Chapter 17
The second mandies while he’s blinking down at his buddy’s dead body and the arrow jutting out of him.
The third one has a few seconds to say what sounds like what the fuck is happening? in a language I don’t understand before he’s down, too.
There’s no balance in this, though.
There’s only Apollo, crumpled at the base of a tree, his face red and his eyes glassy, with a swollen lip and a dark bruise spreading under one of his eyes.
He blinks at me when I crouch down next to him.
“They had little kids,” he says, sounding bewildered. “And women.”
“It’s okay.” I put my hand in his. Even his palm is burning up. “I came as fast as I could.”
“I’m dying,” he says sadly, the corners of his mouth turning. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“You’re not dying.”
And of course that’s when it happens. Of course it’s like a bad dream.
From somewhere on the mountain, somewhere close enough to hear, a wolf howls.
But, very faintly, I can hear?—
The beating of a helicopter’s rotors.