Page 98 of Wild Like Us
“It’s not too bad,” Akara says, but he’s favoring his right arm. Blood trickles near his elbow. I crane my neck to get a better view of his back. Long claw marks rake along his shoulder blade. With the dirt and blood, I can’t tell how deep they are.
My stomach curdles. “That doesn’t look good, Kits.”
“I’m okay.” He’s still scanning my body for noticeable injuries.
I keep trembling, more from shock than anything else. My fingers tighten on the gun. It’s the only thing that feels controlled. Steady.
Banks unzips a backpack and pulls out a water bottle. A scratch runs across his bicep about as deep as the one on Akara’s back. He offers me water, but I shake my head.
“You two have worse injuries,” I say. “I’m certain mine are superficial cuts.”
Banks and Akara share a look. “Just take a sip,” Banks says. “We’ll all have one.”
With my free hand, I accept the water bottle and make sure to take the tiniest sip, conserving the water for them. Akara rolls his eyes when I pass him the bottle.
“We need to get back to camp,” he says after he swallows water. He gives Banks the rest. “We have a First-Aid kit there.”
“You might need stitches, Kits,” I breathe.
He shakes his head. “I’ll be fine with some gauze and bandage. It’s too far a hike back to the RV camp tonight. Farrow can look at it tomorrow.”
Banks nods like this is a good idea.
I realize they’re both incredibly fucking stubborn, but they’re also weighing pros and cons. It’s their job to assess risks in situations.
Akara goes to stand, but Banks puts a hand on his leg. “Wait a sec,” Banks says. “We should keep sitting and breathing until both of you stop shaking.”
“I’m not shaking,” Akara refutes.
“Left hand.”
Akara holds it up. Sure enough, his palm quakes. “Shit.”
“Why aren’t you shaking?” I ask Banks.
“I was. It just stopped earlier.” He passes me the water again, even against my refusal. “Just focus on your breathing. We’re all alright. We’re all safe. It’s over.”
It’s over.
I take a bigger swig. The water goes down like a knot.
It could have been so much worse. Maybe I should be thankful that I’m alive to tell this story, but I just see the animal I killed. Ihearthe sickening noise he or she made as they died. Lying breathless feet away. No heartbeat. I took that soul.
I shake harder.
Fuck.
“Sul—” Akara starts.
“My dad,” I say in a whisper, blinking back tears. “He’s been to thousands of cities. Camped hundreds of places. He’s come face to face with bears, moose,cougars, almost every animal you can think of. And never in his fifty-years has he had to kill a single one.”
It breaks me.
My spirit cracks. Fractures. Splinters off.
Tears keep welling and cloud my vision. “My little sister will hate me.” I want to bury my face in my shirt, my hands, my lap—their chests.
I end up staring at the sky.
