I was worth sacrificing.
Focus on your breaths.
In. Out.
The panic washed over my mind like it always did, in flares and flashes of the horrors that haunted the past three years of my life.
They lower Princeton to a cot, and Dr. Grayson lifts his bloody shirt to reveal a bullet hole through his abdomen. “It might be okay if it didn’t hit anything,” Dr. Grayson says, prodding gently around the wound. He checks for an exit wound, and there it is, straight through Princeton’s back, lower than his kidney should be.
A seed of hope sprouts in my heart, and I grasp for Princeton’s hand. He squeezes back, warm and strong.
“What can I do?” I ask, ignoring all his squad members hovering around us.
“See if Adam has any of his moonshine left.”
I force out a laugh.
Dr. Grayson cleans and dresses the wound, but we have no surgical capabilities. We operate on prayer alone. Russian roulette, military style.
Time passes.
His hand grows hot.
His teeth chatter.
“What do you think happens when we die?” he asks.
“We meet Jesus,” Tekqua says, certain. “And our Father in Heaven.”
I press my lips together. It’s a prettier answer than the one I could supply—we simply cease to exist.
“Even if we’ve killed people?” Princeton asks.
Tekqua’s voice gentles. “Have you prayed for forgiveness?”
“I don’t pray.”
“I’ll pray for you, then.”
And she does. Her palm presses over his heart, and she pleads to a god I’ve never trusted to watch over him, to take him peacefully when his time comes. Her words morph until she’s praying for all of us, begging God to end the war and help our enemies see the error of their ways.
I lay there, bitter, imagining the supporters of the NAO doing the same—wishing we would recognize our wrongness and fall into the fold. Tekqua thanks God for His mercy and grace while I recount all the things—all the people—that have been taken from me.
When she finishes, a single tear falls from Princeton’s closed eyes, trailing over his temple. The sight is a jagged shard of glass, cutting. Shoving down the burn in my throat, I grip his hand. The rapid tattoo of his pulse beats against my fingers like a drum.
His body relaxes into sleep. I exchange a worried glance with Tekqua, but no words exist to encompass the sheer degree of fear that overtakes me.
He isn’t getting better. We both know it.
Eventually, I drift off.
When I wake, Princeton’s hand in mine is finally cooler. His fever has broken! I rise to my elbow to smile down at him, but his eyes are shut.
His eyes are…shut. His chest isn’t moving.
“Princeton?” I shake his shoulder, ignoring the frigid temperature of his skin.
Tekqua wakes. She blinks at me, confused.
