path, no steady direction. I don’t know if they’ll come after us. There could be others I don’t know about besides Jamison. People I don’t trust. I’m not quite sure whether to add Jamison to that list or not. I don’t know if the stranger at the cabin was after the missing Jason Jourdain or waiting for Allie and me. Either way, someone else was brought in on the secret that I thought only Jamison and I knew. Someone dangerous.
I killed him. The realization sinks in slow. I killed a man to keep her safe.
She’s staring up at me, her eyes focused again, trust in them that only makes me feel worse. “We’re safe,” I say, because I know it’s what she needs to hear to settle. She might be alive, but she’s not looking good. There’s so much blood on her shirt I can’t tell what’s old and new. A wet spot on the left side tells me it’s seeping. The needle and thread in my hand feel heavy. “How do I—”
She lifts her shirt far enough to give me access. “Quickly. We do this quickly,” she says and scoots to lie across my lap. I tense, the weight and warmth of her throwing me off. I wasn’t ready for that. Jesus, not now, I think. I’ve got a needle in my hand about to sew shut a gunshot wound to her chest and all I can think about is kissing her, fingers stuttering across her skin to the parts of her I haven’t touched yet. I keep my eyes on the wound, the trickle of blood. “Ready?” she asks awkwardly, one arm above her head, fingers curled against the moss.
“Um, yeah,” I say and pinch her skin together. She whimpers when the needle breaks through with a pop. “Sorry,” I murmur, tying a knot. I fish a small pair of scissors from the bag and cut the thread, start over. The needle stabs in, through, out. She pounds her fist against my calf and I freeze.
“No,” she hisses through clenched teeth. “Keep going. Fast as you can.”
My fingers fight another knot and I pick up the needle again. “You okay?” I ask. She forces a tight grin, nods furiously. “One more stitch.” I stab, tug, tie, clip. “We’re done.”
She slowly blows a breath she’d been holding. “I just need a minute,” she says. Her eyes slide closed.
“Allie,” I start. I don’t know how to say it, only that it has to be said. “Why did you lie to me? I asked if I could resurrect people, or even heal them, and you said no.”
“You didn’t resurrect me. It was...a jumpstart.” Her words are clipped with pain. She trails off, though she’s not sleeping. “Knowing me got you killed. In a month you won’t even heal anymore. The less you know the safer you’ll be,” she murmurs. The tension lines between her eyebrows deepen and then fade. “They’re after us. We need to move. Hide.”
Pain sours her expression. I don’t know what to do to make it better. My fingers thread gently through her hair. After a few passes she heaves a contented sigh. “That feels good,” she whispers.
She opens her eyes and her gaze locks onto my lips. All I have to do is rock forward, but something makes me hesitate. She isn’t focused on me.
“I don’t think I should have taken them. Pills. Should have...” The words stutter into silence. She mumbles something I miss. “Was he dead? The man, did we…?” she starts and then fades off again.
I trace a line from the crown of her forehead down to her ear then up again, waiting for the rest of a question that doesn’t come. “Sleep. I’ll keep you safe,” I say.
Did we kill him? That’s what she was going to ask. But there is no we. I was the one who shot the gun. Twice.
I watch her to be sure her chest rises and falls. She’s only sleeping. I give the pills a few more minutes to kick in and then, as gently as I can, I slide from underneath her and replace my lap with her bag of clothes. She doesn’t stir. I stand and go for my pack.
Digging to the bottom, I slip my hand inside the cooking pot and grab the pair of balled up socks. I pull them apart. A dented, scratched flip phone tumbles into the leaves. I snap it up, hide it in my pocket, sure Allie’s taken this second