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My body can’t stop the bleeding. My blood won’t coagulate on its own. But it’s just a tiny needle puncture, which means we move Earl first, then I’ll drop back down on my ass and finish the job I began.
ThenI’ll process the fact that Archer Malone is now inside the bank.
For what purpose?
I don’t know.
Will he tackle Slade and risk being shot again?
Probably.
Will it work?
Who freakin’ knows.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” I grunt under Earl’s weight. “I’ll get you all the way there, then you just have to get him over the threshold yourself.”
“No whispering!” Slade cocks his gun and waves it in our direction.
But the problem with him doing that every time anyone so much as breathes is that it loses its effectiveness. The shock makes way for desensitization. The fear, gone. He’s pointed his gun in my face so often in the last few hours, I long ago stopped caring.
Shoot me in the face or in the foot. I die either way.
But he’s a dad, desperate for news of his sick daughter. So I already know he won’t shoot me.
Probably.
“Hey!” he snarls when we pay him no attention. “Stop moving.”
“He weighs a lot!” Aubree growls. Sweat dribbles along her brow and into her eyes so she scrunches them closed in frustration. “We’re not stopping now.”
“Stop!”
“You made a deal,” she grits out. Braver than I might’ve given her credit for. Driven the way I knew she was from the day we met, she carries most of Earl’s weight—surely more than I do—and shuffles us toward the door. “You said I had to carry him out alone. She’s only helping me to the door. You’re all the way over there and not in danger of the sharpshooters, so shut up and let us do this.”
“Six bussss…” Earl slurs and pulls my attention around. He’s gray already, missing too much blood. His eyes fall closed, but his lips move. “Six bullsss…”
“What?” I murmur near his ear so Slade doesn’t hear us. “Six what?”
“Bulllsss,” he sighs. His body grows heavier somehow. Hs head, drooping on his shoulders. “Bullessss.”
“Bus?” I whisper. But he shakes his head. “Bulls? Burns? Bees?”
“Bullets?” Aubree hisses. “Six bullets?”
Finally, he nods. “Gun.”
“Six bullets in the gun?” she repeats. “Your gun?”
“Stop talking!” Impatient, Slade charges across the bank and yanks me around, pulling my shoulder from the socket with an ear-splitting pop.
I cry out and drop to my knees, bile racing along my throat as pain zings through my blood. At my back, Aubree and Earl fall, too. Their legs tangle, and their bodies hit the floor with twin thuds.
“What the hell are you doing?” I heave for breath and swallow down the nausea sprinting for freedom. I cradle my arm and feel the socket fill with blood. The whoosh of liquid, and the anguish of pain. “Why did you do that?”
“Because you were whispering.” He watches Aubree over my shoulder. The way she unsteadily climbs to her hands and knees, and crawls closer to Earl. His head slammed against the tile with enough force to cut his brow, so now he’s losing more blood. Suffering from more injuries. Inching closer to death.
“I told you not to whisper!” Slade barks. “I made a deal that includedyou,” he glares at Aubree so his nose wrinkles and his lips peel back. “Yougot to carry him out.” Then he looks down at me. “I didn’t even mention you.”
