Sacrifice
Page 74
“I’ll stay back here,” said Tyler. He cocked his gun and aimed at the shed. “Cover you both.”
Michael nodded and moved forward, asking the ground for silence. He and Hunter circled the shed, looking for any sign of movement. Tyler followed, going wide to keep them in his line of sight.
On the far side of the shed, Michael stopped short. “Jesus,” he whispered.
Calla was on the ground. Her clothes were torn and filthy and streaked with blood. Her skin was mottled with bruises. Blood stained her lips and trailed out of her mouth, dripping onto the ground.
Behind her was a man—what was left of one, anyway. He’d been burned beyond recognition. Clearly dead. Michael could smell the charred flesh.
Hunter knelt beside Calla. He reached out and touched two fingers to her throat. “She’s alive. Barely.”
Michael took a knee beside him. Her blood had touched the earth, and he tried to send power into her. “Calla.” He touched her face and her head moved limply. “Calla.”
“We should get her back to the car,” said Hunter. “She needs a hospital.”
Michael nodded and bent to lift her.
Calla’s eyes opened halfway. “Michael Merrick.” She coughed, and more blood wet her lips. “You came.”
“I did.”
Her eyes rolled, and she blinked as if trying to focus. “And Hunter Garrity. How funny.” She started laughing. More blood came up.
“Why is that funny?” said Hunter.
“She’s out of her mind,” said Michael. “Let’s get her to the truck.”
“I’m perfectly lucid,” she said. “Is he dead?”
Michael glanced at the charred corpse. “Yeah. I thought you said he was unconscious.”
“He was.” Her head lolled as he shifted her into his arms. “You weren’t fast enough. He woke up.”
“And you did that to him?”
“You would have done the same,” she said. Her voice gained strength. “I wasn’t going to give him the chance to trap me again. He’s not the one who really deserves it, though.”
“How many more are there?” said Hunter.
“There were three. I thought they were just going to kill me, but it turns out they were pretty mad at me for causing the accident.”
“What accident?” said Michael. They were never going to get any information from her like this. And she was responsible for so much, he was tempted to leave her dying beside the shed.
“He kept crushing me with rocks,” said Calla. “Over and over again. Then healing me in fire. Said it was poetic justice. Do you understand what that felt like?”
Tyler joined them as they stepped onto the path back to the parking lot. “There were three?” He nodded toward the charred body. “That’s one. The fire marshal killed the other. So there’s one left?”
“Just one. Hunter knows. He remembers.”
Hunter made a disgusted noise. “What the hell are you talking about? I remember that you’re a psychopath who doesn’t mind killing people. I remember how you conned us all into starting a war we wanted no part of. I remember how you said you started a rockslide to kill my dad and my uncle—”
“Yeah, that.” She coughed and it took her a while to catch her breath again. “And let me tell you,” she said—but then she broke off to catch her breath.
“Let me tell you what?” said Michael.
She drew a long breath., “Jay took that rockslide really personally.”
Hunter stopped in the middle of the path. “What did she just say?”
Calla giggled, but it launched a new round of violent coughing. “This—this is why it’s—why it’s funny—”
Hunter jerked her out of Michael’s arms. She stumbled against him and could barely hold herself up. He shook her. “Talk, Calla. What did you just say?”
“I said—”
A gun fired. Calla’s head snapped sideways and blood was spattered all over Hunter’s face and shirt.
Hunter yelled and dropped her.
She was dead. Just like that, she was dead.
“Put down your weapons,” said a male voice. “Now.”
Michael turned, lifting his hands as he did so. A man stood at the junction where the trail split off to the parking lot. In the moonlight, Michael could see him clearly, but it didn’t matter. He could have been any man off the street, maybe late thirties, with lighter hair and dark clothing.
And a gun. Something large, like a rifle—with a red laser sight.
He’d snuck up on them. Even with the man this close, Michael couldn’t feel any threat through the ground. He couldn’t feel anything at all.
Hunter’s breathing was shaky, and his eyes were wide. “It’s okay,” he called. He put his gun on the ground and put his hands up. He didn’t sound frightened or angry now. He sounded . . . awed and a little determined. “It’s okay.”
“It is not okay,” hissed Tyler. “We’re f**ked.” His gun didn’t leave his hand.
That red laser sight centered on his chest. “Put the gun down. Now. Three. Two—”
“All right!” Tyler dropped the gun and put his hands up.
“It’s okay!” Hunter yelled again, a little more desperately. “It’s me! You don’t have to shoot them.”
