Chapter 34 Brek
brEK
My body leans heavily against the side of the building. I adjust so that I have a clear view of the road leading into the parking lot, the front door, and the truck slightly behind me with the three men in the back.
I’m surprised they don’t run right now while I’m alone. It’ll be easy to overwhelm me. I’m sure they can tell I’m injured. Yet, they remain where they are. Unmoving. Watching.
The pain in my side and my ankle is a constant background throb. Sometimes, that noise gets louder and threatens to overwhelm me. I’m trying to ignore the way I’m shaking. There’s a chance it might be because I’m cold, but I don’t feel cold.
It’s peaceful here. There are birds singing, which feels mocking. They sing while humans run around in the trees below, murdering other humans. The birds continue to sing.
I look beyond the truck into the trees, wondering if the others are finding success. How many are going to die? The hunters, yes. As they should die. But how many of the innocent will also lose their lives attempting to get free?
There’s no movement in the trees except within the canopy. Birds fly between branches. Squirrels jump and run along tree limbs. The bird song is joined by squirrel chitters. Somewhere in the distance, someone screams. A shudder runs along my spine.
I turn back to the road, but I move too quickly. My head spins, and I have to close my eyes for a minute. I have such a damn headache. There’s a chance it’s from my broken glasses. I can’t see properly, and it’s straining my eyes.
Crunching gravel has me shifting so I can listen more. There’s an unmistakable gunshot from inside. It makes my heart jump, and I shift to look at the door. My attention doesn’t stay there as an unfamiliar SUV comes through the trees. It parks, and all four doors swing open.
The man in the passenger seat steps out, and I raise the gun in my hand, pulling the trigger.
I miss. I don’t get the gun up in time to hit anything or anyone.
The rifle feels really heavy, but I heave it up and take aim at the windshield.
I’m bound to hit someone if the bullet can make it through the glass.
“Brek!”
My body sways at my name. There’s a chance I’m hearing things, though.
The pulsing in my ears is loud. Fear fills me.
There are at least four people in that vehicle, based on all the doors opening at the same time.
If we count the three behind me, we’re outnumbered.
Especially because I’m pretty useless with a gun. With any weapon.
“Brek, stop,” Voss says, his hand closing around the rifle in my hand. He swings the barrel toward the sky, his hand covering mine over the trigger. “It’s okay. They’re not strangers.”
“I don’t know that guy,” I insist, thinking of the man from the passenger side. I didn’t have a chance to look at the others.
Voss takes the rifle from my hands, and honestly, I’m glad for it. He pulls me to his chest, handing the gun to Malcolm. “Sure you do. That’s Doc Mark. He was at the big house for weeks when Axl was born.”
We’re joined by the occupants of the SUV now, and yeah, okay. I recognize the triplets easily enough. Now that Doc Mark is close… I shiver. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”
Voss removes my glasses, and I close my eyes. Now I’m really shaking. All of me hurts. The pain is becoming overwhelming. I feel like I’m shaking uncontrollably.
The feeling of glasses sliding back onto my face has me opening my eyes, and it’s like magic. I can see again. How the hell did he fix them so quickly? And they’re clean!! Such a little thing, but I can see.
It doesn’t clear up my headache, but the twinge behind my eyes subsides. “Thanks.”
“Let’s go inside,” Voss says. “Let Mark look at your wound.”
I don’t argue.
“Don’t kill the guys in the back of the truck,” Voss says. “I hesitate to tell you not to hurt them since they’re clearly involved, but…” He shakes his head as he practically carries me to the front door.
“Is it safe in there?” I ask.
Two of the triplets remain outside, heading to the truck. The other joins me, Voss, and Malcolm, heading inside.
“It’s safe. Two are dead. One is…”
“Unconscious,” Malcolm says. “I don’t think he’ll wake up for a while.”
Fear of being surprised when we step inside has my feet dragging. Or maybe they just feel heavy. It could be the pain in my ankle that makes me slow down. Or the overwhelming feeling that I might throw up.
