There’s pain first. A burning, searing pain.
I look at my brother. He’s still here. Feeling it. I see it in his eyes.
Then comes the buzz of noise as sound fades in and out. As you fight to understand. Fight to stay alive. To stay here.
Some people say they saw a light at the end of the tunnel. I didn’t. I only remember the dark. If I believed in a god, I’d say it was his way of letting me know he doesn’t want to have anything to do with me.
I touch my brother’s face.
He turns his head a little to look at me.
I hope he sees the light. I hope…fuck…I hope there’s light for him.
“Get them out!” Someone yells.
I look up, see Antonio. See soldiers. Ours. See the piles of dead bodies beyond. Beside me I see Scarlett. She’s sitting up, hand to her head. Dazed, bruised and bloodied but alive and alert.
When she looks at me, her mouth opens, and I know she’s screaming my name but it’s all just white noise now.
When I look at Dante again his eyes have closed.
He’s dying. Maybe I’m dying too.
Scarlett’s hands turn my face, making me look up at her. I reach up to touch her cheek. Smear away blood. So much blood.
She’s the last thing I see before I close my eyes. And I try to tell her I’m sorry.
Because I told her I’m not so easy to kill. But maybe I’ve used up my lives.
46
Scarlett
I carry two cups of coffee into Dante’s room. Cristiano is sitting across from his bed watching him. Maybe willing him to open his eyes. To wake up.
Cristiano is alive. Battered and bruised, his hearing comes and goes but he’s alive. The blast had knocked him out. For a minute, I thought he was gone, really gone this time, but he’s back.
He looks over at me, stands. I take in the bandages I can see on his arms, his neck, the side of his head and I’m sure he does the same with mine.
But it could be worse.
I glance at Dante.
“You need to let the doctor look at you again,” I tell him.
“After.” Smears of blood and dirt still stain his clothes and skin. I know most of it isn’t his at least.
He takes one of the cups of coffee and leads me to a chair. He sits down beside me, and we watch Dante together.
It’s been twenty-seven hours since the house blew up.
Twenty hours since Dante came out of surgery.
I don’t know how many hours or days since David kidnapped me.
I look at Cristiano. Neither of us speaks. I think we’re just both grateful the other is alive. And worried that Dante may not be for long.
“Did the doctor say anything else?” I ask him. I’d left to get coffee when he’d come in to check Dante’s vitals.
“He’s sleeping longer than expected. He should have woken up by now.”
“Did he say that?”
“Not in so many words but I read between the lines.”
“Maybe take what he says at face value, Cristiano.”
Cristiano pushes a hand into his hair and gets up, walks to the window. “He’s so fucking stubborn.”
I follow him and lay my hand on his shoulder. “So are you. Why would you expect he’d be different?”
Dante took the bullet that saved Cristiano’s life. It missed his heart by about a centimeter. But that’s not all. The blast, the fire, the damage to his right side, his face, body, it’s bad.
He sighs deeply. “Some of the families of the women are on their way,” Cristiano says, turning back to glance at his brother, unrecognizable beneath the bandages, before shifting his attention to me.
“That’s good.” Four of the women from the barn made it out alive. Four who are likely to survive out of the dozen. I know I have to focus on the survivors. Be grateful for the four. It’s hard, though. Unfair.
“Felix was long gone when we got there. On a flight back to Mexico.”
“He’s a coward.”
He nods in agreement. “How did Mara look?”
“Scared. But brave. She’s tough. Still rebellious after ten years. That’s something, right?”
He smiles. “It’s something.”
“There was this woman, Helga. She must have been a sort of horrible nanny-jailor to her. When she,” I pause momentarily, not quite sure how to say the next part. “When she died, Mara went through her pockets and stole a switchblade. And a candy bar.” I leave out the strap that I’m sure was used to keep her in line. That’s not going to do anyone any good to know.
“A candy bar?” He smiles.
I nod. “She’s smart, Cristiano. When she met Petrov she didn’t cower, not for a second. And she made him promise to not let Felix hurt me.”
“Why?”
“Well…I killed Helga. She didn’t just die. I did it.”
He nods, pulls me in for a hug. His big hand cradles the back of my head. “That’s my Fury.”