Page 121 of The Souls We Claim
I’m not sure where the strength comes from to drag a man nearly twice my size across the cabin floor. He gains consciousness twice. Both times to cry out.
The third time, he’s alert long enough to say one thing.
“There’s too…many,” he says before his eyes flutter shut.
36
HALO
Sacrifice.
From its root words ofsacerandfacere, it means to make something sacred.
There are few things I’ve owned that felt sacred. My Navy trident. My cut.
And I can’t think ofanythingmore sacred than Arianne’s and Lola’s lives.
Even if the saving of them involves losing my own.
Fuck, I may well have already lost Switch. It feels like a lifetime since I dropped him in the cabin knowing Ari and Lola were only footsteps away. That head wound was gnarly as fuck, and I didn’t have time to triage it because Bates was under fire, trying to provide cover so I could get Switch into some kind of safety.
We’re positioned within the brick garage they set up as a rest spot on the side of the property. Footsteps on the gravel say my half-brother and his men are closing in, but I don’t regret my choices.
If we’d stayed in the house, the only line they’d have to cross was the threshold. By remaining outside, we provide an extraboundary to the house. Plus, they’re here for me, so being far away from Lola and Ari is a good thing.
“There are four around the rear of the cabin.” My voice is a hoarse whisper as I accept the fact we’re surrounded. There is a broken pane of glass, and I have my gun pointed through it, as I pray for a fair wind to get my brothers here with superhuman speed. “How many around the front?”
“I’m guessing six still alive. I’m out of ammo,” Bates says. There is a knife in each of his hands as he sits on the floor, his legs out in front of him, a tight belt tourniquet cinched deeply into his thigh. Blood stains his jeans.
“Fuck,” I curse. “I have three rounds left.” The gunfight has been brutal. I’m pretty certain I got four. There is no doubt in my mind that if there is anyone in the house across the way, they’ll have called the cops.
Not sure there is any getting us out of this.
And we need a fucking ambulance for Switch.
Or a hearse.
“Maybe they’ll line up, one behind the other, so you can send the same bullet through three of them,” he says.
I glance over at him and chuckle. It’s not that I’m utterly unaware of the fragility of my life. But it’s what I’ve always done. Live in the moment. Suck the life out of it.
Believe that you can live until the very second you can’t.
Until that one second is your last.
Do I want to die? Fuck. I’m still here, trying to calculate odds. Trying to think of a way to rebalance the game in our favor.
I scan the garage with my flashlight. An oil drum. If there’s anything in it, I have my lighter. But I can’t burn the garage down with us inside. I search for something to fill, do-it-yourself Molotovs.
“What the fuck, King,” I mutter. “You couldn’t leave at least one beer bottle lying around?”
I could try pouring it, see if it trickles away from the brick.
But Bates can’t run, even if I could create a diversion.
And what if any fire I create spreads to the cabin?
Tools?
