Chapter 28
As it turns out, Logan was right.
His network alerts us as soon as the Holy Rollers cross the southern boundary of his territory.
And Burgundy was right.
It’s a big group. Two pickup trucks and a couple dozen men.
And I was right too.
Jesse is guiding them along the route I predicted.
We have to leave only fifteen minutes after we get word of their approach so we can all be in position in time.
Micah, Burgundy, and I take one of the larger ATVs on a trail through the woods to get as close to the best vantage point as possible before we start hiking.
The others are all positioned close to the road so it’s easy for them to get to where they need to go quickly. But we have to get to the top of a steep hill where no road or trail has ever gone.
Maybe I was being clueless, but I wasn’t expecting the hike to be so difficult. Once we get near the highest point, it feels more like mountain climbing than walking.
My only reassurance is that Micah and Burgundy don’t appear to be having a great time either. Micah is dripping with sweat, and Burgundy is focused on each foot as she steps with dedicated attention. None of us are saying a word.
There isn’t anything to say.
We’re not far from the top when damned random chance strikes in the worst possible way.
I didn’t do anything wrong or stupid. That should be made clear. But bad luck sometimes hits anyway.
The rocky ground I put my shoe on gives way without warning.
I grapple for better footing, but there is none. The whole section of the slope crumbles like a small landslide, taking me with it as it cascades down the hill.
I hit the ground face-first. Hard. The ankle that lost footing gets twisted weirdly and painfully. And all my exposed skin gets scratched by the rocks and scrubby foliage as I slide.
The impact of my face on the ground stuns me. My vision darkens briefly as Burgundy cries out in fear, and it’s only bone-deep instinct that compels me to keep grabbing for a hold to stop my slide. I finally manage to get a grip on a big tree root and hold on.
That’s all I can do. I can’t see or think or feel anything but the pain on my face and in my ankle and throughout my entire body.
“Oh fuck. No, no, please no. Oh no, baby.”
Micah’s hoarse voice is what finally breaks through my stunned, pained stupor. It’s soft but getting closer. So is the scrabbling sound of motion near me.
Then his hands are on me. I bite back a groan as he gently turns me over.
“Fuck, baby, you’re not going to do this to me. You’re not going to die when I only just found you.” He wipes at my face with some sort of fabric. I don’t know what it is because I can’t open my eyes.
He sounds so scared. So broken. I can’t let him stay that way.
“Shit.” That’s the only word that comes out.
He makes a choked sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Kat, baby, open your eyes. You’re okay. You’ve got to be okay.”
It takes a ridiculous amount of effort, but I manage to pry up my eyelids and stare up at Micah’s fuzzy face. “I’m fine,” I croak.
He makes that choking sound again. “I think fine might be optimistic, but at least you’re not dead. Can you tell me what hurts?”
“Everything.”
He’s been stretching the bottom of his T-shirt over in an attempt to wipe blood off my face, but now he gives up and pulls the shirt over his head completely. He’s wiping at my face again as Burgundy joins us, kneeling down beside me.
“Oh my God, Kat. Your face looks terrible. I’m surprised you didn’t knock yourself out, you hit so hard.”
“I think it was touch and go.” I stifle another groan as I try to stretch my arms and legs. “But I think it’s mostly my ankle and all the scratches. Help me up, Micah.”
Micah’s hands are so gentle as he lifts me to a sitting position, and then when I grab onto his shoulders for support, he lifts me to my feet.
Sharp pain slashes through me when I put weight on my twisted ankle. “Damn it!”
Micah doesn’t hesitate. He swings me into his arms and starts carrying me up the hill.
“I could do it.” I cling to his neck, feeling touched and off-balance at the same time.
“I know you could, baby, but we don’t have time for limping right now.”
“He’s right. We don’t have long to get into position.” Burgundy is keeping pace beside Micah. “Assuming our estimate of their speed is close to right, they’ll be in view in a few minutes. Do you think you’ll be able to shoot?”
“I’ll try.” I swallow hard, still jarred and rattled and in a lot of pain. Blood is trickling down my face and into my eyes. “Maybe you should run down and get Deck up here just in case.”
“There isn’t time,” she says. “Micah’s vision is too poor at this distance, so if you can’t do it, then I’ll have to do it instead.”
“Okay.” I don’t argue because I have no experience with Burgundy’s skill with a long-range rifle. She’s shown herself to be a very competent person, so she might very well be as good as me and Deck. “I’ll try, and we’ll go from there.”
Micah moves faster than I would have dared, especially hauling a whole-ass person in his arms, and soon we’re near the top of the slope in our plotted position.
Burgundy dampens Micah’s T-shirt with some of our water and uses it to clean more of the blood off my face.
Then Micah helps me get into a kneeling position.
It’s always easier to shoot from a prone position, but there’s far too much brush here to get a good view that low.
The rifle is slightly shaky as I settle it on my shoulder. The road below is blurred through the scope.
I suck in a raspy breath, frustrated at my own cursed luck.
