Chapter Twenty-One
With Grav and Laurel close behind, Rok sprinted after the dog. Kevin raced out of the theater and around the corner into the greenbelt across the street. He disappeared among the tall weeds.
Rok followed his barking.
As he drew closer, the smell of fresh blood hit his nostrils. And then he saw her. “Chloe!” She lay still as death among the tall grass, blood gushing from her head and soaking into the ground. “Oh, Zok, no, Chloe! Chloe!”
Kevin licked her face. Rok dropped to his knees beside her body. He started to pick her up.
“Don’t touch her! Let me see.” Kneeling, Laurel gently pushed Kevin out of the way. She pressed her fingers to Chloe’s neck. “She’s still alive.”
Relief shuddered through him.
“But I can’t tell how bad it is yet.”
Kevin nosed forward, trying to get close to Chloe.
“Good doggy. You’re a good doggy.” Laurel looked up at a grim-faced Grav. “Take the dog and get Damon. He should be close by. He planned to attend today’s meeting.”
Grav captured the leash then picked up the whining, writhing dog and sprinted away.
“Chloe.” Eyes stinging, Rok gripped her limp hand. What could have happened?
Laurel examined her head. “She’s bleeding in two places, from the back of her skull and her right temple. Falling and hitting her head on a rock doesn’t explain the temple wound.”
Her fingers parted Chloe’s hair. “I can’t see. Can you find something so I can mop the blood? A towel, a rag—”
“My shirt?” He was already pulling it off.
“That will work.” As she pressed it to Chloe’s temple, her face scrunched up in pain.
“That hurts her!”
“It’s a good sign. She’s rousing. Damon will know more, but I think she knocked herself out when she fell. She might have a concussion. I need to check the back of her head, but I’m hesitant to move her until Damon gets here.”
“Why would she fall?” He glanced around for what might have tripped her, but saw nothing suspicious, only a small canister. Hadn’t that been clipped to her belt?
“She could have tripped over the dog or his leash or a hole in the ground.” Laurel lifted the shirt to examine her temple. “You can’t see anything in this grass—oh, my god!”
“What? What is it?”
“I think she was shot.” She craned her neck to peer over the tall weeds and then ducked, motioning for him to peer at the wound.
A bloody abrasion, not quite a groove, streaked Chloe’s skull just above her ear. He nodded grimly. She couldn’t have hit both the side and back by falling.
Laurel reapplied pressure to Chloe’s temple with his shirt.
“Whoever shot her could still be around.” He pulled his vaporizer from his holster and started to get up.
“What are you doing?” she mouthed.
“I’m going to take a look around. Whoever attacked her might still be here.” He peered over the weeds. Not seeing anybody, he crept upright. Trampled weeds in a zig-zag pattern led away from Chloe. He followed the tracks out of the greenbelt and up the street.
On his hands and knees, a human male retched into the gutter, a pistol on the concrete beside him. “Fucking goddamn bitch. Chloe, you bitch. As soon as I can see, I’m going to kill you if I didn’t do it already.”
A chilling calm filled Rok. “Human,” he said.
The male’s head snapped up, and he squinted, red eyes tearing and his nose running like a faucet. “Who’s there?” He fumbled for his gun.
Rok fired. Zzzz. The man’s molecules dissipated into the atmosphere, leaving behind a guide’s silver medallion and a small gray tracking disc. Rok crushed the disc under his heel and scooped up the medallion.
He ran back to Chloe.