Chapter Thirty-Five Hailey #2
He doesn’t go for Cole. He doesn’t retreat. He goes for me, because I am the closest, because I am the smallest, because I am the one who challenged him out loud and he is going to make me eat my words before anyone can stop him.
He hits me at full speed, the impact knocking the wind out of my lungs.
My back slams against the concrete railing of the footbridge.
He has both hands on the front of my jacket.
His face is inches from mine and he is snarling, shoving me backward over the railing while I kick at his shins and claw at his face.
“Hailey!”
Cole’s voice is too far. Then closer. It’s happening too fast.
“GET OFF HER—” He’s closing the distance. Halfway here, maybe.
Lars’s weight is crushing me into the railing. My ribs are on fire, but my hands find his face. I drive both thumbs at his eyes, and blood instantly sprays us both. He yowls and rears back, and his grip on my jacket loosens.
I shove.
I shove with everything I have left.
It’s not much. Three broken ribs. A concussion still making me weak.
But it’s enough. My hands land square in the center of his chest at the exact moment he steps back.
He hits the railing at the small of his back, and his feet leave the bridge.
For a fraction of a second he’s suspended, arms wheeling, eyes wide, mouth open in a perfect circle of surprise.
Then he goes over.
I hear him hit before I see it.
A single dull crack, the way a dropped melon sounds, and underneath it a wet, splintering thud, and then nothing.
Nothing.
I push off the railing. My legs nearly buckle. I lean over the edge just as Cole makes it to my side.
Lars is at the bottom of the dry creek bed, fifteen feet down, sprawled face-up across a flat slab of granite. His head is not the right shape. And there’s a petrified branch sticking up through the front of his jacket.
Through the front of his chest.
There’s blood everywhere. It’s pooling under him in a way I’ve only ever seen during the worst nights in the ER. Nights when there’s nothing and no one to save.
“Oh no.” My voice comes out with a desperate crack. “Oh no, oh no, oh no—”
I’m moving before I finish the sentence.
I swing one leg over the railing, but before I can get the other over, Cole drags me back.
“It’s too high!” he says, but I’m already racing for the end of the footbridge, the ache in my ribs a distant memory as adrenaline floods my system.
I skid down the embankment and pick my way as fast as I can through the debris in the creek bed.
I am vaguely aware of voices shouting around me, but all I can see is the body in front of me.
The position of the head. The absence of any chest movement at all.
I drop to my knees in the gravel beside him.
“Fuck!” I scream, rolling up my sleeves.
Behind me or above me, I don’t know, the entire group is moving. I hear Cole hit the slope at a run. Jessica is calling his name. Gravel crunches under boots.
I don’t have time. He doesn’t have time. I press two fingers to the side of his neck.
Nothing.
I lace my hands together and start compressions on a chest that has a piece of petrified wood sticking out of it.
“One and two and three and—”
“Hailey.” Cole drops to one knee in the gravel next to me. “Hailey, stop—”
“—four and five and six—”
Tyler’s voice comes next. “Hailey, what are you doing?”
Tyler is suddenly crouched on Lars’s other side, staring at me across the body.
“What are you doing?” he says again.
“CPR.” The word comes out flat, most of my attention still keeping count and time for my compressions. “I’m doing CPR. I’m doing— I’m doing CPR, Tyler, I’m a doctor, I’m supposed to save people, not murder them—”
“Hailey.”
“—eleven and twelve, thirteen—”
“Hailey, he’s clearly dead,” Tyler says, like he’s pointing out something deeply obvious. “Look at him. He’s got a tree through his sternum. There is no version of this where he’s alive.”
“I’m supposed to save people!” I scream, tears streaming down my face now.
“You are a wonder of medical science, Hailey, but there is nothing on earth you can do for this man.”
“I took an oath, Tyler! Goddammit!”
“We’re all very impressed with the oath. Stop pumping his chest.”
A strong hand settles on my shoulder. Light, warm, careful.
Cole.
“Hey.” His voice is soft, just for me. “It’s over. You can stop.”
The compressions slow.
Stop.
I sit back on my heels, pushing hair out of my face with bloodied hands.
The adrenaline goes out of me all at once, the way water goes out of a bathtub when you yank the plug. My hands are shaking. The vibration travels up my arms and into my chest and stays there.
Eyes watery, I risk a glance at what’s in front of me.
There’s gravel and blood pressed into my palms. Blood has soaked through the front of my pants. A dead man is at my knees, a piece of ancient tree through his torso, his head broken open on a rock, his face—
I look away. I’m going to be sick.
I’m not a murderer.
The five of them are around me now. Jessica is on the bridge above us, hands flat on the railing, looking down.
Grant is beside her, both cameras still rolling.
Zach, ten feet back, is scanning the dark for anyone who might have heard the commotion.
Cole is on his knees beside me. Tyler is still on the other side of the body, staring across at me like he feels sorry for me.
Nobody says anything for a very long time.
Eventually, Tyler breaks the silence. He looks down at Lars, then at the petrified branch and the rock. The blood on the gravel. The cameras still rolling on the bridge above us.
Then he looks at me, and I swear there’s an amused twinkle in his eyes.
“You know,” he says calmly, “maybe we should consider rebranding to Killers Anonymous.”
A noise comes out of me. I’m not sure if it’s a laugh or a sob or something in-between. Cole’s hand tightens on my shoulder. Jessica presses her fingers to the bridge of her nose.
“Tyler,” she calls down.
“What?” Tyler throws his hands up.
“Read the fucking room.”
“I am reading the room. The room needed that.”
She doesn’t answer, because—God help us all—he isn’t wrong.
I drop my forehead onto Cole’s shoulder.
Behind us, Stalkers Anonymous gets to work.