Chapter 34 Lily
Lily
My knees slam into the ground beside an unmoving Noah.
I shake him. “Noah! Noah!”
The forest is alive with movement, swarmed by more FBI and DEA running and finalizing their arrests. So many escaped into the woods, and flashlights cut through the darkness as search units spread out among the trees.
The heavy stomps of boots run up behind me, and someone grabs my shoulder, but Max barks and nips. “Ma’am, I need to make room for EMT.”
I don’t want to leave him.
I press my hands to his side, but the blood keeps coming. Too much. It’s too much.
The blood soaks his shirt and pools beneath him, spilling out onto the dirty leaves. His breaths are shallow and fragile.
I can’t breathe.
Eyelids closed, they flicker, his long lashes looking too peaceful, too resigned to fall deeper into unconsciousness.
Terrified and angry, I grab his shoulders and shake him. “No. You hold on. You stay with me. You saved my life like three times now—you can’t leave me. Do you hear me? You can’t!”
“Ma’am!”
An agent grabs at my shoulder again as the tears plummet down my face and onto Noah’s fleece. That stupid fleece I first met him in. Him and Max. The best man and the most loyal dog.
“Don’t touch me.” I shrug at the FBI agent—or DEA—I don’t know. I don’t care. I hate law enforcement, but Noah … oh no, Noah is so much more. He’s more than a badge and a uniform.
He’s my guardian. My safe place. Protector. Friend. Lover. The most dedicated son.
No. No, no, no.
“Please!” I yell, pulling at his thick arm. It’s heavy and limp, and panic claws up my throat.
I can’t. The thought of him not waking up—it rips through me like a blade.
Life would be unbearable without him. Ice floods my veins as I picture it.
Nights spent reaching for his hand that isn’t there.
Resigned to the dip in his bed as my only comfort.
Two headstones in the Pinebrook cemetery, mother and son. The thought guts me.
Helicopters circle overhead, high above the trees, and I overhear agents shouting about a medevac.
I lean closer, my forehead resting on his. “Stay with me,” I whisper. My voice shakes, but I lock my jaw willing it steady. Stay strong.
He doesn’t respond. His chest struggles to rise. The skin on his face is cold under my fingertips.
Max moves to lie down next to him, his snout resting on his other shoulder. He whines and more tears well in my eyes and trail down my face.
I want to scream, to pound his chest and make him stay. Life is shitty and cruel.
The rescue basket drifts in a slow descent through the dense canopy, swaying with the shifting wind.
Agents dart around the site, bagging cash, weapons, and bricks of drugs pulled from the makeshift tables.
Raven’s men who’d been caught in the raid and forced to their knees are cuffed and cursing as they’re escorted to off-road police vehicles.
But I don’t care.
Hurried footsteps push through the agents, and when they get to where we are, forceful hands yank me back.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” one of the paramedics calls into his radio, dropping to his knees beside him.
The man moves fast. One hand pressed into his side wound, another on the bullet hole in this leg. Another paramedic moves to look for an exit wound with no luck. They tear open their side satchels and stuff gauze into his still bleeding side as fast as they can pack it.
“Stay with us, Ranger.” The old paramedic taps Noah’s cheek, searching for a response.
None.
“Please, please, please,” I whisper. A cold wet nose nudges my hand, and I collapse to my knees, wrapping my arms around Max’s large neck. He’s warm.
The team works fast—IV in, oxygen mask secure, tourniquet right around his thigh. Time screams by.
Noah’s body jolts as they lift him onto the backboard, strapping him down to keep him stable.
Above, the thump, thump, thump of the blades cut through the air as the ropes sway from the rescue rig.
There isn’t time for me to say goodbye. They hoist his limp body into the basket, and signal to lift. He rises slowly, the men in the helicopter working hard to keep the basket from tangling with the trees.
Make it. Make it. I love you.
The wind rushes around the clearing as the helicopter flies off and I’m left clutching Max like he’s my last lifeline.
Out of habit, I reach for my nose ring, wanting to twirl it to ease my worry, but it’s not there.
He did this.
I jump up, scanning to find Raven on the ground, unmoving. Agents crouch over him, administering lifesaving care, and the blood rushes to my ears. I stare, unblinking, as the emotions cascade over my shaking body.
They’re working so quickly. Working to save a man who tried to kill one of their own.
It’s insane.
But as I think that guilt sweeps in. Noah would do the same. He’d press to rescue anyone. He has.
I blink away the tears, averting my eyes to where the DEA swabs the tables.
“Ma’am, I need to take your statement, and we will get you home, okay?” an FBI agent says, approaching me.
“No. I need to go to the hospital.” I fold my arms, wringing my hands together. I don’t want to talk to these people.
“Ma’am?”
“Please.” K-9 units prowl the perimeter, and when another agent moves toward us with a leash in hand, I frown. “Wh-what are you doing?”
“My name is Agent Battle, ma’am. I’ve been instructed by the NPS to take K-9 Max into custody.”
“What? Why?” I lean into Max, my hand groping for his collar.
“K-9 Max is the property of the National Park Service, ma’am. Handler Sullivan will be notified if he makes it home.”
“What do you mean if?”
“When, ma’am. When Ranger Sullivan makes it home—I apologize.” The man rolls his large shoulders, rustling the navy windbreaker with the letters FBI stamped across it.
In my peripheral, a white sheet is draped over Raven’s body. Good. He can’t hurt anyone else. He can’t hurt me.
“Ma’am?” Agent Battle’s blue eyes study me.
I swipe under my eyes. “What?!”
“The dog.”
I realize that my hand is coiled around Max’s collar, and the world feels like it’s moving on without me. The voices working around me blur into static, and my grip grows tighter around Max’s collar.
He stands in a contact heel next to me, patient and putting up with my frantic fingers tangling in his fur. His eyes comb over the woods, panting lightly. I drop to my knees, the awful feeling they’re taking him away thick in my throat.
His tail wags, and tears burn the back of my eyes. I press my forehead against his. “Braver Hund,” I whisper. “Thank you. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay.”
I repeat those words until a pair of boots stops behind me. A voice firm but careful says, “We have to go.”
I squeeze my eyes shut to force down whatever strangled, irritated sob wants to rise. I linger with my fingers in his fur for a second longer until I finally pull away.
He watches me, waiting, while Agent Battle slips a lead over his head.
Then they take him.
He’s an obedient boy, following their commands over to the SUV. They load him up and the door slams shut. Then he’s gone just like that. Gone. Just like Noah.
I stay there, kneeling in the dirt. Pretty sure the swarming agents don’t know what to do with me, as if I’m unstable or something.
I’m not sure I care. The wind shifts as the last of the suspects are loaded in transport vehicles and the scattered remains of the camp are reduced to evidence boxes and empty tents.
I’m not sure Raven’s death is the end. The war on drugs isn’t over, even I know that, but at least the Raven is gone.
Finally, they send a female agent over who informs me she’ll be taking me to be interviewed, then home. But I don’t have a home.
Not without Ms. Sullivan.
Not without Noah.
Not without Max.
I’m alone, and all I hear is the silence I used to covet.