Page 154 of Beneath the Mountain Sky
Trembling, she follows my command, slowly crawling through dead leaves, branches, and everything else on the forest floor. I urge her forward with my good arm wrapped around her back, continuing to act as a human shield as much as possible as we seek deeper coverage in the thicker brush.
Connor and Liam do the same with only two more shots sounding during our retreat.
Then the mountain goes eerily quiet.
I clamp my hand over my wound, wincing at the searing pain that putting pressure on it causes and quickly take stock of everyone else.
Willow trembles violently where she’s crouched up against a massive pine, her arms wrapped around herself as she stares at the blood flowing out from between my fingers.
“Willow, are you hit?”
She doesn’t respond, just stares ahead, tears streaming down her face. But I can’t see anything that suggests she’s hurt. Connor and Liam both appear unharmed, and I return my focus to the area on the other side of the trail.
Nothing moves.
Not a single leaf rustling.
No animals moving.
“Neither of you saw where he was?”
Connor and Liam both shake their heads, and my heart sinks.
Liam crawls forward slightly, keeping low. “It seemed to be from the far side of the trail to the north.”
“Agreed.” Connor nods. “And those were rifle rounds.”
Shit.
“We have to stop him.”
My arm burns, and I lift my hand long enough to examine the wound, which seems to be a missing chunk of flesh from a bad graze. But given the amount of blood flowing, it may have nicked an artery.
Liam seems to notice the same thing, unhooking his belt and bringing it over to secure around my bicep as a make-shift tourniquet. “You need a doctor.”
I grit my teeth as he tightens it. “I’m fine.”
My gaze travels to Willow. Her eyes are squeezed closed. Mouth open. Erratic breaths bursting from her lips. Her hands pressed to her belly shake as badly as the rest of her.
“Willow, what’s wrong?” Any concern for finding who’s responsible vanishes, replaced by panic as I try to pull her hands away from her stomach, to search for a wound. My blood smears across her, but I can’t find any coming from her. “Are you hit?”
She shakes her head, her eyes opening as more tears stream down her face.
“Willow?”
I lower myself to my knees in front of her, lifting my hand to grasp her cheek, transferring more blood to her pale skin. Too pale. Something’s wrong.
Her eyes finally lock on mine, and her pupils are so dilated that the normal gray appears almost pitch black.
Terror grips my chest, seeing it on her face. “Honeybee?”
She blinks rapidly a few times before she finally seems to see me. “The gunshots. He was shooting at me. I remember.”
“What do you mean?” I tilt her chin up, forcing her to keep looking at me. “What do you remember?”
An anguished sob tumbles from her lips. “Everything.”
The way she says the word steals all the breath from my lungs.