“I know who you are, Hunter.” The man didn’t lower the weapon.
Michael nodded and moved forward, asking the ground for silence. He and Hunter circled the shed, looking for any sign of movement. Tyler followed, going wide to keep them in his line of sight.
On the far side of the shed, Michael stopped short. “Jesus,” he whispered.
Calla was on the ground. Her clothes were torn and filthy and streaked with blood. Her skin was mottled with bruises. Blood stained her lips and trailed out of her mouth, dripping onto the ground.
Behind her was a man—what was left of one, anyway. He’d been burned beyond recognition. Clearly dead. Michael could smell the charred flesh.
Hunter knelt beside Calla. He reached out and touched two fingers to her throat. “She’s alive. Barely.”
Michael took a knee beside him. Her blood had touched the earth, and he tried to send power into her. “Calla.” He touched her face and her head moved limply. “Calla.”
“We should get her back to the car,” said Hunter. “She needs a hospital.”
Michael nodded and bent to lift her.
Calla’s eyes opened halfway. “Michael Merrick.” She coughed, and more blood wet her lips. “You came.”
“I did.”
Her eyes rolled, and she blinked as if trying to focus. “And Hunter Garrity. How funny.” She started laughing. More blood came up.
“Why is that funny?” said Hunter.
“She’s out of her mind,” said Michael. “Let’s get her to the truck.”
“I’m perfectly lucid,” she said. “Is he dead?”
Michael glanced at the charred corpse. “Yeah. I thought you said he was unconscious.”
“He was.” Her head lolled as he shifted her into his arms. “You weren’t fast enough. He woke up.”
“And you did that to him?”
“You would have done the same,” she said. Her voice gained strength. “I wasn’t going to give him the chance to trap me again. He’s not the one who really deserves it, though.”
“How many more are there?” said Hunter.
“There were three. I thought they were just going to kill me, but it turns out they were pretty mad at me for causing the accident.”
“What accident?” said Michael. They were never going to get any information from her like this. And she was responsible for so much, he was tempted to leave her dying beside the shed.
“He kept crushing me with rocks,” said Calla. “Over and over again. Then healing me in fire. Said it was poetic justice. Do you understand what that felt like?”
Tyler joined them as they stepped onto the path back to the parking lot. “There were three?” He nodded toward the charred body. “That’s one. The fire marshal killed the other. So there’s one left?”
“Just one. Hunter knows. He remembers.”
Hunter made a disgusted noise. “What the hell are you talking about? I remember that you’re a psychopath who doesn’t mind killing people. I remember how you conned us all into starting a war we wanted no part of. I remember how you said you started a rockslide to kill my dad and my uncle—”
“Yeah, that.” She coughed and it took her a while to catch her breath again. “And let me tell you,” she said—but then she broke off to catch her breath.
“Let me tell you what?” said Michael.
She drew a long breath., “Jay took that rockslide really personally.”
Hunter stopped in the middle of the path. “What did she just say?”
Calla giggled, but it launched a new round of violent coughing. “This—this is why it’s—why it’s funny—”
Hunter jerked her out of Michael’s arms. She stumbled against him and could barely hold herself up. He shook her. “Talk, Calla. What did you just say?”
“I said—”
A gun fired. Calla’s head snapped sideways and blood was spattered all over Hunter’s face and shirt.
Hunter yelled and dropped her.
She was dead. Just like that, she was dead.
“Put down your weapons,” said a male voice. “Now.”
Michael turned, lifting his hands as he did so. A man stood at the junction where the trail split off to the parking lot. In the moonlight, Michael could see him clearly, but it didn’t matter. He could have been any man off the street, maybe late thirties, with lighter hair and dark clothing.
And a gun. Something large, like a rifle—with a red laser sight.
He’d snuck up on them. Even with the man this close, Michael couldn’t feel any threat through the ground. He couldn’t feel anything at all.
Hunter’s breathing was shaky, and his eyes were wide. “It’s okay,” he called. He put his gun on the ground and put his hands up. He didn’t sound frightened or angry now. He sounded . . . awed and a little determined. “It’s okay.”
“It is not okay,” hissed Tyler. “We’re f**ked.” His gun didn’t leave his hand.
That red laser sight centered on his chest. “Put the gun down. Now. Three. Two—”
“All right!” Tyler dropped the gun and put his hands up.
“It’s okay!” Hunter yelled again, a little more desperately. “It’s me! You don’t have to shoot them.”
“I know who you are, Hunter.” The man didn’t lower the weapon.
