Page 22 of Sawyer’s Mistake

Sawyer’s cracked ribs protested against the carry, but the pain was only a shadow of the phantom agony in his wrist. He felt a cloud of darkness approach, and then a blessed nothingness took over.

Chapter 11

Saoirse

They ran deep into the forest. Prado was in the lead, fighting his way through the overgrown trees with a small machete, followed by Alix, Eva, and Saoirse. Though branches and barbs hit him as he cleared a path for them, his gait was smooth and steady.

“Step where I’m stepping, Saoirse,” Eva had instructed, and Saoirse did her best to do exactly that, though she shuddered at the sounds of rustling leaves around her, hating the thought of what might be behind each noise. She’d always been more of a city person herself. Being out here, exposed, waiting for the Remur to catch up with them, was a nightmare. She wanted to close her eyes and curl up into a ball until it was over. But she couldn’t afford to break down now.

She looked at the way the two women in front of her moved, their strides smooth and long. In a previous life, she imagined both might have been runners. Saoirse herself had never been a runner. Even back at school, at her fittest, she had to drag herself through a mile run. The only sport she’d ever enjoyed, and it’d come as a surprise when she’d discovered this at the Residence gym, had been climbing. She’d found the combination of a mental and physical puzzle a good method for relieving stress.

She’d always been rested when she climbed. Now, she felt like her body had been put through a grinder. She felt light-headed. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep up this pace.

She looked back to see Storme was right on her heels, Sawyer’s body draped over his shoulders. Even while running, the man was careful not to jostle Sawyer too much.

Jake needs me to keep going. I must keep going.

“Zander, are we being followed?” Storme barked. His voice was steady, but his breathing was heavy.

“It’s all clear, Storme.”

“Take five, everyone.”

Saoirse put her hands on her knees, drawing in some shallow breaths. She was so relieved to have stopped for a second, she wanted to cry, but she was angry too—at Storme and the others for thinking they could stop now. Wasn’t Sawyer going to lose his arm, if they didn’t do something to help him? She straightened slowly and took a couple more shallow breaths before walking back to Storme, who had lowered Sawyer on the ground and was placing his own jacket behind his friend’s head to serve as a pillow.

“We can’t stop now, Storme,” she said. She wished her voice didn’t sound quite so thready. The big man looked up at her. “Sawyer needs help. If you’re tired, somebody else can—”

Her words died off as Storme straightened to his full height beside her. He stared at her with his cold, gray eyes, but Saoirse refused to be intimidated. She closed her hands, turning them into fists to stop them from shaking.

Storme chuckled. “I can see why he likes you, Saoirse,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder and turning her gently around. “That’s why we stopped. We’re not going to find a better place to do what we need to do.”

Storme’s gaze fell on Eva, and the two of them exchanged some unspoken message. Saoirse wished she understood their secret language.

She suddenly realized that everybody was busy doing something. Nobody was taking five.

Eva came up to her, enveloping her in a hug and bringing her to a fallen log. Saoirse let her friend push her into a sitting position. “Saoirse, you’re going to have to be brave a little while longer. They’re going to do everything they can.”

“What are they doing?” She realized her voice sounded small, but that was exactly how she felt, like a child, lost in the woods.

“They’re helping him,” Eva repeated stonily, keeping her arm around Saoirse. Her friend’s grip was strong, and for a moment Saoirse wasn’t sure if Eva was providing comfort or stopping her from moving. But Saoirse couldn’t fathom a world where she couldn’t trust Eva, so she relaxed into her friend’s grip.

Zander approached Sawyer’s prone form.

“Be careful, please,” she cried out. “I think some of his ribs are cracked.”

The medic nodded in her direction then lifted Sawyer’s arm gently away from his body, holding it by the elbow. The first thing Saoirse noticed was the discoloration. The arm was an angry red color, almost purple. Then she saw the way his hand held so limply, as if the bones had simply been squeezed out of shape. And yet the binding continued to tighten.

Zander’s look was grim. He nodded to Storme.

No, no, no. He’s going to lose his arm!

She must have made some noise, for Eva’s arm tightened around her again. But she didn’t need to be comforted.

“This is my fault,” she said.

Eva made some kind of gentle noise, but Saoirse insisted. “He took the binding from me, somehow convinced it to go around his own wrist instead.”

Suddenly, an idea clicked in her mind. She jumped up, Eva standing up quickly with her.