My stomach burned; I wanted my Rose. Shelby pinched my arm and grabbed for Clay’s. She pointed at something that was on the other side of the fire, away from the armed men, but not more than ten feet from where we were.
Clay clasped his hands over his mouth. It was a body, right there in front of us. A woman’s body. Not Maggie—it was the woman I hadn’t spoken to, the one who’d followed Avery and the Preacher down to the water. She lay sprawled on her back in a dark pool of what could only be blood.
Archie yelled something. I couldn’t make out what it was, but I saw his mouth open and his face go red. Beside him, Rose lifted her chin, beautifully defiant in the firelight, while the Preacher stalked over and shouted back, spit flying from his mouth, his body rippling with violence.
“Did Archie shoot that woman?” hissed Clay.
“I don’t know,” Shelby whispered.
“That’s what it looks like,” I said.
Clay fretted. “We need Howe. We need him now.”
I looked at Shelby. She looked back at me.
“What’re we going to do?” she asked.
“Clay,” I said. “Do you think you can make it back across the stream and up to the ridge?”
“Yeah.” His shoulders twitched. “Definitely. I definitely can.”
“Then go, okay? Avery and Mr. Howe can’t be that far behind. Go find them. Tell him what’s happening. He’ll know what to do.”
He faltered. “You want me to go alone?”
“I’m not leaving Rose.”
“I’ll go with you,” Shelby offered.
“Thank you,” I said. “But be careful. Both of you.”
Impatience danced in Clay’s eyes. He tugged at Shelby’s sleeve. “Let’s go. I want to get out of here.”
“Don’t die,” she said to me.
“I won’t,” I told her. “I promise.”
—
They left, and I couldn’t just sit there. I turned and slithered back into the woods on my stomach. With my arms shivering and teeth chattering, I slowly made my way around to the other side of the campsite and approached again from a different angle.
To stay in the shadows and out of view, I stopped maybe twenty yards away from where Archie, Dunc, and Rose were being held at gunpoint. Everything was clearer from this angle. More desperate, too. The fire burned bright, launching firework sparks high into the air, aiming for stars and brittle trees.
Rose was closest to where I was. She sat with her back against the stack of firewood and her knees curled close to her chest. Everything she wore was filthy, her sweatshirt torn, her shorts smeared with dirt and blood. A welt swelled beneath her left eye, raw and shiny, and her short hair was a matted mess.
I couldn’t take it, to see her like that. Stupidly, I inched forward, all while praying the Preacher wouldn’t see me. I didn’t have to worry, though; his attention was focused on the other man with the gun and, more than anything, Archie. Imperious, insolent Archie. With his eyes sharp and his jaw tensed, he looked more alive in that moment than I’d ever seen him, facing down his own death.
“You know you’re not going to kill us all,” he was saying. “You’re not that fucking stupid. So just let us go.”
“You need to keep your mouth shut, son,” said the second man, and I finally got a look at his face. He was older than the Preacher, it seemed, shorter and heavier, too, but there was enough in his sharp chin and black hair and glittering blue eyes to convince me they were brothers. And maybe the more rational of the two. The Preacher paced around the dead woman, before rearing back and kicking Archie in the face.
Archie rose up to lunge at him, but the Preacher’s brother was there in a second with his rifle. He held it to Archie’s head.
Rose closed her eyes.
“Fuck!” Dunc yelped. “Fucking just sit still already, Arch. Come on.”
A baleful look simmered in Archie’s eyes, but he settled back down. Wiped blood from his nose.
The Preacher picked up his own gun from the card table that was propped up close to the fire and stared into the woods, not far from where I hid. “Where’s that other kid you were with? The tall, skinny one with all those moles on his neck.”
Well, that wasn’t a very flattering description, but I knew he meant me.
“I don’t know where he is,” Dunc said. “That guy’s not my problem.”
“You sure? You just happened to figure out who we were all on your own? That kid knew something about us. I know he did.” He turned to his brother. “That bitch of yours told him.”
