Chapter 55
I ran toward her with one sole purpose: to knock her back against the wall and get the gun from her hand.
As I leaped, Tommy made his move. I caught glimpses of his movements through the chaos—as Sarah was forced up against the wall, and then fought back, pushing me away.
As we ended up in a battle on the floor, the gun flew away.
While Sarah and I grappled across the cabin floor, Tommy's fingers had found my burner phone that had fallen out of my pocket.
The dial clicked as he turned it—three deliberate numbers that seemed to echo in the cabin despite our violent struggle.
"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?" The operator's voice carried across the room, tinny but distinct through the speaker.
Tommy's voice quavered, barely audible over the sounds of Sarah and me fighting. "My mom shot me." The words came out small and frightened, yet determined. Then he ran to the bathroom and shut the door.
I saw the flash of confusion in Sarah's eyes when she heard him speak—not just at the realization that he'd reached the phone, but at his words.
Sarah realized what he was doing. Her focus had been so completely on me, on our violent struggle, that Tommy's actions had registered only peripherally until that moment.
I watched her expression transform from rage to something worse—a cold, calculating hatred that chilled me more than her previous frenzy.
"You ungrateful little—" she snarled, shoving herself away from me with unexpected force.
She ran after him, kicking open the bathroom door.
I heard her speak to Tommy, and then I set off after her.
Inside the bathroom, I lunged for her, fingers grasping at her shirt, her hair, anything to keep her from reaching Tommy.
My hand closed around her ankle, and she stumbled, but not before swinging the gun toward me with deliberate aim.
The second shot exploded through the cabin with deafening finality. White-hot pain blossomed in my chest as the bullet tore through me, sending me crashing back against the wall. Blood spread across my shirt in a warm, wet rush as my legs gave out beneath me.
Through the haze of pain and encroaching shock, I heard the operator's voice become more urgent.
"Hello?" The voice on the phone cracked. "Are you there?"
Sarah turned toward Tommy, her movements suddenly fluid and purposeful. The gun hung at her side as she crossed the bathroom in three long strides.
Sarah grabbed the phone and hung up.
I tried to push myself upright, to call out a warning, but my voice emerged as little more than a wet gurgle as blood filled my throat. My vision narrowed to a tunnel that framed the scene before me with terrible clarity. I heard the front door getting kicked in and Matt’s voice calling my name.
The silence that followed seemed to press against my eardrums with physical weight. Tommy's quiet sobbing provided the only soundtrack to Sarah's heavy breathing as she stood over him, the gun now trained on his small, trembling form.
"No one interrupts my ending," she said, her voice oddly calm after the violence that had preceded it. "No one ruins what I've written."
I forced my eyes to remain open despite the darkness creeping in from the edges of my vision. Tommy's gaze found mine across the blood-smeared floor, his expression a heartbreaking mixture of terror and apology—as if he'd failed somehow by not completing the call, by not saving us both.
I tried to communicate with my eyes what my failing body could not express in words: You did everything right. You were so brave. Don't give up.
Outside, the faint wail of distant sirens carried through the cabin's thin walls—so far away, but growing closer. Tommy had succeeded after all. Help was coming. Matt was in the cabin with Juan, and I had managed to scream for his help.
The question was whether any of us would still be alive when it arrived.