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But I can’t, I can’t stop. Not yet.
A hand lands on my arm, its grip firm yet gentle. Lila. I look at her through my rage-filled haze, seeing the fear in her eyes. Her voice, a whisper now, cuts through the cloud of fury. “Stop, Ash, he’s gone.”
The reality of her words sinks in like a cold blade, ripping me from my rage-induced stupor. I release Freddy’s lifeless body. This is who I am. Anyone who comes at me dies. Surely she realizes that by now?
Lila’s gaze shifts beyond me to my dad, concern etching deeper into her features. “Ash,” her voice trembles, “Your dad is losing too much blood. He needs a hospital.”
Hospitals are out of the question. “I’ll have to try and patch his leg up here.” I walk over to him. “Can you hop if we support you?”
He nods, wincing slightly. “Yeah.”
With a gentle touch, Lila moves to assist my dad. She slips an arm around his waist. I mirror her on his other side, and we guide him back to the cabin together.
His face is pale, and beads of sweat gather on his forehead as he bites back a groan.
The journey is slow and torturous, but finally, we manage to gently lower him onto the worn-out cushions of the sofa. His life hangs in the balance, and every second counts. And I’m surprised I even care.
I rummage through the dilapidated cabinets for medical supplies. I find an old, yet sealed, first aid kit. I lay out the contents. Dad’s pants are soaked with blood, and as I cut away the fabric, the severity of his wound becomes apparent—it’s worse than I thought.
Lila’s presence is calming, her hands steady as she passes him a whiskey flask. “Here, this might help with the pain,” she says softly.
Dad takes a hefty swig, his face contorting, but he nods in gratitude.
I cleanse the wound with clean water; Dad’s body jerks, but he doesn’t cry out. “This is going to hurt,” I warn as I bracemyself to do what must be done. And then I grab an old throw cushion. “Bite down on this, got it?”
He meets my gaze and nods.
I dig out the bullet with precision and speed. Dad clamps down on the throw cushion, filling the room with a muffled groan. Finally, the bullet clinks against the floor, and it’s out.
Stitching is crude but necessary. I thread the needle with steady hands and stitch him up with uneven sutures. Blood seeps, but the flow lessens with each loop pulled tight.
Lila whispers words of encouragement, her voice a soothing counterpoint to his heavy breaths. It’s done. I bandage the wound as best as I can, hoping it holds, hoping it’s enough to keep him alive.
As I sit back on my heels, the adrenaline starts to fade, and exhaustion takes over. I look at the man lying before me. This stranger is my father.
I can’t help but wonder why my hands didn’t shake, why I cared enough to save a man who’s been more of an absence than a presence in my life. But then I realize that blood runs thicker than resentments. Somehow, despite all the years lost, I can’t let him go like this.
“We’re not safe here,” I state, rubbing a hand across my neck. “We’ll have to shift everything into one truck and drive together.”
Lila clears her throat. “I could drive one of the trucks,” she suggests.
I shake my head. “It’s out of the question.”
She glares at me and puts her hands on her hips. “Why? Because I’m a woman.”
I step toward her, pulling her close. “No, starlight because the distance between the trucks is too fucking vast. I need you by my side.”
“That’s ridiculous. We need the two trucks in case one breaks down,” Lila fires back, her gaze locked on mine with fierce determination. She’s right, of course. I rub the bridge of my nose.
I tighten my grip on her, the words catching in my throat. “I can’t breathe when you’re not close,” I admit, the raw truth of it spilling out uncontested. It’s a vulnerability I didn’t know I could voice.
Lila’s eyes soften, and it’s as if the world falls away. “We’ll be close, in convoy the entire time.”
I clench my jaw. “That’s not close enough to touch you, is it?”
Her lips part. “Ash, you’re acting crazy,” she whispers, her voice like the brush of leaves in a hushed forest, but it cuts through the tension.
I graze my thumb over her cheek, and my voice drops to a growl. “Maybe I am, but it’s better to be crazy than to lose you. The world’s gone to hell. Out there,” I gesture with a nod toward the woods beyond our hideout, “it’s every savage for themselves, and I won’t gamble with your safety.”
