Folsom (End of Men, #1)(71)

And then he does, his eyes lowering from the sky. Everything stills when he sees me. We’re in a bubble, just the two of us. Not even the rain, or the people, or the beating of the helicopter’s blades can reach us. I run toward him, ignoring the doctor’s calls. Wanting only to touch him, smell his skin. He catches sight of my huge belly and his eyes light up. We’re moving toward each other, only a few yards separating us.

And then everything turns upside down. First I hear the choked sound of Doctor Hunley as my name is torn from her lips. I turn as a popping sound fills my ears, and I see the doctor fall, her body hitting the ground as she collapses onto her side. I glance back at Folsom, and then run toward her, falling on my knees and into a puddle of her blood. She’s choking, blood coming from her nose and mouth. She convulses once and then her body stills, eyes empty. Sophia pulls me to my feet. She’s yelling something but I can’t make it out. The doctor is dead, the doctor is dead.

“Come on,” she yells in my ear.

The helicopter has landed, its lights illuminating the parking lot. It’s then that I see the guards rushing out of one of the buildings, weapons aimed at us. Sophia tugs at my arm, pulling me toward the copter. My eyes search for Folsom and Laticus. Where are they? I can’t leave without them. Oh my God, the guards are shooting at us! I struggle to get away from Sophia to make sure Folsom is still standing. The whites of her eyes spread around her irises in panic.

The guards keep shooting, but then I see women in civilian clothes coming from the sides of buildings, shooting at the guards.

We run toward the helicopter, me holding onto my stomach. A blood-curdling scream stops me. I turn my head just as Sophia goes down. I scream her name and drop to my knees beside her. A steady stream of blood flows from her arm. I press down on it to stop the blood but it rushes through my fingers. A tourniquet! I pull off my shirt and tie it above the wound as she winces and gasps beneath me.

“You have to go,” she says. “If they catch you—”

“I’m not leaving you,” I say firmly. More shots pop around us and I lie over her body until it stops. Please, God, please let Folsom and Laticus be all right.

I need to get her to the helicopter, but I can’t do it on my own. And how long will it wait for us before the pilot thinks it’s too dangerous and leaves?

“You have to stand up,” I say to Sophia. “I’ll help you get to the helicopter.”

She shakes her head. “There’s only room for three.”

Me. Folsom. Laticus. It doesn’t matter. I’m not the one hurt. When they find out my sister was helping us, they’ll throw her in jail. I’m helping her to her feet when Folsom stumbles to us. I want to grab him, kiss his face. No time.

“She’s been shot. Help her.”

He doesn’t hesitate before scooping her off the ground. I run beside him as we head for the copter, looking around for Laticus. I see him running toward us, across an open expanse of parking lot. I want to scream at him to keep his head down, move faster, but there’s too much noise. Hands are pulling Sophia into the helicopter. Folsom pushes me forward so I can go next, but I pull away, my eyes on Laticus. I see the glint of something shiny behind him and I scream as the shot is fired. I hear Folsom say his name and then he’s running toward the boy with me following. Laticus falls to his knees, his eyes wide. Folsom reaches him first, catching him before he hits the ground.

He finds Laticus’ bullet wound, his face blanched of all color. Blood is seeping out of the wound, staining his shirt crimson.

The boy’s eyes are closed, his mouth open in shock.

“We have to get him to the helicopter,” Folsom says calmly. Too calmly. My entire body is shaking as he begins to pick him up.

“Go!” I say. “I’m right behind you!”

He nods, rushing forward.

Sophia’s words repeat in my head. “There’s only room for three.”

“Gwen!” Folsom calls over his shoulder.

From the far end of the field, I see half a dozen figures in black moving toward the helicopter, guns raised. I back up a step.

Folsom reaches the door and hands Laticus to them, then turns back for me. When he doesn’t see me, his face crumples in confusion. I take another step back and suddenly realization dawns on his face. He’s about to move toward me when hands grab at him, pulling him backward through the open door. He fights them, pulling away, his eyes trained on my face. But it’s too late. It begins to lift from the ground.

I see him mouth my name as they hold him, his eyes crazed.

“I love you,” I scream at the wind. But they’re too far away for him to hear me.





THIRTY-SIX





FOLSOM


Fall interrupts summer early, the leaves moody, eager to drop. I stand in their midst, the air sweet with rot. We’ve been here for a month. Sophia hates it: the cabin, the woods, the food. Her complaining never stops, but I’m grateful for it. The silence would be too much to bear. I laugh at her and then she laughs too. Immediately after laughing she cries. And then she laughs again.

“It’s pregnancy hormones,” she says.

Her arm is healing nicely. I change the bandage for her. There will be a scar where the bullet entered and some nerve damage they say, but she’s alive. A wind picks up and leaves rattle through the clearing, sending a fresh shower of reds and yellows down on my head.