tree with his eyes closed.

I don’t think I make a sound, but he senses me anyway. When his eyes open, he looks surprised and then gives me a creepy smile. “Well, whadya know? You did make it. Becker was sure you were dead, but Trisha said you were a tough little cookie and I should stay here to make sure you don’t follow them. Why don’t we have a little fun before?—”

I shoot him.

Right in the middle of his chest.

He’s dead before he can finish his sentence.

I always assumed killing my first person would be traumatizing, but it’s not. I’m numb. Blank. I leave him where he slumps and keep limping toward the road we were following before.

There’s more sun on the road, so my clothes will dry faster. I start walking west. I might as well.

I’ve got nothing else to do.

A long time passes. I’m not sure how many hours, but it feels like an eternity. My clothes and hair dry. My head stops aching, but every other part of my body still does. The sun sinks lower, but it’s not even close to evening when I’m aware of a sound behind me.

I’m so out of it I don’t know what it is until an old pickup truck approaches. If I were thinking better, I would have run off the road to get out of sight, but I’m not capable of that kind of decision-making at the moment. I step over so they can get around me and lift my gun toward the passenger-side window.

I don’t shoot. Even in my current state of mind, I can recognize the difference between a threat and not a threat.

This woman is not a threat. She’s older—maybe around fifty—with a strong, pleasant face and a concerned expression. “Do you need help?” There’s a younger man behind the wheel of the pickup with thick brown hair and beard.

I blink. Try to think through the question. “I… I don’t know.”

“It looks like you were hurt. And you shouldn’t be all by yourself on the road like this. Will you let us help?”

“I don’t know you.”

“No. Of course you don’t. But we’re decent people. I’m Greta. This is my son, Jimmy. We have a farm about twenty miles west. If you don’t have any place to go, you’ll be safe there.”

“I… I do have a place to go. My… people are that way.” I point forward on the road. “I got left behind.”

“I see.” She frowns thoughtfully for a moment. “Well, at least we can give you a ride until we turn off. It will save you a lot of steps.”

I peer at her. My first instinct is to say no, but she’s right. If I can get a ride for at least several miles, it might save me a day’s worth of walking. No one is fully trustworthy nowadays, but there’s nothing about this woman or her son that set off alarm bells in my mind.

At this point, what exactly do I have to lose?

“Okay,” I say at last. “Thank you. I would appreciate it.”

Greta opens the door and then scoots over toward her son to make room for me to sit beside her. “That’s better. We have around twenty miles on this road before we turn off, so we can at least take you that far.”

“I really appreciate it,” I say, climbing in and situating myself beside her.

“Now, while we’re driving, I hope you’ll think about whether you want to stick with these people or find something better for yourself. What kind of decent people would leave you behind?”

Greta appears to be a no-nonsense, efficient kind of woman, but there’s a maternal note underlying her brisknessthat makes my throat tighten. “They… they didn’t mean to. Well, one of them did it on purpose, but the others didn’t know.”

She tsks her tongue and glances over at Jimmy, who appears to be listening even though he hasn’t said a word. “Even so, someone should be looking out for you better.”

I think about Deck and start to shake internally. Then the shudders spiral out toward my fingers and knees. “It’s not…” My voice breaks. “There’s someone who wants to, but I… but I pushed him away.”

“Why did you do that?” She asks the question as if she has every right to an answer, even from a stranger.

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