He makes a sobbing sound. He lowers his head to the crook of my neck.
I realize I’m still lying on the road, and he’s kneeling on the pavement beside me.
“How am I still alive?” I ask, finally able to pry open my eyelids to blink into the morning light.
“I dunno, baby. It’s a goddamn miracle. But you’ve made it this far, so I’m not gonna let you die.”
“I’m not sure we have a choice. I’m shot real bad.”
“I know you are. We’re gonna get you help. Robin has a medic on his crew. He said she’s the best there is. We just gotta get you up and outta here before more troops come.”
“What happened to the ones here?”
Ben is lifting me up now, and I cry out at the slice of pain from the change in position. But I’m up in his armsbefore I realize it’s happening. “We got ’em all. Everyone came back to help, and Robin’s crew rallied. We took all of ’em out.”
“Oh. Wow. They all came back. I wish I could’ve seen it.” My voice is way too weak. The small surge of energy I summoned to wake up is fading. I don’t think I’m going to make it through the next hour, but at least I got to hear the end.
Ben made it. A lot of us made it. If anyone else didn’t, I’ll be gone before I hear the bad news.
“Don’t give up, baby. We’re gonna get you through this. I’m gonna get you to the truck. The medic is waiting to treat you there. Then we’ll get away and be okay.”
“I… I don’t think so. But I love you.”
“I love you too, but stop sounding so glum. You’re gonna make it.” He adjusts his hold on me so he’s cradling me more securely. Then he strides quickly down the road.
I’m trying to keep my eyes open because I’m starting to see other people. A lot of them. Gathered between us and the truck.
My people. My friends.
A glint of gold hair clues me to Robin being the first one we reach. He’s wounded too, and his face is smeared with dirt and blood. But he’s standing. He meets my eyes as Ben carries me closer. Then he gives me a dry twitch of a smile as he raises the automatic rifle he’s holding, extending it in a silent salute.
The rest of his crew is with him. I don’t know all theirnames yet. They all make the same salute as Ben carries me past them.
Then Roderick does it too, hefting up his rifle, his expression utterly sober. Then everyone else does the same. Jim and Carlos. Chelle. Ryan. Sasha. Heidi and Jon. Face after face I know and love.
I recognize the truth. They all know I’m going to die, and this is their goodbye.
And it’s okay. It really is. Seven years ago, when I fled my marriage and the Capitol with Ben, I told Teresa I wanted to do something. Something important. Something that might make the world better.
And I’ve done it. Not alone—never alone—but I’ve done it.
And I’ve found friendship and loyalty and laughter and love along the way.
“Don’t you dare give up,” Ben mutters. “We’re almost there.”
He’s putting a lot of faith in the skills of a medic against a bullet to the chest, but I guess it’s worth a try.
Vella is standing at the end of the row of our people, openly crying as she raises her pistol.
I mouth out “Thank you” to her before Ben takes me to the open door of the truck and gently sets me inside.
The motion hurts so much—so deeply—that I black out again.
29
I’m not dead.
Every time I wake up from sleep now, that’s my first recognition. As if my mind can’t recall that the bullet that penetrated my flesh between my shoulder and chest didn’t rip my body apart completely.
