12. Knox
TWELVE
KNOX
Cringing, I drop the shovel in my hand and pick up Lars’s gun that skittered across the floor. My jaw, ribs, and temple scream with pain that’s so distracting, I can barely focus.
I see Lars ram into the back of Scott and Ava too late. He’s a bull in motion as he shoves them into the maintenance aisle, the shelves already broken from the earthquake. What’s left of the displays collapse entirely, the crash resounding through the warehouse.
“You piece of shit—” Lars rasps as he struggles to get to his feet. His face is red with rage and contorted with agony as he leans against a generator box. His side and hands are covered with blood, and he can barely stay on his feet as he reaches for an axe hanging on the hook beside him.
Adrenaline whirs through me, and without a second thought, I lift the gun, aim it at his back, and pull the trigger.
Lars cries out, grabbing onto the generator box before his hands slip off and he crumples into a heap on the ground.
My arm falls to my side as I catch my breath, but my relief is short-lived because Lars isn’t the only one not getting back up.
“Scott—” My mind flurries faster than my legs will carry me. I hurdle over a toppled seed stand and a broken broom, nearly stumbling at Lars’s dead body. Ava is unconscious, though I dare not think she’s dead, and Rick whimpers as he tries and fails to lift one of the generators off his middle.
“Help me, man,” he implores, tears in his eyes. His voice is reedy. “Please.”
But it’s Scott I can’t look away from. He sputters where he sits, staring down at the broom handle protruding through his stomach, then at me as he tries to catch his breath.
“Knox—”
I fall to my knees beside him, hands hovering where he’s been impaled, uncertain I’ve ever seen so much human blood. And I know he doesn’t have long. “What do I do?” I ask in a rush, because I know I can’t remove the wood without him bleeding out even faster.
Scott shakes his head and chokes on his breath. Blood gurgles from between his lips, and his eyes are filled with tears. “Ava?” he says hoarsely. He peers dazedly around.
“You gonna help me man, or what?” Rick whines, but the fight is gone from him.
I crawl over to Ava, ignoring Rick as I check her pulse. “Unconscious but breathing,” I reassure Scott. He swallows thick and loud and leans his head back on the shelving unit behind him, like he can no longer keep it up. “Take her and get out of here,” he chokes out.
I shake my head as I scurry back to him, thoughts racing and numb all at once. “Just—let me think. I can’t leave you like?—”
Scott grips my arm, forcing my eyes to his. “The...militia.”
“The militia?” Confusion fades quickly as I peer around his shop with new eyes—at the mess, and Ty’s mangled, bloody body, then at Lars and Rick. The cops would believe me if I told them what happened here, but the rest of Lars’s crew and all his friends are in the militia. I don’t want to take a chance on what they would do.
“Go,” Scott gurgles. He drops his arm, no longer strong enough to lift it. “Take supplies.” He swallows. “Do it. And take Ava with you.” Silent tears stream down his cheeks, and even if I am too overwhelmed to cry, I feel as if the ground is shattering beneath me. I’ve always respected Scott, and he’s shown me more kindness in the past two days than I ever had a right to.
“Please,” he whispers.
“Yes—I will. Of course I will.”
Scott’s chin trembles and he exhales a ragged breath.
I glance at Ava again, my mind reeling as I sort through the past thirty minutes. I don’t know why this man chose to help me today or how I’ve ended up here with Ava, of all people. Whether it’s sadness, the shock of having just killed someone, or relief it wasn’t me when so many times I thought it might be, my throat tighten with gratitude.
“Thank yo—” My breath catches when I look at Scott again. The light in his eyes is gone. He’s gone.