Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
“And if someone finds him?” Jensen questions me with a poignant stare. “With your bullet in his head?”
Fuck me.
Serves me right for being petty and using my own damn gun. They’ll be able to trace them right back to the bureau.
“I’m going to have to dig the bullets out,” I say blankly, my stomach churning. Red’s lifeless eyes stare up at nothing but the thought of having to fucking break open his head to get that bullet out is enough to make me want to puke.
“I’ll do it,” Jensen says.
My heart skips a beat. “Are you sure?” I ask warily. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
He grunts, rubbing his hand over his beard as he stares at the body. “You ain’t asking. I’m just doing. Besides, and no offense, but have you butchered any kind of animal before?”
“I’ve watched autopsies.”
“And you’re welcome to watch this one, but watching is different than doing. Besides, you’re a tough cookie, but getting through a skull takes a lot of brute force.”
I grimace at the thought but step away.
“What do you need?” Eli asks him. “What can help?”
“Hammer and a nail, I suppose,” Jensen says, peering down at Red. “As long as the nail is the size of a railroad spike.”
“We have our tent spikes,” Eli says. “Will that hold?”
“Can’t believe you’re fucking talking about this,” Cole mutters, his face looking as queasy as mine.
“If it doesn’t I’ll just have to bludgeon the head until there’s nothing left. Either way, will get the bullet out,” Jensen remarks. “Get my axe too.”
So Eli gets a hammer and tent spikes from the gear, Cole, despite his reservations, gets the axe for backup.
And I turn away, because this isn’t an autopsy by any means, and go back inside the cabin. I can hear Jensen grunting outside, the sound of someone vomiting, and the even grosser sound of bone breaking and squelching brain matter. I concentrate on cleaning the hut, scrubbing away every single sign that anything happened here. Thankfully this is where my training is really coming in handy, though I’d never thought I’d be on the other side of things.
Eventually the cabin door opens and Eli appears, blood splattered on his shirt.
“It’s done,” he says, his face ghostly white. “Time to go.”
I do a once over in the hut, confident that there’s no evidence left, and follow Eli outside and over to the horses to try and borrow some of their energy, though they seem as anxious as I am.
Three horses remain—Jeopardy, Hank’s gelding Storm, and Cole’s paint Harry. The others, including Duke, bolted during the chaos last night. My heart aches at the thought of Duke alone in these mountains, potentially prey for the hungry ones. I’d grown ridiculously fond of him and can only hope that he and the others ran all the way back to the ranch, if not just out of these cursed mountains.
“Duke will be okay,” Eli says, seeming to read my thoughts as we step outside to check the remaining horses.
“I hope so,” I say. “I just hate the thought of him out there, afraid.”
“Horses are smarter than people give them credit for. If Duke bolted, it was because his instincts told him to run. That’s probably what saved him.”
It’s small comfort, but I appreciate the attempt. Eli has been the least openly hostile since they found out my secret, perhaps because he’d already suspected something wasn’t quite what it seemed with me.
“So who do I ride if Duke is gone?” I ask, glancing at the three horses.
“You’ll double up with me on Jeopardy,” Jensen says. “He’s the strongest. Can handle two riders better than the others.”
The idea of pressing against Jensen for hours of riding, after everything that’s happened between us, sends a complicated flutter through my stomach. Anger, yes, and something entirely inappropriate, given the situation. I mean, I just fucking killed a guy. A zombie, sure, but he was a guy. And suddenly I have butterflies over a man I’ve already slept with.
One that was keeping secrets from you, don’t you forget, I remind myself.
“Fine,” I say shortly, gathering my pack. Whatever personal discomfort I might feel is irrelevant in the face of our survival.
Compartmentalize, compartmentalize, compartmentalize.
Then Jensen walks over to me, something in his fist and holds it out over mine.
I open my palm expectantly and he drops two bullets in them, one from Red’s head, the other from his chest.
“Cleaned them off in the snow. Might wanna hold onto those.”
I close my hand over them, the metal cold, the guilt sinking in deep.
So much for compartmentalizing.
“Let’s ride out,” Jensen then announces.
Mounting up proves awkward. Jensen swings into Jeopardy’s saddle first, then extends a hand to help me up behind him. I hesitate only a moment before taking it, allowing him to pull me onto the horse’s back. The saddle isn’t designed for two, forcing me to sit pressed closely against Jensen’s back, my arms draped loosely—and awkwardly—around his middle.