“Maggie’s no bitch.”
“We don’t know who any of you are,” Dunc said. “I told you that. We were just screwing around.”
The Preacher stood right in front of him, rage barely controlled. “You shot my Fleur because you were screwing around?”
“It was an accident! You scared the shit out of us coming at us like that. What were we supposed to do?”
Shut up, Dunc, I thought. Just shut your fucking mouth.
The Preacher was incredulous. “So you thought you’d show up here armed in the middle of the goddamn night and we’d sit you down for a drink?”
“No.” Dunc’s voice twisted into a whine. “That’s not how it was.”
“Then why don’t you tell me how it was.”
I crept a few feet closer to Rose, hoping she’d notice me. Her eyes remained half closed and glazed over. Like she was willing herself out of the situation she’d found herself in.
I took a chance. I whispered her name. “Rose.”
There was no response.
“Rose,” I said again, and this time she heard me. Sweat glistened on her forehead, and I caught the moment of recognition. An intangible thing—she threw something back at me without moving a muscle, a spark of hope, or a flare of danger. Whatever it was, it was clear as day.
I pressed my finger to my lips and racked my brain for what to do. The only action that came to me was the one I’d seen in movies: jumping in front of the guns, absorbing a hail of bullets while the others scattered and ran for freedom. In truth, there was a draw to martyrdom—if I were to die, I’d be remembered fondly. That was worth something, wasn’t it?
I pushed onto my hands and knees and tensed my shoulders. Then I said a brief prayer, and I don’t care if that sounds hypocritical or cowardly or whatever. I’m only telling you the truth.
That’s when I went for it. I jumped to my feet. I opened my mouth to shout.
27.
THE PAIN CAME down swift and immediate. The second I moved, something cracked against the back of my skull, snarling the nerves at the base of my neck. My whole brain stem, probably. I crumpled in an instant, hitting the ground hard before flopping over onto my back. With a groan I looked up, only to see a scowling face staring back at me, along with the barrel end of a carbine.
Maggie.
I said nothing and neither did she. Instead she gave a jerk of her head. She wanted me to get up and I tried. I really did. But my legs wouldn’t work. I lay there gasping, but Maggie indulged me with her patience, waiting until the numbness in my legs faded enough, and I was able to crawl to my feet and limp to where the others sat.
Archie snorted when he saw me, making me want to reach out and kill him myself. Instead I collapsed on the ground between the other two. I snuck a glance at Dunc, who stared straight ahead, his cheeks pale and his jaw trembling. But Rose, I couldn’t look at. I’d failed her.
The Preacher sidled over to loom above me. He looked me up and down just as deliberately as he had that afternoon. Only there was no hostility in his gaze at the moment. Just curiosity.
Maybe a touch of amusement.
“Hello, Benjamin,” he said.
I glared up at him. “I already told you. My name’s not Benjamin.”
“Then what is it?”
“Bennett.”
“Well, Bennett, you came to save your friends, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Even though they attacked us?”
“Yes.”
“You know, and I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you don’t seem very well equipped to handle that job. Perhaps you should’ve brought your photographer friend. She seemed smart.”
I didn’t answer, but from where she stood by the fire, Maggie called out, “Don’t underestimate that one, Elvin. He’s a killer, you know.”
He looked at her. “What do you mean?”
“Kid killed his stepfather when he was little. Shot him right in the head.”
The Preacher turned back to me. “Really?”
“It was an accident,” Rose said stiffly. “He didn’t do it on purpose.”
Maggie shrugged. “That’s not what he told me, sweetheart.”
“I’m not your sweetheart.”
“So which was it?” the Preacher asked me. “Murder or an accident?”
“I don’t remember,” I said.
“Bullshit.”
“It’s true. I was ten. My mom found me with the gun and him dead. She told the cops it was an accident. But . . .”
“But then she tried to kill him,” Maggie finished proudly. “Because she knew what he was really capable of.”
