Page 120 of Ensnared

Hewas shooting atBeau, atDom,Iremind myself, trembling.Hewants to kill them.

Mythroat closes over.God, he’s still a person.

Iedge closer, not sure ifI’mgoing to help pull him up or stab his fingers to make him fall.Idon’t recognize myself right now.Thesounds of the firefight fade into the background.

“Please,” he says, brown eyes soft and begging.

Ireach for him with both hands—one to help, one to kill.

Morequickly thanIcan register, he grasps my wrist. “Bitch,” he snarls. “Sam’llhave to miss out this time.”

Andhe yanks me, hard.Unbalancedon my knees,Igo flying, but at the last minuteItwist and try to use the knife in my other hand to catch on something, anything, to stop my fall.

Itdoes catch, puncturing deep into something thick and tough, and the jolt changes the angle of my fall.Momentumspins me and brings me in close to the tree again, andIhit the man’s back with my front.Theknife jerks down, sawing through whatever it’s caught on.Somethingwarm and wet sprays over my face, blinding me.

Theman screams and releases my wrist, and he arches, throwing me back.Mystomach drops out from under me asIrealizeI’mfalling.Ithrow my arms out again in pure panic, blind, not sure which way is up.Somethinghits my right arm in a burst of shocking pain, then my shoulder, thenImanage to catch onto something solid and rough, which slows me for just a moment before the momentum tears me away and raw scratches rip down my arms.

Ihit the ground, andIremember to fall to the side and crumple asIland on something at once soft and hard.Iread about that, the falling, that’s what you’re meant to do.Parachutersfall that way.It’show not to die.I’mpretty sure that’s whatIread.Ormaybe that was whatnotto do.

Everythingstops.

AmIdead?

Idon’t feel dead.

I’mthinking about parachuters so that has to be a positive sign.

Infact, after a moment of lying in shock,Ifeel very much alive and very much likeIhurteverywhere.Verymuch likeIcan’t pull enough air into my aching lungs.Ican’t open my eyes—something wet and sticky is coating my face.Soundshave gone quiet around me, andIwonder if that’s real this time or ifI’vebeen deafened again.Butthere’s no ringing in my ears.

It’sjust quiet.

Iwant to lie here and feel sorry for myself.Tocatalog each and every injury and assess how bad it might be before moving, but that would be stupid.Becausesomeonehas to have survived, and if it isn’t my guys...

Shakily,Iwipe at the blinding liquid over my eyes—Idon’t know where my glasses have gone—and then stare at my fingers.Thick, garish red coats them.Evena little blurred,Ican see that much.Breathingthrough my nose,Iforce myself to wipe the rest away and then pull myself up.

Theman is under me.

Scramblingback,Ican’t help the screech that leaves me then.Myknife sticks out of his back, buried to the hilt, and his neck is bent at an unusual angle.Mymind jars on the image.Ionly just stop the inane urge to shake him awake.

Injuriesnot conducive to life.Isn’tthat what they say?

Nausearises, andIonly just turn to the side in time to empty my stomach noisily.Bile, hot and acidic, scorches my mouth and burns my nose.Buteven whenIsqueeze my eyes shut, his body is imprinted in my mind.

WhenI’mfinally done,Itake deep, gulping breaths, and my gaze darts around the clearing, searching for any movement.Someonehas to have heard that.Thescream, if not the vomiting afterwards.Ineed a weapon, andIneed to leave.Now.

Ilook around for anything else.Ispot the gun that he dropped at the base of the tree but, reluctantly,Idecide against it.Itlooks broken, and even if it wasn’t,Ihave no idea how to use a gun.EvenifIdid,Idoubt my vision is good enough to hit anything reliably without my glasses.

Crawlingforward,Ieye the knife, trying not to look at what’s beneath it.Ialso try not to smell the urine and feces he secreted when his bowels released.Graspingthe hilt,Igrimace at the sticky feel to it.WhenItug, it doesn’t come easily, and my wince deepens.

“Comeon, come on,”Ibeg under my breath.

Bracingmyself,Iyank it hard, andIhave only a brief moment of victory when it comes free, as a hand clamps over my mouth, andI’mwrenched away from behind.

Chapter28

Eden

Survivaltip #109

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