Colt’s lips drew back in a snarl. He pulled something from his belt, too fast to follow—
I went silent and meek in a heartbeat. The gun’s barrel wavered and twitched an inch from my forehead. Oh God, oh God—
“Get to work,” he said. “And you better hope you got steady hands.”
57
Dominic
THE PICKUP slewed around the bend, wheels clawing for grip. The fresh snow, on top of the hard-packed, frozen stuff, combined to make the roads like ice. Driving this fast was insane, but I couldn’t slow down. Any minute, I expected to hear the thunder of explosions that would mean the end for the town. Colt would be gone and Beckett with him. And once she’d outlived her usefulness, I knew what he’d do to her.
I skidded around the next corner. I was up in the hills, now, and climbing fast, a steep drop to my right. Another few minutes and I’d be at the camp.
As I came around the next bend, I turned the wheel... and nothing happened. The steering went light and the pickup just coasted on in a straight line... right towards the drop.
Shit! I hadn’t put my safety belt on. I grabbed for it. Missed.
I bounced completely out of my seat as we went over the edge. The whole car dropped out from under me and then crashed up into me again, jolting my neck and slamming my teeth together so hard I felt one of them crack. We tobogganed down the hill doing sixty, bouncing off rocks. The brakes did nothing: the wheels were clogged with snow. I scrabbled again for my safety belt and prayed we didn’t roll over.
The world outside was moving so fast, I could barely focus on it, but I glimpsed dark shapes rushing up in front of me that must be trees. Fuck, fuck! I wrenched the safety belt across me—too hard, it jerked to a stop and wouldn’t move. I heard twigs snap and scrape as the car plunged into the forest. Ahead, what looked like a really big tree was coming up.
I closed my eyes. Forced myself to let the safety belt relax... then pulled it slowly across my chest and locked it in.
I expected a crunch but it was more of a bang, an explosion of metal slamming into wood. I heard glass shatter….
And then nothing.
58
Amy
IT WAS impossible.
Colt had rushed me out of the hospital in my scrubs and the bitter wind cut straight through the thin fabric, clawing away my body heat. My head throbbed and ached from the cold and my hands were numb and clumsy. Snow kept blowing into my eyes, blinding me, and the headlights weren’t anything like the overhead lights in an operating theater. Half of the wound was in deep shadow and every time I glanced up, I was dazzled.
I’d cut away Colt’s jeans and opened up the wound, but the more I saw, the worse it looked. The bullet that hit him must have hit something else first because it had dug into his leg in two separate pieces, lodging deep inside. Every time I tried to move the closer one, Colt cursed in pain and the gun barrel against my forehead twitched. I couldn’t even see the other piece, yet.
I took a deep breath and shut everything out, drawing on all the focus the ER had taught me. I imagined Krista was still okay, joking and teasing and passing me my instruments as Brahms played in the background. I imagined Corrigan’s warm hand on my back, chasing away the cold, telling me I could do it. And slowly, very slowly, I started to make progress, easing the bullet fragment millimeter by millimeter towards the surface. Finally, I had it where I could reach in and grab it with the forceps—
Colt gave a howl of pain and bucked, his leg jerking so hard his foot caught me in the ribs. There was a bang that seemed to split the forest in two and I felt searing pain down one side of my face. I fell backwards, winding up on my ass in the snow.
Colt lay there glaring at me, hissing between his teeth. I put my hand to my scalp and slowly explored.
I’d brushed a nerve with the forceps. Colt had jerked and the gun had gone off. If I hadn’t been knocked to one side by him kicking me, the bullet would have killed me. As it was, it had missed me by a few inches, so close the muzzle flash had scorched my hair.
“Get back to it,” grated Colt.
I struggled forward onto my knees. But when I looked down at his leg, my insides turned to ice water.
When his leg had moved, the muscles had spasmed and pulled the bullet fragment even deeper inside, undoing all my work. Worse, the bleeding had sped up. A stain was flowering around him in the snow, pale pink at the edges, vivid red closer in. Every inch it expanded was more precious blood gone.