Page 32 of Unnatural
She brought her trembling fingers to his throat, feeling the fluttery pump of his pulse. Yes, he was alive, but likely not for long.
“Help me,” he said, and her eyes flew to his face. “Please,” he breathed. “Please. Get me out of here.”
Autumn blinked. “Get you out of here? I… You’re very, very hurt. You’ll be okay. Help is coming.”
He grabbed her sweater, giving a small yank, and Autumn let out a yelp. His grip loosened. “They won’t help me,” he said. His eyes met hers, so beseeching, so filled with fathomless pain. His head dropped back to the pavement. “They’ll hurt me.”
The words moved through her, or rather the feeling, the deep despair with which he’d uttered them, rattled her bones.They’ll hurt me.Her gaze moved from the scars on his face to the beginning of the one at his throat that she knew sliced all the way to his navel. Yes, someone had hurt him, again and again, and though she didn’t know who or how or why, she did know that once upon a time, he had saved her. He was inexorably woven into her past and maybe even her soul.
Because he had not only saved her, but he’d been the catalyst that had helped her save herself.
She also knew that he had saved at least a dozen children that, if not for him, would have been shot on the playground or before they escaped around the corner of the stairwell and into the building. She’d seen it with her own eyes.
“You won’t be able to walk,” she said, glancing down at the blood on his thighs. His femurs were likely broken, if not demolished by bullets.
“I can,” he said. “I can walk.” And as if to prove it, he moved his legs, bending them as he prepared to stand.
She hesitated, confused and stunned. Maybe his legs had only been grazed. Still, he’d been shot many other places. And he was far too big for her to carry him.
“Okay,” she said shakily. “But you’ll have to help me help you. I can’t do it alone.”
His gaze met hers, such immense relief shining from his eyes that it boosted her impulsive decision and gave her the burst of strength she needed to stand and attempt to haul him to his feet.
With a roar of pain and anguish, he lifted himself, stumbling slightly, panting as he came to his feet.His legs hadn’t been hit directly. If they had been, he wouldn’t have been able to support his weight at all.
“This way,” she said, wrapping her arm around his waist as they moved toward the spot in the fence where they’d both entered what seemed like ten million years ago. His ball cap was lying on the ground, and she scooped it up. They ran/stumbled, him grunting with pain and effort as she did what she could to support his massive weight. He had to be six foot six and weigh twice what she did. At least.
They exited the schoolyard, moving in the opposite direction from which they’d come, away from the approaching sirens, ducking behind a row of hedges and moving as swiftly as possible toward an alleyway just beyond.
He sagged against the brick wall, his eyes clenched shut as he breathed for a moment. He was doing everything he could to stay conscious. Most people would have been flat on the ground. Most people would have been dead from injuries like his. She took the opportunity to lift his shirt and quickly assess his wounds more closely. He’d been hit twice, once in the side and once just underneath his heart. He was lucky to be alive. And she still couldn’t comprehendhow he was standing. His shirt was already soaked through with blood, and she removed her purse still strapped around her and then took off the sweater she was wearing over her long-sleeved shirt. She pressed the thick, absorbent piece of clothing against his wounds to stanch the flow.
“Stay still,” she instructed, pulling the navy zip-up sweatshirt he was wearing closed around her sweater. “You need to press on your wounds so you don’t lose any more blood. And here.” She grabbed the ball cap she’d folded and stuffed in her back pocket and handed it to him.
He stuck it on his head, and then he brought his hands to his abdomen, applying pressure before giving a small grunt and a nod, letting her know he was ready to continue.
She strapped her purse back around her chest, and then they started walking again, down the alley toward the street it opened out to ahead. Autumn wondered how long they had before someone inside the school told them about the large, white-haired man who’d been there.And you. Someone probably saw you too. Even in the mayhem. Please don’t let there be security cameras catching our exit.
They stepped out onto the residential street, turning toward the business district that would likely be even more congested as rush hour approached. She glanced over at the man who had his arms wrapped around his abdomen, her arm around his waist as she worked to support him as best she could, given—if he toppled over—he’d easily take them both down.
“I don’t know where to go,” she said, and even she could hear the panic in her voice. The shock was wearing off, leaving her cold and shaky. Devastated.
Two young women and a young man were dead, maybe children too. A sob moved up her throat, and she swallowedto hold it back.
“I have a truck,” he grunted.
A truck. A truck.For a moment, the words didn’t compute, there was so much static in her brain.A truck. A vehicle. A getaway vehicle. Oh my God. Autumn. What are you doing?
“Take me there,” she said. She could still change her mind. She could still drive him to a hospital. He could barely remain upright, so she knew he was little threat to her or anyone else.
They turned onto the busier main street, becoming part of the foot traffic. She leaned into the man, wrapping both arms around him, and made herself smile and then laugh. It sounded tinny and unnatural, but no one around them seemed to notice. They were just any ordinary couple, him cold, his arms wrapped around his middle, and her seeking his warmth as they snuggled, laughing and enjoying the nippy fall day.
Several police cars, ambulances, and fire trucks raced by them on the street, the pedestrians gasping and turning their heads. She heard a few voices raised in alarm, their phones held in front of their faces as they gasped about a school shooting that had happened a few blocks away. None of them looked up from their phones as they said it though. None of them even gave Autumn and the huge man clutching his stomach a second look.
“Here,” he said after they’d walked what felt like a thousand miles and they staggered around a corner. There was a red flatbed truck with a white covering near the middle of the block, and the man reached in his jean pockets and removed a singular key. His hand was shaking so badly that Autumn took it from him and opened the passenger door. The moan he made as he lifted himself into the seat piercedAutumn’s heart. He sounded like a wounded animal.
Take him to a hospital, Autumn. If you don’t, he’ll probably die, and it will be your fault.
She ran around the truck, opened the door, got in quickly, and then sat there for a minute, trying to get hold of her racing heart and inability to draw a full breath. “Did you know that man?” she asked when she’d found her voice. “The shooter?”
