It pours from the wound in thick, heavy streams, running down the sides of her face and into the soil. More blood pulses out around the blade itself, bubbling as it escapes from shattered bone.
A thin line of pink and gray matter seeps out from the split in her skull, mixing with the blood and dirt beneath her.
Her face hits the dirt hard enough to bounce once before going slack. Her fingers twitch once against the ground.
Then her body goes still.
My steps falter, and my stomach clenches violently as nausea surges. Miles grabs my arm hard enough to hurt and pulls me forward.
“We can’t stop,” he says.
Laughter echoes through the trees behind us.
We run deeper into the forest, weaving between trees and uneven ground. The terrain dips sharply, forcing us to slow for a moment as our footing becomes unstable. Branches scrape across my arms and face, leaving stinging lines and pulling loose strands of hair free. Pain flares through my shoulder from earlier injuries, spreading down my arm. My lower abdomen cramps again, making my breath hitch and my pace falter.
A low rumble rollsoverhead.
The first drops of rain follow seconds later, sparse at first, tapping against leaves and skin. Then more come, heavier, faster, the forest darkening as the sky opens above us.
A loud snapping sound cuts through the noise of our footsteps.
Gunfire cracks nearby, sharp and close enough to make leaves fall from the branches overhead.
Miles grabs my wrist and pulls me hard.
We're still running when Miles sucks in a sharp breath.
“Brooke,” he yells. “Keep going.”
The crossbow bolt strikes him in the back.
The impact makes a dull, heavy sound as the bolt punches through muscle.
Miles gasps and stumbles forward, his steps turning sloppy as blood spreads across the back of his shirt. He tries to stay upright, tries to keep moving, but a second bolt hits lower in his side, driving in with brutal force.
The impact knocks him to his knees. He collapses forward onto the ground.
I drop beside him immediately.
“No,” I grab his shoulders, trying to lift him. “No, please!”
Miles coughs, rain mixing with the thick blood spilling from his mouth. It streaks down his face and collects along his jaw as his breathing turns wet and uneven, every breath visibly harder than the last. His remaining eye locks onto mine, sharp despite the pain.
“Brooke, don’t stop. Go!”
“I’m not leaving you,” I strain to pull him up. My hands slip. My arms shake. “I’m not leaving you!”
“You have to…You have to go now.”
“No,” I shake my head. “I won’t leave you here.”
He reaches for my wrist with shaking fingers and manages to grab it. His grip is weak but desperate, slick with blood and rain.
“Tell Alonzo.”
Tears blur my vision. I shake my head, breathing hard. I remember Mila on the floor at Amber’s house, bleeding from her chest, telling me to go while she was dying. I remember refusing to leave her. I remember how staying didn't save her.
Laughter echoes again, closer now, cutting cleanly through the trees.
