Page 81 of Sick(ness)

They started moving again, slower now. The one she’d shot kept stumbling, leaving streaks of red in the snow. She focused on those stains, fixing them in her mind. That’s your trail, Sawyer. Follow it.

As the trees thinned near the ridge, she caught a flicker of movement in the distance, too far to be sure, but it made her heart stutter. A shadow, maybe, or perhaps hope.

The man yanked her forward again. “Move!”

She stumbled, crashing to one knee with a sickening crack against hidden stone. Blood bloomed beneath her jeans as she clawed at the snow, gouging a deep boot print where she’d fallen. Her lungs seized—don’t scream, don’t cry — as she hauled herself upright, teeth clenched so hard her jaw spasmed. Her breath came in violent shudders that tore at her raw throat.

Every heartbeat pulsed agony through her limbs, but stopping meant death. Or worse.

So she forced one foot in front of the other, silently begging whatever god might still exist in this frozen hell.

Find me, Sawyer. Before the trail freezes. Before I do!

Seventeen

No Matter What

The forest stretched before them, silent as a graveyard but for the betraying crunch of their boots. They slid into position, shadows among shadows. Jay’s eyes locked with his, pupils black in the darkness. “Alright. On your shot.” They split like wolves flanking prey. Sawyer attacked the incline, snow betraying his weight with each desperate step. Every footfall hammered him closer to the clearing, closer to her. His pulse didn’t race; it steadied to a killer’s rhythm, blood rushing in his ears.

Through the scope, she materialized in brutal clarity. Addy hunched by the fire, wrists raw from the bindings, but her spine rigid with defiance. Her eyes darted toward the trees, a single, electric moment—as if she’d sensed the crosshairs settle on her captors. Sawyer’s breath crystallized. “I see you, 2B,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Hold on.” Below, the two men snarled at each other, one cursing through pain, the other spitting orders. The wounded one leaked life into the snow, crimson spreading like spilled wine.

Jay’s signal, a piercing birdcall, shattered the night. Sawyer locked onto his target. His finger caressed the trigger, time stretching thin as wire. One perfect shot. He fired. The rifle exploded, echoing like thunder as the injured man’s head snapped back, body collapsing in a lifeless heap. Addy jerked violently, eyes wild. The second man roared, clawing for his weapon as hell broke loose. Sawyer was already charging downhill.

* * *

The first gunshot split the air like lightning. Addy flinched hard, snow spraying across her cheek. The man beside her, Gus, shouted in surprise, stumbling backward as his companion went down instantly, a red mist blooming across the snow where his chest should have been.

For a heartbeat, silence.

Followed by a second gunshot that tore through the clearing. Gus screamed, clutching his arm as the bullet ripped through flesh. He staggered, nearly losing his balance before slamming a hand against a nearby tree to stay upright. “Who’s out there?!” he shouted, his voice scraping like rusted metal against the pristine silence. Blood seeped through his sleeve, dark and viscous as motor oil, releasing ghostly tendrils of steam into the frigid air. The crimson stain spread across the fabric like spilled wine on a white tablecloth.

Addy’s pulse hammered in her ears like war drums, each beat drowning out the winter stillness. The sound of boots crunching through snow, faint but rhythmic, approached from the left. She recognized that cadence, that deliberate footfall that never faltered even in chaos. Sawyer.

Gus whipped toward the noise, his face contorted into a mask of primal fear. He fired wildly into the dense pines, the muzzle flash illuminating his sweat-slicked face in orange bursts. Snow and bark exploded in violent clouds, pine needles raining down as the shots went wide. “Come out, you bastard!” he roared, his voice cracking like thin ice beneath too much weight.

Addy didn’t wait. She threw herself sideways, landing hard in the snow. Her shoulder screamed in protest, but she didn’t stop moving. Crawling toward the dead man’s body, she fumbled with her bound hands, searching for a weapon. There, a knife strapped to his belt. Her fingers were clumsy and cold, but she got hold of the hilt and yanked. The blade came free with a metallic hiss.

Another rifle crack echoed through the clearing, closer this time. Gus ducked low, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. The smell of gunpowder and blood filled the air. He tried to reload, his trembling hands slick with crimson.

“Don’t,” Addy hissed, a copper tang coating her tongue, each word scraping her throat raw. “Don’t fucking do it.”

Gus’s pupils swallowed his irises, the surrounding whites veined red against skin bleached paper-white. “SHUT YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH!” Saliva sprayed from his lips, catching in the firelight.

His index finger curled inward—pine needles rained down as branches snapped. Sawyer burst through the undergrowth, boots kicking up snow, breath clouding before him. The rifle stock pressed against his shoulder, his knuckles white around the grip. Gus spun, squeezed, CRACK; splinters of bark exploded beside Sawyer’s ear.

Sawyer pulled the trigger; his shoulder absorbed the recoil. Gus’s chest caved inward, the sound like a sledgehammer hitting wet cement. His boots left the ground, arms flung wide, jacket billowing. When he hit the snow, red mist plumed upward, hanging in the air while his rifle tumbled end over end into darkness. Steam rose from the spreading stain beneath him as the forest swallowed the echoes.

Addy sat frozen, the knife shaking in her bound hands, her heartbeat pounding so loud she could barely hear. The fire hissed softly beside Gus’s fallen body, smoke twisting through the cold morning air.

Boots crunched through the snow.

Sawyer came toward her rifle still raised until his eyes found hers. His shoulders eased the second he saw her. “Addy.”

Her breath hitched. She tried to stand, but her knees gave out halfway there. He caught her before she hit the ground, wrapping her tightly against him.

He crushed her against his chest, his heartbeat thundering through both their bodies. “I’ve got you,” he whispered into her hair, voice breaking on each word. His fingers trembled as they tangled in her matted hair, holding her as if she might dissolve into the snow beneath them. He quickly grabbed the knife from her fingers and cut the bindings. Emotion choked him as he saw the cuts from how tight the bindings were.

“Hey, look at me,” Addy said gently. “I’m okay, it looks worse than it is, I promise.” She dipped her head, trying to draw his eyes to hers. She could see the pain. She smiled; he leaned forward and kissed her.