His hand slips up my shirt, grabs the firearm from the band, and without hesitation, he rotates and fires three quick rounds.
The pop pop pop is layered with a growl. It takes me a second to register that the limp, dead cougar on top of us isn’t the one growling.
The animal has already gone slack on our bodies. The weight crushing, oxygen-stealing, and I turn my head to find Sulli.
I see what made that noise, and blood rushes out of my face.
A second cougar.
And it’s charging after Sulli.
22
SULLIVAN MEADOWS
Stand tall and big and loud.
Don’t let it have access to your neck.
Never run away or turn your back.
A second cougar isn’t casually stalking me. He or she is springing towards me, and I know not to turn my back to the animal. But I have nothing to defend myself. No rock is going to stop the attack.
My eyes dart to the Patagonia backpack that flung out of my hand.
My gun.
I need the gun my dad gave me.
Heartbeat in my ears, I can’t hear anything or anyone as the cougar lunges.
Instinct takes hold.
I.
Just.
Run.
Feet to ground. Breath stuck in my lungs. I run.
I skid.
My fingers find my backpack and I’m fast as I reach in, but I’m not fast enough. Paws and claws crash into me, knocking oxygen from my lungs.
Fuckfuckfuck. My hand is on the hilt. Pain flares somewhere on my skin, my body, as I remove the gun from my pack and fire. The bullet rings my ears. And then I release five more pops in quick succession.
Growling and hissing immediately cease. All I hear now is my heavy breath. Fur blocks my gaze. His muzzle lies at my head. His body is on me.
His body is on me.
Warm blood soaks into my shirt. I try to push the animal off me, but my arm’s wedged wrong.
There’s just silence.
Pure silence.
It’s louder and more horrible than anything I’ve ever confronted. “KITS! BANKS!” I yell in raw fear. They’re hurt. I know they’re fucking hurt. The last thing I saw was both of them fighting off that other cougar.
How much death am I lying in right now?
They can’t be dead.
They’re okay. They have to be okay.
“BANKS! KITS!” I scream, hot tears in my eyes. “BANKS!”
Please don’t be dead.
Please don’t be dead.
In a panic, I struggle to push the cougar off me. “KITS!” Hardly breathing. Am I breathing? I choke for air.
“We’re right here,” Akara breathes out, and just like that, the cougar is lifted off me. I try to fight off the dread as soon as I see them.
They’re okay.
They’re okay.
I’m silently bawling—the fear I felt crushes me more than the cougar.
My bodyguards heave the animal aside, and I struggle to regain breath. “Fuck,” I choke and wipe my wet eyes with my forearm.
Crimson stains their clothes. Their skin. It’s hard to tell if it’s their blood or the cougars’. Akara’s shirt is falling off his body, hanging by one piece of fabric at his shoulder. Blood mats Banks’ hair, and they’re both sweeping me, assessing quickly.
I sit up slowly, inhaling jagged breath. Their eyes plant to the gun in my hand.
I haven’t let it go. It feels attached. Like a third limb.
“Sulli,” Banks says, bending down, and Akara drops to his knees in a wince beside me.
“Are you in pain anywhere?” Akara asks.
I swallow hard. Adrenaline hardly recedes to make way for the throbbing in my side. “Just here.” I wipe my watery gaze again and touch my hipbone. Red blood coats my fingertips. Don’t know for sure if it’s mine. “How badly are you two hurt?”
I want to magically take their pain away. I get they’re sworn to protect me. Being in the crossfire of threats is what they signed up for, but an animal attack was never a part of that contract.
“It’s not too bad,” Akara says, but he’s favoring his right arm. Blood trickles near his elbow. I crane my neck to get a better view of his back. Long claw marks rake along his shoulder blade. With the dirt and blood, I can’t tell how deep they are.
My stomach curdles. “That doesn’t look good, Kits.”
“I’m okay.” He’s still scanning my body for noticeable injuries.
I keep trembling, more from shock than anything else. My fingers tighten on the gun. It’s the only thing that feels controlled. Steady.
Banks unzips a backpack and pulls out a water bottle. A scratch runs across his bicep about as deep as the one on Akara’s back. He offers me water, but I shake my head.
“You two have worse injuries,” I say. “I’m certain mine are superficial cuts.”
Banks and Akara share a look. “Just take a sip,” Banks says. “We’ll all have one.”
With my free hand, I accept the water bottle and make sure to take the tiniest sip, conserving the water for them. Akara rolls his eyes when I pass him the bottle.
“We need to get back to camp,” he says after he swallows water. He gives Banks the rest. “We have a First-Aid kit there.”
“You might need stitches, Kits,” I breathe.
He shakes his head. “I’ll be fine with some gauze and bandage. It’s too far a hike back to the RV camp tonight. Farrow can look at it tomorrow.”
Banks nods like this is a good idea.
I realize they’re both incredibly fucking stubborn, but they’re also weighing pros and cons. It’s their job to assess risks in situations.
Akara goes to stand, but Banks puts a hand on his leg. “Wait a sec,” Banks says. “We should keep sitting and breathing until both of you stop shaking.”
“I’m not shaking,” Akara refutes.
“Left hand.”
Akara holds it up. Sure enough, his palm quakes. “Shit.”
“Why aren’t you shaking?” I ask Banks.
“I was. It just stopped earlier.” He passes me the water again, even against my refusal. “Just focus on your breathing. We’re all alright. We’re all safe. It’s over.”
It’s over.
I take a bigger swig. The water goes down like a knot.
It could have been so much worse. Maybe I should be thankful that I’m alive to tell this story, but I just see the animal I killed. I hear the sickening noise he or she made as they died. Lying breathless feet away. No heartbeat. I took that soul.
I shake harder.
Fuck.
“Sul—” Akara starts.
“My dad,” I say in a whisper, blinking back tears. “He’s been to thousands of cities. Camped hundreds of places. He’s come face to face with bears, moose, cougars, almost every animal you can think of. And never in his fifty-years has he had to kill a single one.”
It breaks me.
My spirit cracks. Fractures. Splinters off.
Tears keep welling and cloud my vision. “My little sister will hate me.” I want to bury my face in my shirt, my hands, my lap—their chests.
I end up staring at the sky.
“She won’t,” Akara says strongly. “Winona will understand it was self-defense. If it were you or the cougar, she’d choose you.”