Page 111 of Only the Devil
I left him.
No.
I run back.
The darkness swallows me whole. Without the floodlights, I’m running blind, arms outstretched, trying to remember the layout. The hangar’s metal wall hits my palms first, cold and unforgiving. I feel my way along it, trying to control my ragged breathing.
He walked the perimeter.
He has to be here.
Somewhere out here.
My foot catches on something.
I drop to my knees, my hands finding fabric, warmth, the solid bulk of a body. My fingers trace up—cargo pants, holster, broad shoulders, scruff.
“Jake. Jake!” My hands find his chest, feeling for the rise and fall. It’s there, but shallow. Too shallow. I touch his hair. His face. His nose.
My fingers come away sticky. Blood. How much blood? A metallic scent mixes with something else—that acrid smell of burned electronics.
“Please, please, please,” I’m whispering, pressing my hand against the tough nylon material along Jake’s side, searching for a wound.
That’s when I hear them. Footsteps. Measured. Deliberate. Not rushing like someone fleeing a crime scene. Walking like someone who knows exactly where their target is.
The crickets have gone silent. Even the wind seems to hold its breath.
This is all my fault.
I fumble for Jake’s gun, my fingers slipping on the holster. Jake’s got at least two guns—I saw them earlier—but right now, the Glock on his hip is the only one I can reach.
The footsteps are getting closer.
He’s not on the grass.
He’s on the concrete lip that skirts the building.
He wants me to hear.
“Daisy.” Thompson’s voice, calm and professional–eerie.
“I see you. We’ve got night vision. There’s nowhere to run.”
I finally get Jake’s gun free from his holster, the weight of it foreign in my hands. I shot Uncle Alvin’s handgun at a range once, but this is different. Everything about this is different.
“Just walk away,” Thompson continues. “This doesn’t have to be about you.”
But it is about me. I started this. I pushed for the investigation. I altered that presentation. I insisted on coming here tonight despite Jake’s warnings. And now Jake’s bleeding out beneath my hands because of my choices.
“We can forget this ever happened. Just drive away.”
Another set of footsteps, coming from a different direction.
I’m surrounded.
Jake makes a sound—not quite conscious, but alive. For now.
I press my back against the wall, gun raised toward the darkness, knowing I can’t see them but they can see me perfectly.
