But I couldn't even tell him I love him.
Then I hear it.
Vehicles pulling into the compound.
Tires on gravel.
Doors slamming.
Shouting.
"They're here!" someone yells.
The room explodes into motion.
People rush toward the door.
Vail and Aesir grabbing their supplies.
Me frozen in place, unable to move, unable to breathe.
"Ingrid." Mom's hand on my arm. "Come on."
She pulls me forward, through the crowd, toward the entrance.
And then I see him.
Dad and Hakon are carrying him between them, his arms draped over their shoulders, his feet dragging on the ground.
He's pale.
Sopale.
Like all the blood has drained out of him.
And it has, I realize.
It's everywhere—soaking his shirt, his jeans, smeared across Dad’s hands, dripping onto the floor in a trail behind them.
So much blood.
How can one person have so much blood?
And the knife.
Oh god, the knife.
It's still there, buried in his left side, wrapped in what looks like someone's jacket to stabilize it.
The fabric is soaked through.
Dark and wet and terrible.
"Move!" Dad shouts. "Get him inside! Now!"
They push through the crowd, half-carrying, half-dragging Gunnar toward the medical room.
His head lolls to the side.
