Alone in the Wild (Rockton #5)(103)
Lane deserves my bullet more than Blaine Saratori ever did. He may even deserve it more than Val did. But I do not pull the trigger because I can control that impulse. The situation is under control, and we are in no immediate danger, and I cannot execute Lane for his crimes. That is not my place.
I know my place. I understand it, and I will never make that mistake again.
“Lane?” I say. “You are under arrest for the murder of Ellen and the attempted murder of Summer and Sidra and Baptiste. You will appear before a joint committee of the First and Second Settlements, who will determine your punishment—”
He runs at Dalton. I still don’t fire. My finger moves to the trigger, and I shout at him to stop, but I don’t need to shoot. Lane is a man with a bow in his hand, the arrows still in their quiver, and he’s running at a law enforcement officer with a gun.
Dalton doesn’t shoot either. When Lane draws near, he kicks, his foot connecting with a crack. The young man drops to one knee, and Dalton backs up, gun still aimed.
“Shoot me,” Lane says.
“I’m not—” Dalton begins.
“You’re going to have to. Because I won’t stop. If you let me live, I’ll never stop. I’ll find a way to kill Baptiste, kill that baby, and if Sidra won’t come with me, then I’ll kill her, too. She’s mine. Mine. I will kill everyone who comes between me and her, and then I’ll take her and—”
A figure rushes from the forest. It’s a blur. That’s all I see. A blur of motion, and I spin on it, my gun raised as it rushes Lane. The blur leaps on him, and only then do I see a face. A face not contorted in rage but ice-cold with it.
It’s Felicity. Her hand flies up as I shout at her to get back, and as that hand rises, I see the blade in it. A blade already bloodstained, droplets flecking the snow.
The blade falls again, slamming into Lane’s back, and I shout at her to stop, but I do not stop her.
I know my place, and it is not my place to stop her.
Only when she falls back, breathing hard, her hands clutching the bloody knife, does Dalton run over and pull her back. Lane falls face-first to the snow.
Felicity drops the knife and then wrenches from Dalton’s grip. He lets her go. She walks over and drops to her knees beside Lane.
“You should have killed me while you had the chance,” she says. “But that was always your mistake. You underestimated me. Underestimated Sidra. We made that mistake, too. We underestimated you.” She leans down to his ear, her voice a hoarse whisper as she says, “Not this time. I did not underestimate you this time, Lane.”
She stays there, at his side, until he breathes his last.
FORTY-TWO
There’s no time to process what has happened. No time to help Felicity process it, and I know from experience that will not happen immediately. She’s done what she needed to do to protect her friend. Later, the doubts and second-guessing will come, and I don’t know whether she’ll let me help with that, but I will if I can.
Right now, our biggest concern is Petra. She has an arrow in her chest, and we are hours from Rockton. Dalton runs ahead to bring help and motorized transport. While he’s gone, we fashion a stretcher for Petra. Storm pulls it, and Sidra and I help. While Baptiste and Felicity try to do their part, both are injured—Baptiste with a minor shoulder wound and Felicity with a head injury, inflicted when Lane found her in the forest. Their job is to walk behind the sled and make sure Petra stays awake and lucid.
We’ve been walking for almost two hours when I hear the whine of a snowmobile and the rumble of the ATV. Dalton cuts through brush on the snowmobile and then takes over the stretcher, guiding it through to where the ATV waits on a wider path.
Dalton sends me in the ATV with Sidra. I know why he picks her to go. He doesn’t need to say it, but I know. After he sets Petra up for the ride, he stays behind with Anders to get the rest of the group to Rockton.
I drive the ATV as fast as I dare through the well-packed snow of the main trail. Sidra doesn’t clutch the grab handles for dear life. She stares straight ahead, her face drawn, her mind already at our destination and what waits there.
I drive the ATV straight into town. April waits on the clinic stairs, Diana with her to help, several of the men ready to carry Petra inside. And as we pull to a halt, another figure appears from inside the clinic. Jen, holding a baby-size bundle to her chest.
Sidra is out of the ATV before it stops. She stumbles forward, tripping over her feet and nearly falling in her scramble to get to her baby. Jen descends the stairs and meets her, holding Summer out. Sidra doesn’t take her. She wobbles there and then collapses to her knees, crying in relief, and Jen bends in front of her, letting Sidra take the baby there, kneeling in the snow.
I turn away from the scene and help the men with Petra.
* * *
It’s morning. Early morning, not yet light. I’m beside Petra’s bed in the clinic. She’s stable. The arrow entered above her heart, piercing less than an inch. She’s lost a lot of blood, and she’ll need time to recover, but she’s all right, sleeping soundly as I keep watch.
I’ve been here all night, not leaving the clinic since I arrived.
Hiding here? Yes, I have the self-awareness to admit that. April needed me, and I wanted to be here for Petra, but it also gave me the excuse not to face the joyous parent-and- child reunion.