Malcolm goes in first. The remaining triplet, which is probably Imry since the other two never split up, opens the door for us to step inside.
It looks like a stereotypical hunting cabin. There’s furniture made of logs and woodland fabric. Deer antler chandeliers. Carcasses of dead animals hanging on the walls and over the mantle. There’s a bearskin rug in front of the fireplace with a real taxidermy head.
Voss helps me to the couch and adjusts his hold on me so I can sit. I hesitate, my grip on him tightening.
“I’m not leaving you. Promise,” he says, kissing my cheek. “Mark needs to look at your bullet wound, Brek.”
I look around. This place makes me uneasy. Voss urges me a little more insistently, and I allow myself to sit. He sits with me and then coaxes me into lying down with my head in his lap. Okay. I can do this. Using Voss’ thigh as my pillow means he’s not going anywhere.
Mark and Voss take my shirt off me. I try to help, but now that I’m lying down, everything about me feels really heavy. It’s a struggle to move.
Their voices sound like they’re coming from a distance. I feel everywhere Mark touches. It’s a stabbing pain and cold. Like he’s constantly poking me everywhere with something out of the freezer.
“What’re the rest of these injuries from?” Mark asks.
“He fell down a hill,” Voss says.
“Did you hit your head, Brek?”
I think about the fall. I remember rolling forever. Every revolution hurt as I was poked and stabbed and scraped on my way down. I hit trees, mostly saplings, fallen, rotting logs, and stumps. Not to mention the rocks that jutted out from the side of the hill.
I remember looking up to the top when I lay beside the rushing water. It was only a stream, but the streambed was wide. I bet it floods during rainstorms. It was probably an actual river at one time. It wouldn’t take much convincing to think that humans interfered with its flow.
“Brek?”
Oh, right. Did I hit my head? “I don’t know,” I answer. “I don’t think I did, but I can’t remember.”
“How does your head feel?” Mark asks. “Is it tender to the touch anywhere? Do you have a headache?”
His hands move through my hair, around my head, and at the base of my skull.
Along my neck. “It doesn’t hurt,” I tell him.
“Not when you touch me. But yeah, I have a headache. Might have been because my glasses were broken and it was straining on my eyes, though. It could also be because my entire body hurts and the pain hasn’t stopped since I was shot. ”
“When did his fever begin?” Mark asks.
Since his question doesn’t sound like it’s directed at me, I let my body sag against Voss.
“Two days ago. About thirty-six hours or so after he was shot. We have basic pain relief in the first-aid kits, but it wasn’t touching the fever much.”
“First-aid kits?”
Voss snorts. “Yeah. Dude, this place is weird as fuck. I kept him on pain meds, trying to combat the fever and his pain. We cleaned his bullet wound often, but there wasn’t much we could do. There wasn’t someone with medical training, so we did what made sense.”
“You did well, given what you had available. It’s relatively clean.”
“It’s infected, though, isn’t it?”
“The infection might be from the injury itself and not your lack of cleaning. Infection happens sometimes. We’ll take care of it.”
A little bell chimes, and I peel my eyes open. The rest of the triplets are coming through the front door with the three men from the back of the truck. They usher them to sit against the wall opposite the couch I’m lying on.
“Rhodes has the man in the barn with the branding irons,” a triplet says. “What do you want to do with him?”
“Save him for Az. I think he’ll enjoy him for dessert,” Voss says.
I glance up at the triplets. “Is he going to eat the guy?” I ask, mortified.
Laughter meets my question.
“No,” Voss says, brushing my hair from my forehead. “We’re calling hunting the hunters his main course. The guy who burned numbers into our skin is dessert.”
“What was the appetizer?”
“I’m sure he’ll find that on the way.”
I yawn and close my eyes again. “Can I go to sleep now?”
“Yes,” Mark answers. “Sleep, Brek. You’re safe now.”
With another yawn, I fall into darkness. It’s blessedly quiet and dream-free.