Page 17 of When the Living Fall

I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. My tongue swipes out to lick my parched lips.

So thirsty. So tired.

He watches me, his gray eyes no longer empty. Instead, they’re filled with a plea I can’t quite decipher.

There’s pain there, and something deeper, almost desperate. My fingers hover over the wound, unsure if I should press down or let go. Whatever I do, he needs me. I can’t walk away knowing he’s hurt.

He grows two more faces, and the ground flies up to meet the sky.

12

GRIFFIN

Her breaths fall in a slow, even rhythm, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on her skin. Angry blisters bubble across her feet, raw and red. How could someone get so many in one night? Maybe some were already forming before she left us, but losing that shoe had to have made things worse.

Before heading out to fetch more water from the stream, William dropped the mud-caked shoe he’d salvaged. While waiting for her to wake up, I cleaned up the shoe as much as possible so she can wear it again. However, I intend to find her a better pair. Ones that won’t let her feet get this bad.

Max stands nearby, on guard with Buddy, the occasional unmistakable sounds of him taking down another rotter drifting over. I’d offered to switch with him, considering he’s not moving too well after that tumble down the cliff, but he wasn’t keen on getting close to her—didn’t even want to be in the same area. He’s got his own issues to sort out. Right now, though, my attention is fixated on the woman sleeping in front of me.

After a night of relentless running, tracking her through the dark forest, and fighting off rotters and dregs at everyturn, I finally had her. I only had a few moments when I pulled her into my arms, kissing her like I should have long ago, when her eyes rolled back, her body going limp. Panic doesn’t even begin to cover it.

She felt weightless when I scooped her up, carrying her to the best shelter we could find—a large, overhanging tree with thick bushes at its base. Options were slim out here, but the tree at least gave us some cover until she’s strong enough to move.

William thinks it’s a mix of exhaustion and dehydration. We’re all feeling it, but none like her. Knowing her, she likely gave every spare bit of food and water to Buddy or didn’t pause long enough to take any herself. I know how stubborn she can get when she’s on a mission like this. She won’t let anything slow her down.

Buddy keeps circling back to check on her. He’s her dog, through and through. When he sees she’s still sleeping, he heads back out to guard alongside Max, who, after his fall, isn’t as quick on his feet. For that, I’m grateful. He won’t let anyone help him, but he doesn’t shoo away Buddy.

My patience is wearing thin while I wait for her to wake. I could sit here forever, listening to her breath and watching her sleep until my vision blurs. The sun is already high, yet she hasn’t stirred. As I inch closer, a strand of hair, lifted by the breeze, brushes against her face. “I need you to wake up soon, princess,” I murmur. “I need to see those amber eyes of yours. You can still be mad at me, just…wake up.”

Nothing.

With a sigh, I peel off my shirt and grab a bottle of water. Not the one set aside next to her—that’s hers alone, waiting for when she finally wakes up.

Dabbing water onto a clean part of the fabric, I wipe her face with gentle strokes. Even with the cool touch of the damp cloth, she’s still as stone. Bit by bit, the dirt and mudgive way to the soft skin beneath, but her chapped lips dry out faster than I can moisten them with drops of water.

I move to her arms next, removing her jacket and placing it beneath her head as a pillow. She had to have been overheating in that thing, but it at least protected her arms, though her hands are still caked in mud. As I clean them, cuts appear across one palm, small shards of glass embedded in the skin. Somehow, she fought off rotters with a hand like this. Anger courses through me at the realization that we should have been there to protect her. She shouldn’t have had to fight alone. She never will again.

A gentle breeze stirs, and I lean in to tuck that stray strand of hair behind her ear again, murmuring, “You won’t have to fight like this anymore, princess. I’m not leaving your side.”

It doesn’t matter that she can’t hear me. I’ll keep that promise. Regardless of whether or not she’ll let me.

Leaning back, I turn my attention to the cuts on her hand. They need to be cleaned. The last thing Emily needs is an infection. That’s at least one thing I can protect her from right now.

We’d sorted through our supplies earlier, including hers, laying everything out. The first thing I reach for is the First Aid kit, grateful she had one on her because we didn’t. Max used to have a hasty habit of getting splinters every other day, so I know for a fact there are tweezers in there. I can’t imagine trying to dig this glass out of her skin any other way.

No. That’s not right. They were here; they were just here.

Confusion fills me when I don’t see the small metal tweezers that I’ve watched Max use many times over. Picking up the small kit, I carry it the few feet to the bushes that surround our temporary hideaway and pop my head through the foliage to where Max is leaning against anothertree, digging the tip of his shoe into the dirt. “Hey, what happened to those tweezers?”

Max makes a weird scoff-laugh sound. “Willie-boy stabbed me when he was getting a splinter out, so I ripped the tweezers from him and stabbed him back.” An eerie smile crosses his lips. “After that, he shoved the tweezers into a rotter’s empty eye socket and told me to never get another splinter again because we didn’t have any other tweezers. That was a fun morning. I think he was pissed because I almost died the night before.”

“You almost die every single day,” I point out. “So, we really don’t have any tweezers?”

His eyes brighten. “Does my pet have a splinter?”

“No, she fucking doesn’t,” I growl out before disappearing back into the tiny shelter, where my gaze finds Emily again. Seeing her lying there alone, unconscious, and injured, snaps the last thread of control I have and I throw the first aid kit across the ground, spilling the contents across the dirt. I throw my hands into the air and mutter, “Great, now I’ve gotta fucking pick all of this up again and clean off the dirt before packing it away. Fantastic. Way to go, Griffin.”

I’m halfway through collecting the contents from the spilled First Aid kit when I see Emily still lying there, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, her glass-splintered hand still palm-up by her side. Deciding she needs to be taken care of first, I dump the First Aid contents into a pile and return to her side. I run a hand through my hair while I think of what to do.

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