The Naturalist (The Naturalist #1)(97)

Joe has changed positions again and is sneaking up behind where we’re hiding.





CHAPTER EIGHTY


VALIANT

My impression of Glenn has crystallized in these moments. When I first met him, I thought he was a hard-ass, and I resented the way he manipulated me into spilling my guts, embarrassing me with my own na?veté. He knew my intelligence but used it against me in some kind of judo move. For all my theoretical smarts, his knowledge came from talking to real people all day long, spotting the liars and thieves among them.

He’s been my antagonist, but in the last few minutes he’s put his own life on the line several times to protect Jillian and me.

Glenn is checking the shotgun he borrowed from the police cruiser and getting ready for an assault from Joe.

Right now Glenn has the ambulance and the car to block a retreat and could make a run for it and abandon us. He won’t. He’s not even trying to get to our hiding space, where we have more protection from the assault rifle.

He might be able to make a better last stand from here, but his position is better suited for firing at Joe if he comes at us.

It’s a selfless thing Glenn is doing. He’ll get the better shot from there, but it will probably be his only one.

He catches me staring at him. He gives Jillian a small nod, then locks eyes with me.

Protect her.

It’s primal. It’s chauvinistic. It’s what we’re biologically programmed to do—well, the best of us.

I turn my attention to our patient. He’s leaning against the wall, grasping his arm below the wound.

I notice for the first time this ambulance is actually a mobile medical center, with refrigerated storage and a mini pharmacy.

“How are you doing, Sergeant Bryant?”

“Wonderful,” he groans. “I had the night off.”

I slide open a panel and find the hard stuff. “Want something for the pain?”

“God, yes.”

I give him a shot of morphine, and his face slackens.

“Is that a good idea?” Jillian whispers to me.

“He was still in shock. He was a minute or two away from screaming his lungs out. He lost a lot of his shoulder.”

I’m afraid to try to redress the wound without a proper surgical environment. If I move the bandage, I risk uncorking whatever is keeping him from bleeding out. Instead, I put another layer over his shoulder, making sure there’s plenty of pressure.

The first bandages I used had a built-in clotting agent and seem to be working pretty well.

To be on the safe side, I get a syringe of clotting medication ready, as well as a bag of synthetic blood in case Bryant loses too much of his own. Synthetic isn’t meant to replace your blood—it just dilutes it better than straight saline, helping you maintain blood pressure.

“What are we going to do?” asks Jillian.

“Glenn called for backup. I’m sure help is coming.”

We’re both well aware that Joe is close by and will be here before any help.

Glenn is creeping toward the front of the cruiser. He has the shotgun trained on a point off to our right.

BOOM! He fires at something.

Glenn moves to the other side of the hood, then shoots again. BOOM!

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Bullets fire into the police car, making ice-pick clangs as they hit.

Glenn lurches forward and groans loudly. A bullet hit him in his side.

I rush toward the back of the ambulance to help.

“Stay back!” he snarls through gritted teeth, then pumps the shotgun.

He bounces up and fires another volley. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

BANG! BANG! BANG! His chest is covered in red blossoms, and he falls to the ground.

I leap out of the ambulance and pick up his shotgun. When I try to run back to the door, my leg collapses under me, and even before I hit the road I know I’ve been shot.

My chin hits first, splitting open on the rough asphalt.

When I look up through hazy eyes, I get my first view of him twenty yards away.

My initial reaction isn’t terror or shock.

It’s awe.

Joe is enormous. He’s clad in body armor from head to toe, and his face mask is a metal shield with narrow slits and war paint. Across his Kevlar chest is a necklace of bear claws.

At his waist I see the stainless steel metal claws, waiting to be unleashed.

He walks slowly toward me with his rifle aimed at my chest. He could have fired already, but he’s enjoying this. He’s enjoying watching me as I see him for the first time.

I raise myself up on my good knee and limp back toward the ambulance. As soon as I get near, Jillian grabs me under the arms and pulls me into the back.

I see her eyes widen as she catches a momentary glance of Joe.

“Did you see him?” I ask.

“Yes.” She rips open my pant leg to examine my wound. “Help me with this—what do I do?”

“He’s . . .” Words fail me.

“Theo! Help me with this!” she yells.

I’m staring out the window at the shadow of Joe as he gets closer. What’s it like to have caused so much death? Do you think you’re no longer human? Do you imagine yourself a god trapped in flesh? Do you even feel anymore? Or are you just a creature of pure reaction—like lines of code?

So many questions.