Now I felt the weight of everyone staring at me. Not just Maggie and the Preacher and the Preacher’s brother. But also Rose and Archie and Dunc. They all stared in what I assumed was some sort of repulsed silence, since even Archie didn’t manage to crack a joke or insult my intelligence.
“Well, that’s all very interesting,” the Preacher said. “But seeing as Bennett is unarmed at the moment, I’m more concerned about why his friends came down here in the first place.”
I shook my head. “Don’t ask me. I wasn’t part of it.”
“But I know you know. I know you know why we’re here.”
I licked my lips. I did know, didn’t I? That was just it. And so maybe, just maybe, that meant this was all my fault. Because I hadn’t kept my dumb mouth shut.
“Yes,” I said, after a moment. “I know why you’re here.”
The Preacher gave a long sigh, real resigned-like, like maybe it was simply a string of bad luck that was responsible for this situation. My ultimate hope was that if we kept playing this blame-game thing, maybe he’d figure out that he was responsible for his own actions.
“Thank you, Bennett,” he said, tipping his head at me like a gentleman. “That’s all I needed to know.”
He turned then, in the most casual of ways, lifted his arm, and shot Dunc in the head.
—
Rose screamed. I closed my eyes and cringed. The air reeked of heat and gunpowder, and Rose reached for me or I reached for her, but we found each other before diving for the ground, scrambling to get away from the woodpile, from the Preacher. From everything.
There was a huge crash behind us. I wrenched my neck to look over my shoulder just in time to see Archie and the Preacher locked together, grappling for the gun, with the overturned card table between them. Half the camping supplies had slipped into the fire, including the camping stove and propane. The Preacher’s brother had his rifle lifted, waiting for his shot, and I couldn’t breathe, knowing what was going to happen. That Archie was going to die. That I couldn’t do a damn thing to save him.
Only it didn’t happen like that.
Instead Mr. Howe stepped out of the woods, from the other side of the fire ring, near the clothesline and Fleur’s dead body. I recognized the flare gun he held tight in his hand like he was trying to give the impression it was more than what it was.
Oh, thank God, I thought. Thank you for saving us.
“Just step back and put that down,” Mr. Howe said sharply. His gaze was fixed on the Preacher’s brother, who froze at the sound of his voice, at the sight of the flare gun.
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded.
“You heard what I said. Put your gun down.”
“Yeah, yeah. Okay. I heard you.” The Preacher’s brother leaned forward to set his rifle down, and it was right at that moment that the propane from the camping stove exploded.
There was a loud whoosh as the flames leapt upward, a streaming arc, followed by a massive fireball that burst in every direction—an eruption of heat and debris that shook the earth. My ears rang but I could still hear shouting coming from all around me. Smoke was everywhere, and it was through the haze that I saw the Preacher’s brother lying on the ground. The blast had knocked him down—his face was charred and bleeding—but he’d never set down his gun. In a single twisting move, he rolled onto his stomach, lifted the rifle to his shoulder, and squeezed off two shots, striking Mr. Howe in the chest and neck.
Mr. Howe fell back with a grunt. The Preacher’s brother took aim again, this time at Avery, who’d been standing farther back, and I ran at him, charging full speed with my head down. Only Archie got to him first, tackling him from behind and sending the rifle spinning. I fell to my knees and grabbed for it, snatching it off the ground and nearly sliding into fire for my effort.
Another gunshot went off somewhere behind me. Then another. My breath came in short bursts as my hands fumbled to slide the rifle’s safety into the locked position. Finger on the trigger, I scrambled to my feet and stalked the campsite, whirling around and around, searching everywhere for the Preacher. The smoke and the night made it too hard to see.
Archie remained on top of the Preacher’s brother, hands wrapped around his neck, shouting expletives. I was fine with that. What had been Dunc lay slumped by the firewood, but I didn’t let my gaze go there. I couldn’t. A flurry of footsteps came from the woods, and I lifted my head in time to catch sight of Maggie fleeing into the darkness.
