“It’s not too bad,” Akara says, but he’s favoring his right arm. Blood trickles near his elbow. I crane my neck to get a better view of his back. Long claw marks rake along his shoulder blade. With the dirt and blood, I can’t tell how deep they are.
My stomach curdles. “That doesn’t look good, Kits.”
“I’m okay.” He’s still scanning my body for noticeable injuries.
I keep trembling, more from shock than anything else. My fingers tighten on the gun. It’s the only thing that feels controlled. Steady.
Banks unzips a backpack and pulls out a water bottle. A scratch runs across his bicep about as deep as the one on Akara’s back. He offers me water, but I shake my head.
“You two have worse injuries,” I say. “I’m certain mine are superficial cuts.”
Banks and Akara share a look. “Just take a sip,” Banks says. “We’ll all have one.”
With my free hand, I accept the water bottle and make sure to take the tiniest sip, conserving the water for them. Akara rolls his eyes when I pass him the bottle.
“We need to get back to camp,” he says after he swallows water. He gives Banks the rest. “We have a First-Aid kit there.”
“You might need stitches, Kits,” I breathe.
He shakes his head. “I’ll be fine with some gauze and bandage. It’s too far a hike back to the RV camp tonight. Farrow can look at it tomorrow.”
Banks nods like this is a good idea.
I realize they’re both incredibly fucking stubborn, but they’re also weighing pros and cons. It’s their job to assess risks in situations.
Akara goes to stand, but Banks puts a hand on his leg. “Wait a sec,” Banks says. “We should keep sitting and breathing until both of you stop shaking.”
“I’m not shaking,” Akara refutes.
“Left hand.”
Akara holds it up. Sure enough, his palm quakes. “Shit.”
“Why aren’t you shaking?” I ask Banks.
“I was. It just stopped earlier.” He passes me the water again, even against my refusal. “Just focus on your breathing. We’re all alright. We’re all safe. It’s over.”
It’s over.
I take a bigger swig. The water goes down like a knot.
It could have been so much worse. Maybe I should be thankful that I’m alive to tell this story, but I just see the animal I killed. I hear the sickening noise he or she made as they died. Lying breathless feet away. No heartbeat. I took that soul.
I shake harder.
Fuck.
“Sul—” Akara starts.
“My dad,” I say in a whisper, blinking back tears. “He’s been to thousands of cities. Camped hundreds of places. He’s come face to face with bears, moose, cougars, almost every animal you can think of. And never in his fifty-years has he had to kill a single one.”
It breaks me.
My spirit cracks. Fractures. Splinters off.
Tears keep welling and cloud my vision. “My little sister will hate me.” I want to bury my face in my shirt, my hands, my lap—their chests.
I end up staring at the sky.
“She won’t,” Akara says strongly. “Winona will understand it was self-defense. If it were you or the cougar, she’d choose you.”
I know that’s true, but there’s a part of me that also knows she’ll look at me differently once she finds out.
Our dad never had to kill anything, but I took an animal’s life at twenty-one. I’m the one who went into the cougar’s home. The mountains—I don’t live in these mountains. I was just wandering by.
And sure, maybe other families hunt wild game for sport and killing a cougar would be no big fucking deal, but all my life, I’ve been taught to preserve the wilderness and the creatures that inhabit it. My spirit has been tied to the outdoors for so long, and right now it feels as if I’m not worthy to belong here.
“It’s not supposed to be easy,” Banks tells me. “What you’re feeling now. It’s normal, Sulli.”
I meet his brown eyes that pull at me with compassion and understanding. He’s a Marine. I don’t know how much he’s seen or what he’s done, but in this moment, he’s holding me without wrapping his arms around me.
I breathe.
My limbs have stopped shaking, and Akara’s left hand is steady. The three of us are huddled together, and once we stand up, once we make our way back to camp, all of this will feel more real.
We’re slow to our feet.
“Can you walk?” Banks asks me.
Taking a few steps forward, my legs ache but they support my body enough. “I’m good.” I glance to my left. “Akara?”
“I’m good, too.” He’s already walking towards the cougars. No limp. No shuffling. All great signs. Maybe we will just come out of this bruised and scraped up.
But the wounds are deeper than my fleeting optimism. I feel the harsh stinging across my body as Akara stops beside the cougar he stabbed. A haunted expression shifts over his face. “They’re going to rot here. Or be eaten by other prey.”