Chapter Thirty Eight
Shock and Awe
Jameson Bishop
Rachel’s blood is warm against my hands.
Too warm.
It slips between my fingers as I press hard against the wound, trying to hold her together, trying to keep her here, trying to stop the life from draining out of her. Her breath trembles, shallow and uneven, her eyes fluttering like she’s fighting sleep.
No. Not sleep. Shock.
“Rachel,” I whisper, voice breaking. “Stay with me.”
Her fingers curl weakly into my shirt. “Bishop…”
That one word nearly destroys me.
I scoop her into my arms, lifting her against my chest. She’s lighter than she should be. Too still. Her head falls against my shoulder, her breath warm but fading.
“I’ve got you,” I say, more to myself than her. “I’ve got you. I’m getting you out of here.”
The ridge stretches ahead, steep, uneven, treacherous, but it doesn’t matter. I start moving, every step deliberate, every muscle screaming, every breath a vow.
Her blood stains my shirt. My arms. My throat where her head rests.
I don’t care.
I hold her tighter.
“You’re going to be okay,” I murmur. “You hear me? You’re going to be okay.”
She exhales a soft, broken sound. “Hurts…”
“I know.” My voice cracks. “I know, sweetheart.”
The word slips out before I can stop it. I don’t take it back.
I shift her weight, keeping pressure on the wound with one hand while the other supports her legs. My balance wavers on the shale, but I steady myself, planting my feet, refusing to fall.
“I love you,” I whisper into her hair. “I love you. I’m not losing you.”
Her fingers twitch against my chest, trying to hold on.
I move faster.
Branches whip against my arms. Rocks slide under my boots. The forest blurs around us, but I don’t stop. I don’t slow. I don’t breathe unless she does.
Her head lolls slightly. Panic spikes through me.
“Rachel…Rachel, look at me.” I shift her so I can see her face. Her eyes open halfway, unfocused but trying. Always trying. “Stay awake. Stay with me.”
She swallows, a small, pained sound. “Bishop… don’t… leave me.”
My chest shatters.
“I’m not leaving you,” I say fiercely. “I’m carrying you out. I’m getting you help. I’m staying with you. Always.”
Her eyes close again.
I keep talking, because my voice is the only thing I can give her right now, the only thing I can use to anchor her to this world.
“You’re strong,” I whisper. “You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. You fought Beth. You saved me. You’re going to survive this.”
The trail dips sharply. I adjust my stance, gripping her tighter, refusing to let her slip even an inch.
Her breath hitches. Her body trembles.
I press my forehead to hers for a moment, just long enough to feel her warmth, just long enough to remind myself she’s still here.
“I love you,” I say again, voice raw. “I love you. Stay with me.”
And then I keep moving; down the ridge, through the trees, toward whatever help I can find, carrying the woman I love, bleeding and brave and still fighting.
Because she saved my life.
And now I’m going to save hers.