My lungs burned. I coughed, then couldn’t stop coughing. I pounded my chest and lurched forward, my feet catching on something. I glanced to see what it was and my mind swayed into madness—it was the Preacher. Dead. He lay on the ground with his blue eyes open and his gun still clutched tight in his hands, only now there was a hole in his head. And worse. I staggered back, sick at the sight. All that gore.
“You asshole!” Archie was screaming and kicking the Preacher’s brother in the chest. Over and over. His eyes were wild, rolling. Tears stained his cheeks, and I wanted to tell him to stop, that his dead brother was the one who’d killed Dunc. But then I froze. Because I saw what he must’ve already seen: Shelby and Clay huddled on the ground with Mr. Howe in their arms.
Time slowed down then. Halted, really. Denial, they say, is one of the five stages of grief, and my brain did all it could to fight back, to reverse time, to turn what was all wrong all right.
“Shelby!” I called out, and she looked at me, her lovely eyes melting. She knew what I was asking but didn’t answer. I walked toward her in my slow-motion steps, but no matter how surreal the world felt, with my burning lungs and smoke-filled eyes, time refused to swing backward. It inched forward, defiant.
“Shelby,” I said again.
She shook her head. Clay wouldn’t look at me.
“No,” I said. “Shel, no.”
“Yes.”
“No, he can’t—”
“He’s gone.” Her voice choked. “He is.”
My mouth hung open, and I stared at Shelby, watching her lips continue to move but unable to take in what she was telling me, unable to take in anything other than her stricken expression. The strident ringing in my ears.
“Ben,” Shelby was saying. “Ben.”
I forced myself to respond. “What?”
“You need to check on Rose,” she told me.
I cocked my head. Rose? That didn’t make sense, what she was saying, but I turned to take a halting step toward the woods, back where I�
��d left her, where we’d cowered together in the shadows.
The first thing I noticed was Avery, which was also wrong. How had she gotten here? Last I’d seen her, she’d been standing behind Mr. Howe. Yet there she was, sprawled on the ground with her long legs splayed and twisting in the dirt. Mad thoughts ran through my head, like not letting Rose catch me looking at Avery’s legs, which was the stupidest thing because she wasn’t going to care about that now.
The gun fell from my hand to clatter on the ground. That was when I saw her, my Rose. She was a wounded bird, a fallen flower, a crumpled form, lying beside Avery. Avery tried desperately to help her, her face grim and focused. Only Rose wasn’t grim. She smiled at the sight of me, despite having been shot, and I watched in horror as the bright blossom of red seeping from her midsection, staining her shirt, grew. And grew.
A whimper escaped me.
“Oh, Ben,” she said, still smiling as I approached, dropping to my knees to be at her side. “Don’t faint.”
28.
GRACE UNDER FIRE wasn’t a phrase I would’ve ever used to describe Rose. Not until that night, that moment, when she lay in my arms, all gossamer softness and fragile courage. When she murmured soothing words to me, despite the blood and the bullet hole, and kept me from losing my shit and losing consciousness.
This was in stark contrast to the roles we’d played over the prior two years, when she’d been the unsettled one—flashes of brilliance among the storm clouds. But there could be no shine without the drab, the dependable, and that was where I’d always come in. Although I never saw our relationship in the crass way Avery had put it; I never once bemoaned that Rose was better than me.
In fact, I needed her to be.
Looking back, it is true that in the first few months we were together, I had a hard time conceiving of myself as being joined with Rose. Being joined with anyone, I guess. It wasn’t that I didn’t have friends or people in my life to make small talk with, but after the accident, that only went so far. In the ways that mattered and perhaps only I understood, I was separate, isolated: pitied for my injuries and loathed for my sins. Studying was the only thing within my power, and to that end, I set myself to staying up at night, memorizing facts, rewriting essays, and solving equations. I yearned to be measured and validated, to be deemed acceptable, in matters of grades and rubrics and honors. If nothing else.
When I Am Through with You Page 14