Page 90 of What Doesn't Kill Her

She cried without tears.

And was gone forever.

Again.

37

Something wet fell into Kellen’s palm.

She flinched and opened her eyes.

Gray again. Gray sky, the beginnings of dawn in the mountains.

So not months and years. Hours only, wandering toward death.

Somehow, while she was gone, Max had wrapped her in blankets, placed her in the sleeping bag, protected her from the cold night.

He was alive. Whatever else had happened last night, he had lived through it.

Now he knelt beside her, eyes closed, cradling her hand and crying as if each silent sob was an agony, as if he had never cried before.

Maybe he hadn’t.

He was afraid. For her. Afraid she had lapsed into a coma.

She lifted her hand and touched his cheek.

He opened his eyes, took a shuddering breath, kissed her fingers. “Eight years ago, I saw Fontina shoot you. I didn’t get there in time to stop him.”

She stroked his tears away. “I saw you running. Milliseconds, Max. I’ve seen men shot.” So many men. Soldiers she knew, soldiers she didn’t know, enemies and friends, in harsh foreign mountains and terrorist attacks in civilization’s heart. “I know about milliseconds, about the tipping point between life and death, suffering and thankfulness. You can’t blame yourself.”

“I saw him shoot you,” Max repeated. Apparently, hecouldblame himself. “I saw you fall. I hit him—I was already launched at him, I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t catch you in time.” Roughly, he wiped his face on his sleeve. “You hit the ground so hard the world shuddered.”

Her heart hurt for him. Slowly, so slowly, she lifted herself, leaned against the boulder. Her mind was stirring: that red light meant someone had aimed a sniper rifle at her.

Assassin...

“You saved me this time,” she said.

“Yes. This time I did.”

“What happened while I was unconscious? Did you kill the shooter?” She bumped the back of her head on the boulder and winced. “Head hurts,” she muttered.

“Don’t think about anything,” he said. “Stay awake. Stay with me. We have to get off this mountain as quickly as possible.”

She looked at him, kneeling beside her, wearing a black coat that didn’t quite fit, with shoulders too tight and arms too long. “That’s not your coat. Where did you get it?”

“It’s Zone’s.”

“He’s here?” She looked around.

“After he left to go down the hill, he didn’t like the way the facts were adding up. So he was close when he messaged us. He followed us down the mountain. He got to the sniper before me.”

She began the process of unwrapping herself from the blankets, exposing herself to the cold air, letting it clear any lingering gray mist from her brain. Zone had been here. Zone was weird, with an unsettling personality. “What did hedoto the sniper?”

“He didn’t do anything except detain him.”

“The sniper got away unscathed?” She could hardly believe that.

---