“We’ve got time,” Micah says, low and reassuring. “Just take a minute to settle yourself.”
We don’t have much time, but I use a minute of it to try to clear my mind and my vision. Then I try again.
This time I can see better, but I can’t line up the shots I’ll need. “I need to stand up. I’m still too low here.”
Micah pulls me to my feet and puts an arm around my waist to keep me steady. Then I turn to Burgundy so she can wipe off more of the blood so it doesn’t get into my eyes.
I try to line up the shots again, and this time I’m at the right height. But I can’t stand steady without Micah holding me up, and his body interferes with my positioning. It takes some strength to shoot a rifle in a standing position, and I don’t have it right now.
Plus my mind isn’t entirely clear. I don’t trust myself to hit the tires like this.
“Maybe you should try,” I say to Burgundy. “I’m worried I can’t do it in this condition.”
No one objects. We have no time for extraneous conversation anyway.
Micah helps me sit down again, and Burgundy takes my place. She’s three or four inches taller than me, so she’ll have a better line of sight than me anyway.
Her hands and body are steady. She clearly knows what she’s doing. She aims the rifle. Adjusts and tries it again. Then takes a deep breath and does it one more time.
Then she shakes her head and hands the rifle back to me. “I can’t. My vision is better than Micah’s, but this is too far for me. I’ll miss, and it will lead to major problems. We don’t have time to get Deck. It’s got to be you, Kat.”
I gulp, suddenly filled with anxiety, with pressure, with the weight of responsibility I haven’t felt in so long.
All this time I’ve only had myself and Molly to look out for. But now everyone is depending on me.
On me.
And I can’t let them down.
Micah kneels beside me and takes my face in his big hands—lightly so he doesn’t hurt the scratches on my skin. “You’ve got this, baby. Maybe no one else in the world could do it after sliding down a mountain, but you’ve got it.”
My throat hurts. My chest hurts. My head hurts. The world is a shaky, shuddering blur around me.
But I believe him.
I nod mutely and let him help me stand back up.
“Maybe Micah can get in front of you and you can support the rifle on his shoulder. It’s not the safest thing, but at least it will keep the rifle steady for you.”
“Okay, yeah.” I wipe my eyes with my shirtsleeve. “That might work.”
“Just move me however you want me,” Micah says. “You want my front or back?”
“Your back, I think.”
He turns around, and his body is big and solid so it’s easy to lean forward against him instead of holding my weight on my bad ankle.
“But you’re too tall.”
“So I’ll kneel. Or crouch. Move me into whatever position works, and I’ll hold it. I promise.”
Swallowing hard, I push down on his shoulder. He lowers himself until he’s the right height, but his crouched position looks so awkward and unwieldy that I whimper. “This is terrible. Try kneeling. You’ll be steadier that way.”
He does as I say and looks far more stable, but his shoulder height isn’t quite right.
“Oh, here,” Burgundy says, hurrying over with her small pack. She positions it on Micah’s shoulder and then helps me rest the rifle on top of it. “That looks better.”
“Yeah. That’s as good as it’s going to get. Are you okay, Micah?”
“I’m fine. I’ll hold still for you. I promise.”
“But your poor ear. You’ll go deaf.”
“I’m fine, Kat,” he says. “You’re the best shot I’ve ever known. You’re smarter and stronger and more capable than anyone else. I know you’re hurt. I know you’ve been hurt way too many times. But you can still do this. I’ve got you, and you’ve got this. I promise you do.”
His words wash over me like a blessing, like a drug. With sharp pleasure and deep assurance.
He believes them. He believes all that about me. He’s never tried to control or dominate. He’s never once demanded, in service to his ego, that I be anything less than I am.
He’s never once put himself ahead of me.
Tears blur my eyes briefly, but I blink them away until I can see clearly. I lean slightly to get in the right position for the shot. It’s much easier with it supported on Micah and the pack. I line up the rifle.
I’m holding it steady, and Micah is holding me steady.
He always has.
He always will.
“I love you too,” I hear myself saying just before one pickup truck and then the other comes into view around the curve of the road in the distance.
He makes a small sound in his throat but doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.
It’s less than a minute later when the first vehicle reaches the right point in the road. I take a deep breath. Settle my mind. And shoot.
The vehicle veers wildly as the tire is blown out.
I shift my aim until I can get the front tire of the second pickup, which is jerking out of the way of the truck in front of it.
I hit that tire too.
I was hoping to keep helping, shooting whichever of the men I could get from this advantageous position. But it all catches up to me in an instant. The past few minutes, the day, the week, the months since Micah dropped into my life, the three and a half years since Impact.
All of it hits me at once. And my knees buckle.
Micah straightens up and turns around just in time to keep me from falling. He hands Burgundy the rifle and pulls me into his arms.
And it’s okay. All of it is really okay. I might be injured, bloodied, shaky, and on the edge of collapse. But it’s still okay.
Because I’ve got Micah.
And he’s got me.