34. Jaykob
Jaykob
Don’t be a hero.
G od damn it, no !
My chest seizes as Lucky hits the ground, already limp. Idiot . Brave , stupid idiot .
Pressing around the corner of the shed, I wring out a few rounds toward the tree line where some fuckers have started getting bold.
It won’t take long for them to work out that if we had more frags, we’d be using them.
Lucky is sprawled a few feet from the truck where he and Jasper had been trapped, the burning barn illuminating his figure in shadows.
Not moving.
Fuck .
I grit down against the rush of sick, icy horror.
Memories of Ryan , of getting the news, threaten to rise up, but there’s no way I have time for this shit.
Pulling on the tricks the head-doctor taught me—because no way will I admit it, but they do work— I force myself to take in my surroundings, to catalog the shitty visuals of my present.
At the same time, I press against the peeling, slick flesh of the burn wound running up my side, letting the pain anchor me.
Okay , not exactly what the posh prince recommended, but it works.
This is bad. I just made it out of the barn before the exits became unusable, only to get trapped behind the drying shed. Thanks to Lucky , we’re now free of the cluster over the far side that was closing in, but there are still too many in the trees trapping me here, and I’m running out of rounds.
If I could just get into the shed, I’d have a lot more fire power to work with, but trying now would only buy myself a quick plot in an early grave.
Jasper might be able to get out from behind that truck now, but the way he’s edging around it makes me think he’s gunning for Lucky over safety.
What’s left of him, anyway.
I grit my teeth, and peer round the corner of the shed toward the trees, wondering if I can make a run toward Bristlebrook . A bullet whistles beside my head, and I jerk back.
Yeah , that’s a no.
Heat from the barn sends sweat trickling down my spine. I weigh up whether to go to Jasper , but he’s even more exposed than I am. Not to mention that running through the clearing without cover, even ten yards, would probably be enough for them to put my lights out.
I check my magazine, grunting when my exposed burn tugs as I move.
Less than a dozen rounds. When I look up, Jasper crouches and creeps out into the clearing toward Lucky’s body.
Two bullets fly from the trees—one goes wide but the other slashes the air right beside his neck.
Jasper doesn’t flinch, doesn’t make any move to get out of the way, just keeps moving toward Lucky .
Firelight flickers over the determined set of his jaw.
“ Hey , asshole!” I shout at him. “ Get back behind the truck.”
There’s no point. The kid’s probably gone anyway. You don’t take two bullets to the chest and make it without heavy-duty and quick medical intervention. Jasper’s just going to get himself killed as well, and I ... don’t want that.
Jasper ignores me as neatly as he did the bullet. Damn it. This is not protocol. Panic fires through me. I lean out and fire toward the trees where the shots came from, shouting wildly at the stupid, untrained shrink.
“ This is goddamned. ”
Faces pull back and weapons gleam from the shadows.
“ Stupid . ”
The shots shift away from firing on Jasper and start piercing the flimsy shed around me. I grunt and duck lower. This is a bad angle for me, but if I move around the shed, I won’t be able to cover Jasper for shit.
“ Hero .”
I fire back twice and look back at Jasper , who’s pulling Lucky behind the truck.
“ Bullshit .”
Hollering in wild relief, I lean out to fire again and I ring on empty. “ Fuck .”
I toss down my now useless MK 16 and tug my Beretta out of my belt. It maybe has the range to reach the far tree line.
Maybe .
Unless something changes fast, we’re toast.