A thin hand dug into Blake’s shoulder as the woman pushed herself up. She wavered but stood. Blake followed her up. When he met her eyes, he didn’t see any fear.
She cupped her daughter’s face, thumb wiping her tears. “I love you,” she rasped, managing a small smile.
She shoved the little girl at Blake. Her lip wobbled, eyes wet as she met his gaze.
“Take care of her.”
Then she was gone, dragging her leg behind her as she limped toward the oncoming FUD.
“Wait! Stop!” he shouted, but was drowned out by the little girls’ shrieking.
“Mommy!” she lurched forward. Blake barely caught her. She struggled against him.
“Lewis!” Alvarez called.
He watched the distance between the woman and the FUD close. She veered off toward a side street. The FUD twisted its head and changed course to go after her. Everyone kept screaming. Blake might have been screaming too; he wasn’t sure. But he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t?—
Blake was jerked backward by the backpack. Alvarez had the handle, pulling Blake after him. He stumbled over his feet, holding the girl against his chest. She was still crying, a hand reaching out for her mother. Blake glanced back to see the woman disappearing around the corner, the FUD close behind.
He pushed the little girl’s face into his shoulder and ran.
Tyler already had the truck running as they came into view. They didn’t bother getting in; they just jumped straight into the bed. Tires squealed, and the truck rocked forward before they’d even landed.
Blake didn’t remember leaving the city. Or the conversations around him. He was curled up against the cab, holding the little girl tight, trying to keep her warm. She sobbed for a long time, railing against him with her small fists. Eventually, she fell silent and slumped against him, her face sticky with tears.
Her hair whipped against his face as the city grew smaller. He felt disconnected. Like he was looking down at himself. His eyes burned, but he didn’t want to blink. Every time he did, he saw the woman. Smelled her blood. Felt her thin wrist in his hand. The harsh lines of her gaunt face, scabbed lips, her life bleeding away, and she still managed to smile at her daughter.
Why did he let her go? If he had just held on, pulled her with him to the other side of the car, she would be here. It would be her hands comforting her child. He couldn’t even bring himself to feel the guilt of yet another failure. He just felt nothing.
He had barely said anything to her, but she’d entrusted him with her daughter. Her whole world. Then, without a trace of fear or hesitation, she sacrificed herself for them.
And Blake didn’t even know her name.
CHAPTER
TEN
Gabriel paced. His boots scraped across the parking lot, a rhythmic sound that he followed like a metronome. The fireside conversation in the center of the parking lot held no interest for him. As one of the first temperate nights in months, Judd wasted no time in building a small fire in the center of the parking lot. People filtered in as duties permitted, some cooking food over the open flames and others just enjoying the warmth of the fire and the company around it.
Normally, Gabriel would be with them. Usually just enjoying Judd and Phin’s heckling, or Tommy’s quiet observations. Sometimes, Victoria would even tell them stories of her flying days. Even Irving joined them once. It was a nice reprieve.
But not tonight. Not for Gabriel.
It had been over twelve hours since Blake left, and he couldn’t sit still. He could feel his team’s eyes on him as he paced, circling just outside the ring of light like a predator skulking in the night. Keeping to the shadows to avoid being seen. To protect his soft underbelly.
Gabriel couldn’t sit still. His skin was itchy, stretched too tight. His breaths were shallow and quick, like his body was primed and ready to go. Ready to move, bouncing on the ballsof his feet, fingers clenching and unclenching while his heart rabbited in his chest.
God, he wanted a drink.
It had been years since he’d had a drink, but he could still remember the feel. The weight of the bottle. The coolness of the glass in his palm. Peeling the sodden label with his thumbnail. Even the clink of the bottle on his teeth, like a herald trumpeting relief.
Alcohol was easy to find. The crates stacked in the corner of their little canteen called to him like a siren song. They always did, but it used to be distant—muted by time and willpower. The little coins he hated so much at first but then clung to like a testament to his will, a reminder of what he could do, acted like steel reinforcements. It kept his hands in his pockets and his tongue dry.
But now those coins were lost, probably melted down underneath some rubble. His pockets were empty of hands and crochet hooks. The call was loud,so loud.He couldn’t ignore it. A symphony between his ears, pounding and pounding, until all he wanted to do was give in.
Just a taste. A swallow. And why shouldn’t he?
Sobriety didn’t count anymore. Not when he’d gone toe-to-toe with extraterrestrials and survived. Not when the whole world was in flames, and he was scraping a living in a shitty motel with nothing but canned peaches and the cold wind biting at his nose.
