Page 67 of What Doesn't Kill Her

“No. No, dear God, no, please.” He dropped to his knees.

Kellen. Kellen was unconscious. But she was breathing. She was alive.

She’d been shot.

He’d been here before, in Philadelphia. She’d been shot in the head. She’d gone into a coma. She’d almost died. And then...she didn’t. She’d had his baby.

He looked around. No sign of Rae. Dear God. Where was Rae?

A deeper, colder fear seized him. Had all his fears come true? Was he too late? Would he find Rae’s body now?

No. She was in the lookout. Rae had to be in the lookout.

Kellen was chilled and growing colder.

He took off his coat, wrapped Kellen in the warmth, his warmth.

She moaned as he lifted her, moved her. Her head lolled on her neck.

“I’m sorry, darling. Please, darling, stay alive while I—” He picked her up with care and haste, put her over his shoulder and sprinted toward the lookout, keeping a pace that was smooth and swift.

He heard voices coming toward him.

A man’s voice, deep and impatient.

And a little girl’s voice, fierce, insistent.

Max stumbled a little, gasping for air, gasping in relief. He’d been so afraid, but Rae was alive.

The fog parted, and coming toward him he saw a tall hairy beast and a little girl.

The little girl shrieked, “Daddy!”, ran toward him and wrapped her arms around his legs.

She was alive and well.

Max hugged her with one hand, so relieved and yet, still so afraid.

“Is Mommy okay?” Rae’s face was stained with tears. She was on the verge of crying again.

“She’s alive.” Max viewed the man before him. Skinny. Black baseball cap. Black curly beard that covered his face and his neck. Thick black-rimmed glasses. A few changes, and Max wouldn’t have been able to pick him out of a lineup. “You’re Zone?”

“Yes. Who are you?” No mistaking that hostility. This Zone guy had issues, or maybe he didn’t like gunshots so close to his lookout.

Max told him what he wanted to know. “I’m the man carrying the ugly marble head in my bag.”

“Then let’s go.” Zone turned and stalked up the path.

26

Kellen woke when the stranger said, “She needs stitches.”

She felt a tug on the skin on her arm. Consciousness flood her mind. She opened her eyes and sat up. “Rae!”

“Stupid woman!” the unknown man’s voice said. “You don’t move when I’m sticking a needle in your arm.”

“Relax, Kellen. Rae is here.” Max’s voice was soothing.

A flash of impressions: a tall black-bearded guy sat on the bed with her, holding a needle and thread and scowling. Max, his hand on her elbow, held it steady. Rae sat on the floor, eating a bowl of popcorn and staring wide-eyed as the stranger put stitches in Kellen’s arm.

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