Page 90 of Wandering in Darkness
Tate jerks back with a gasp, but I don’t stop. Instead, I tie two strips of my shirt until I can wrap them around him and tie them tightly over his wound.
“Where are Eddie and Audrey?”
He opens his mouth, but he can’t seem to find the words as he points down the hallway. If either of them is wounded, there’s no way I can carry two out at once. But if they need help, I would be leaving Tate here to die. He needs immediate attention. And it’s not like the people who shot him are going to patiently sit here while the ambulance comes and takes him away.
“Come on, come on,” I say as I gently help him to his feet. He sinks onto me, but he takes his first step.
“S-Scared, Cal,” he whispers.
“No, no, don’t be scared. I’m here. I have you.” I try to hold him tightly with one arm while I reach up and pull his earpiece out to contact Devon. “Devon, I have Tate. He’s in critical condition. Please, pull up and get him. Just… he needs immediate attention. I believe Eddie and Audrey are still upstairs as well.”
“Cal, you need to get out of there. It’s not looking good. Get out now,” he says.
“I have to get Tate down.”
“Hurry the fuck up. We have to go. If you’re not careful, all of us are going to die.”
“I’m being fucking careful,” I snap as I try to juggle Tate and my gun. He’s becoming heavier every step we take while I try to get him to the elevator. It’s unsafe, but I’m not sure how quickly I can carry him down the stairs. I jam my finger against the button, but no matter how long I wait, it remains on floor 1. Did they shut the elevators down to limit our ways out?
“Tate, it’s going to be okay,” I say as I pull him toward the stairs. He doesn’t even step down when we reach them but drops instead, throwing me forward so I nearly lose my balance.
I hoist him up as well as I can and when we get to the next landing, I try to get him on my back, hoping this would be the best position for his wound.
“Tate, this is really hard alone. Come on.”
He doesn’t respond, so I duck down and use my shoulder to lift him. I really don’t want to. I don’t want him slumped over, fearing that it’ll aggravate his wound, so I try my best to keep him steady while I carry him in a way that I can still use my gun if I need to.
“C-Cal.”
“I’m here, buddy. I’m right here. We’re getting you help.”
His body spasms and then the stairwell falls silent, making me realize how raspy his breaths had been now that everything is eerily quiet.
I freeze midstep and ease him onto the ground. “Tate, no, Tate. We’re getting you help,” I say, but he’s unresponsive. “Tate, please.”
I don’t know what I think begging is going to do, but they come out as pleas. I grab his face, desperation and adrenaline flooding through me as I hold him. A sob escapes me while I shake him and try to draw life back into him, but he won’t move. “No, no, no. Please,” I beg, but who am I begging to? If simply begging could bring back life, wouldn’t more people be alive?
I know I can’t just sit here and sob over the family I’ve lost. I know I still have Audrey and Eddie to find. I need to get up. I need to keep moving. I need to help them, but I feel like there has to be something I can do to save him.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” I tell him because my mind is stuck on the shot I made. Why didn’t I wait until Tate and the others assured me they were safe to make the shot? What if that’s what alerted them and caused Tate to die?
“Fuck,” I whisper when I hear footsteps in the stairwell, and I can’t tell whether they’re going up or down. I reach for something of Tate’s, something I can hand his family, but all I find is that lucky coin. The one that was supposed to protect him. I hold it to my face as a sob escapes me, but I need to keep moving. I can’t hesitate for even a second.
Rushing back up the stairs to the seventh floor, I hurry down the hallway, anxiety eating at me about the state I’m going to find the others in.
I see the body of the man I shot and step over him before my stomach twists so hard I stagger. I freeze as I stand in front of the window the bullet had traveled through. Slowly, I turn and look at the blood splattered along the wall before my eyes find the man in the pinstriped suit and hat.
His face is down.
It was a perfect shot, after all.
Slowly, I kneel down and push gently on the body, rolling him onto his back as I look into Eddie’s lifeless eyes.
I jerk back, convinced that reality is spinning out of control around me. No… no, no… I just… he just looks like the man I shot. This isn’t Eddie. That isn’t who I shot. This isn’t…
Nausea hits me as I reel back and vomit. I stagger and hit so hard on my knees, I feel like I shatter them.
No, no, no. Devon told me to fire. Devon saw the target. He knew who he was. He spoke to Eddie after I took the shot. He…
