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As he wins another inch. And another. And another.

I’m doing everything I can to help. I’m pulling his shoulders from the front and pushing against them from the back. I’m whispering under my breath, “Yes, yes, a little more, a little more,” like a goddamn lunatic.

And eventually, somehow, he gets to all fours. From there, he uses me like a crutch to push up to half-kneeling. And then two feet on the ground.

And then he rises, still leaning almost all his weight on me, but that’s fine, that’s okay, we’re going to make it.

I almost stumble over, but the adrenaline is coursing through me.

Somehow, I manage to support his weight as we stumble to the car together.

His blood soaks my clothes. The strips of my nightgown are flapping in the night breeze, crusted red. Artem’s groan in my ear is low and constant. He’s muttering nonsense syllables and his eyes keep falling closed.

But we move forward.

One step at a time.

Until at last we make it to the car. Artem falls against the side of the vehicle, his head knocking the roof. He crumples listlessly into the back seat. I have to heave his legs inside.

Once the door is closed, I let myself breathe for a moment. But only a moment. I don’t have any longer than that.

I open the front door and start to climb inside. Just before I’m all the way in, though, something catches my eye.

Something sparkling golden in the moonlight.

Frowning, I go look at it. It’s something caught on the spiked leaf of one of the bushes. My heart starts pounding as I get closer and closer.

Until I’m close enough to see and my chest seizes up entirely.

It’s a lock of blond hair.

One end stained red with blood.

My body aches like I’ve been punched in the gut. Cillian is somewhere out there. With the bad men or alone, I can’t be sure.

But he’s hurt, it seems. Maybe dead.

I look around and scan the forest one more time, hoping against hope for another sign that he’s okay.

“Where are you, Cillian?” I whisper into the night.

No response.

I can’t wait around for him. Artem is dying too fast for that. We have to go, now.

I offer up a silent prayer for the sad-eyed Irishman. Then I get back in the car and start the long journey into town.

I hope to God we make it in time.


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