Chapter 16 #2
He was putting on face, pretending he wasn't struggling to just stay standing.
"Here, we'll help you walk." I moved to his side, putting one arm around him. God, he was so cold.
Ivy moved to his other side, and we began the short walk to the house. Ivy's boots crunched on the gravel, each step unnaturally loud in the darkness.
It was so quiet out here, only the sound of the growing wind in the trees and a distance rumble of thunder.
The moonlight was fading as clouds blotted it from view, and I shuddered once more from the chill of the air.
The abandoned house loomed before us, a dark silhouette against the night sky. Its weathered clapboard siding and sagging porch looked like something from a nightmare.
"I'll check it first," Jackson said, his voice strained. He moved ahead of us, refusing our help, but limped badly whilst holding the gun at the ready.
"You need to sit down before you pass out," I said, fearing he'd collapse before he even climbed the porch.
"Yeah, before you shoot yourself in the damn foot," Ivy added.
"I can check," I said.
He turned to me, his face too shadowed to fully make out now. "Elena, I appreciate the offer, but I'm trained for this. You're not."
"Trained to bleed to death?"
Ivy stepped between us. "How about we all check together? Safety in numbers and all that horror movie wisdom."
Jackson hesitated, then nodded once. "Stay behind me."
The porch steps creaked ominously under our weight. I half-expected them to give way entirely, sending us crashing into some hidden cellar where other victims had met their end. My imagination was running wild, fueled by shock and the knowledge of the body that lay behind us.
The body I'd dropped.
Jackson tried the door. Locked. Typical. He examined the frame, then took a step back.
"This might be loud," he warned, before delivering a powerful shoulder charge. The door splintered open with a crack that echoed through the trees.
"Jesus," Ivy whispered. "Remind me never to lock you out of anywhere."
Jackson grunted as he tested his shoulder, then leaned against the frame for a moment. He was weak and struggling, that much was obvious, but he was determined.
Men. They never knew when to stop pushing themselves.
At least the house would provide some cover for him, since just looking at him in only his briefs had my teeth chittering.
The house was dark inside, the slivers of moonlight giving us enough to make out the area. A dusty living room with furniture draped in yellowed sheets like ghosts. The air smelled stale and damp, with undertones of mildew and abandonment.
"Power's probably out," Jackson stated as he lurched inside. "But check for switches anyway."
I moved to hook an arm around him once more, noting his ragged breaths. He leaned on me more than he was probably planning too, but I didn't comment. He'd saved our lives back there.
And then I'd saved his by taking one.
Ivy found a switch across the room and flipped it. To our surprise, a single overhead bulb flickered to life in what was the kitchen, spilling weak yellow light into the living room we stood in.
"Well, that's unexpected," she said. "Maybe this place isn't completely abandoned."
"Or someone's been using it," Jackson added, his voice grim.
He moved further into the house with my help, making sure I kept behind him when he checked each room methodically, aiming the gun into them.
The way he was moving—the careful, measured steps, the controlled breathing—told me he was running on pure willpower.
The house was small: living room, kitchen, bathroom, and two bedrooms. Basic furniture remained, covered in dust and cobwebs. One room had a mattress on the floor that had a few unsettling stains.
We returned to the kitchen after our checks. It housed a wood-burning stove and an ancient refrigerator that hummed ominously when Ivy opened it.
"Empty," she reported. "But cold. So there is electricity."
"Check the cabinets," Jackson instructed, leaning against the doorframe. I moved away from him to do as he asked.
I found a single can of beans that looked older than me. "Beans," I said, holding up the can. "Expired, but probably still edible."
"Water?" Jackson asked.
Ivy turned the faucet. It sputtered, then produced a stream of rusty-looking water. "Let it run," she suggested. "Might clear up."
While she dealt with that, I turned to Jackson. "Sit down. Now. Before you fall down."
This time, he didn't argue. He lowered himself onto one of the kitchen chairs, wincing as he did. He rested the gun on the table, keeping it close at hand.
A breeze swept through the smashed kitchen window, the thunder rumbling closer this time.
I knelt beside Jackson, examining the wound on his leg without undoing the belt, helping him lift it up onto a chair to keep it elevated.
