Page 64 of What Doesn't Kill Her

Kellen smiled with evil delight. “Your tablet.”

“Uh-oh. Daddy’s going to yell.”

Kellen gave a spurt of startled laughter. “About so much.”

The pile of branches smoldered.

Rae’s short legs couldn’t run fast enough; Kellen would have to carry her. Everything else had to stay. Everything.

That was it, then. The Triple Goddess was the sacrifice for Rae’s life. If Rae wasn’t along, if it was only Kellen, she’d figure out somehow to save that head. But just as these days had changed Rae, they had changed Kellen, too. She knew why, but she didn’t want to think it, to speak it.

The Triple Goddess would be the ultimate diversion.

The smoldering branches caught and blazed.

A shot came from above, scattering burning branches.

Below them, a man shouted, “McDonald, no!”

But now Kellen knew the shots had come from about halfway up one of the sandstone cliffs. She also had a fair idea of the guy below, his location and his position in the gang. He was the boss. She had wounded two of his men. McDonald and the boss were left.

If Kellen and Rae were going to make it up the mountain, she needed to eliminate the sniper above. He had shot at her diversion, so he was trigger-happy and maybe nervous. Good news. She peered through the brush and waited.

Rae watched her. “Mommy?”

Kellen cut the tie that held the head to her backpack. “One more down and we can make a run for it. Get the ball of yarn out of my backpack. We’re leaving everything else behind.”

“B-but...the Triple Goddess.” Rae’s voice got squeaky. “She’s our talisman.”

“The Triple Goddess has cared for herself for three thousand years. She can do it a little longer. In fact, she’s going to help us.” Ignoring the ancient staring eyes, Kellen picked up that head with her good hand, held it aloft and shouted at the man below. “The head is what you want. I’m leaving it. Look!” Keeping her own head down, she placed the Triple Goddess on the stone to the west. “It’s yours. I don’t know who you are. I can’t identify you. You’re safe, so take it!”

No shots. No answer.

“Now get the yarn.” Kellen spoke calmly, clearly, although her vision wavered. Blood loss and pain were compromising her abilities “I promised to crochet your blankie.”

Rae dived for the backpack.

“Dump it out,” Kellen instructed, “and take the yarn.”

Rae did as she was told and the whole time watched Kellen anxiously, which told Kellen how bad she must look.

Had any of the shooters seen Rae? Would the thieves let them go? Kellen had seen too much of war; she had little faith in the decency of mercenaries.

“That fog is almost here.” Rae pointed at the damp white spreading out like a delta from the shallow canyon of the path.

“Be ready to climb on my back.” Kellen got into a crouch, almost fell over, steadied herself with a hand on the rock. She spotted movement on the cliff; with her shouting and holding the head aloft, McDonald had figured out where they were and scooted into a precarious position, twenty feet up on a rocky shelf. “Stay down. Plug your ears,” she said, aimed and fired seven shots, fast and loud. Then nothing. She’d emptied her magazine.

Worse, her wavering vision had betrayed her; she missed McDonald, hitting below him, sending up a cloud of sand.

McDonald’s rifle steadied. He leaned out—and her luck changed for the better. The sandstone shelf disintegrated, gave way. The rifle fell first, a Barrett M98B with a scope. It clattered as it tumbled, and fearing an accidental discharge, Kellen threw herself over the top of Rae’s body. When no shots followed, she peered around and saw McDonald scrambling for a toehold.

The sand kept giving way. Like a skier taking a fall, McDonald fell, twenty feet down and onto the sandy slope below. He landed on his chest. The air left his body with an audible, “Oof!” He rolled, all arms and legs and ominous silence.

Probably not dead, but at least unconscious.

“Come on!” Kellen said.

Rae climbed onto her back.

---