28
As it turns out,Logan was right.
His network alerts us as soon as the Holy Rollers cross the southern boundary of his territory.
And Burgundy was right.
It’s a big group. Two pickup trucks and a couple dozen men.
And I was right too.
Jesse is guiding them along the route I predicted.
We haveto leave only fifteen minutes after we get word of their approach so we can all be in position in time.
Micah, Burgundy, and I take one of the larger ATVs on a trail through the woods to get as close to the best vantage point as possible before we start hiking.
The others are all positioned close to the road so it’s easy for them to get to where they need to go quickly. But we have to get to the top of a steep hill where no road or trail has ever gone.
Maybe I was being clueless, but I wasn’t expecting the hike to be so difficult. Once we get near the highest point, it feels more like mountain climbing than walking.
My only reassurance is that Micah and Burgundy don’t appear to be having a great time either. Micah is dripping with sweat, and Burgundy is focused on each foot as she steps with dedicated attention. None of us are saying a word.
There isn’t anything to say.
We’re not far from the top when damned random chance strikes in the worst possible way.
I didn’t do anything wrong or stupid. That should be made clear. But bad luck sometimes hits anyway.
The rocky ground I put my shoe on gives way without warning.
I grapple for better footing, but there is none. The whole section of the slope crumbles like a small landslide, taking me with it as it cascades down the hill.
I hit the ground face-first. Hard. The ankle that lost footing gets twisted weirdly and painfully. And all my exposed skin gets scratched by the rocks and scrubby foliage as I slide.
The impact of my face on the ground stuns me. My vision darkens briefly as Burgundy cries out in fear, andit’s only bone-deep instinct that compels me to keep grabbing for a hold to stop my slide. I finally manage to get a grip on a big tree root and hold on.
That’s all I can do. I can’t see or think or feel anything but the pain on my face and in my ankle and throughout my entire body.
“Oh fuck. No, no, please no. Oh no, baby.”
Micah’s hoarse voice is what finally breaks through my stunned, pained stupor. It’s soft but getting closer. So is the scrabbling sound of motion near me.
Then his hands are on me. I bite back a groan as he gently turns me over.
“Fuck, baby, you’re not going to do this to me. You’re not going to die when I only just found you.” He wipes at my face with some sort of fabric. I don’t know what it is because I can’t open my eyes.
He sounds so scared. So broken. I can’t let him stay that way.
“Shit.” That’s the only word that comes out.
He makes a choked sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Kat, baby, open your eyes. You’re okay. You’ve got to be okay.”
It takes a ridiculous amount of effort, but I manage to pry up my eyelids and stare up at Micah’s fuzzy face. “I’m fine,” I croak.
He makes that choking sound again. “I think fine might be optimistic, but at least you’re not dead. Can you tell me what hurts?”
“Everything.”