"We need to clean this," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "And make sure the bleeding has stopped."
"And remove the tourniquet if it has. We don't need me getting tissue damage and losing my whole leg. Check the bathroom," he said through gritted teeth. "Look for supplies."
Ivy was already on it. She returned moments later with a shake of her head. "Nothing."
"Maybe in the van, can you stay with him?"
Ivy nodded as I headed back outside, not wanting to send Ivy back outside and into potential danger.
I stepped out onto the porch, glancing around uneasily as another breeze whipped by me. My silk dressing gown provided little protection from it, and my bare feet were freezing.
"You can do this. You need to help Jackson," I mumbled to myself as I headed down the porch steps and for the van.
I slowed as my gaze landed on Alfeo's body. His head was slightly turned, and I had the worst image flare into my mind of him gurgling and trying to rise.
Fuck that shit.
Thankfully, he was deader than dead, but I had to force myself to focus on the task at hand. I willed one foot in front of the other until I climbed into the van. I searched through it, counting my lucky stars when I found a first aid kit in the glovebox.
I paused, staring down at it in my hands, dried blood still staining them. The same hands that had just ended a life.
I closed my eyes, hating how my body began to tremble.
I had to do it. He was going to kill Jackson. He was going to kill us all.
I let out a shaky breath and opened my eyes, scrambling out of the van and refusing to look at Alfeo's body as I headed back inside.
I returned to Jackson and Ivy, opening the kit to find basic supplies: gauze, adhesive bandages, antiseptic, some tubes of saline, and a pair of scissors. And a small suture kit. Perfect.
"I need to take all this off and clean it," I told Jackson as I knelt before him, my cheeks heating despite the gravity of the situation. I was a little too close to his nether region right now.
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Right. Just don't let me bleed out, Elena. I don't want to die in only my briefs. Let a man have some dignity."
"Shut up," I said, relief flooding through me at this small sign that he wasn't completely defeated.
Jackson's hands went to his belt on his leg to assist, but his fingers fumbled with the buckle. I reached out to help him, our hands brushing. Even in this moment—covered in blood, traumatized, and terrified—I felt that same electric current that had been between us from the beginning.
"I can handle the belt," he said softly.
"I know you can," I replied, not moving my hands away. "But you don't have to. You've done enough, let me take care of you."
Our eyes met, and something passed between us. Understanding and gratitude, perhaps. Or something deeper. I helped him undo his belt and slide it up his leg so I could peel the bloody dish towel away.
I carefully examined the wound. The bullet had entered and exited cleanly, leaving two ragged holes about four inches apart that thankfully seemed to have stopped bleeding.
"Is this something that needs stitches?" I asked, examining the angry red edges.
Jackson shook his head. "No, leave that to a hospital. Even after cleaning, there could still be infection or bacteria. Just clean it and dress it for now." He grimaced. "Antibiotics would be good, but that's a stretch right now."
I took out the saline tubes, grimacing at the pain I was going to cause. "This is going to hurt."
He nodded, jaw set. "Do what you need to do."
Jackson talked me through the cleaning process with gritted teeth, occasionally hissing when I hit a particularly sensitive spot. I worked as gently as possible, but his knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the table.
Once I'd bandaged him up, he leaned back, exhaustion and pain evident on his face. "I'd almost kill for a drink right now. Painkillers aren't exactly an option."
"I'm sorry," I said, guilt washing over me. "For all of this."
His expression softened. "Don't be. You jumping in, saying I had to be alive for leverage, handling my wound—you probably saved my life several times."
And shooting a man dead.
"Don't thank me yet," I replied, attempting a smile. "You have to survive the night first."
"If I don't," he said, holding my gaze, "I'm still glad you stepped in. I've seen trained soldiers freeze up in situations like this."
Which I had done, several times. It had just been that inner voice that had forced me to move when I really needed to.
Ivy, who'd been silently watching from the corner, suddenly snorted. "So Elena did get laid tonight too then, 'cause this is some mushy bullshit."
The unexpected comment broke the tension, and we all burst into chuckles, Jackson wincing as the movement jarred his wound.
Maybe it was the waning adrenaline, or the craziness of this situation, but the chuckles and soft laughs were much needed right now.
It was the only way we were going to get through this.