Splintered

Chapter Forty-Seven: Wounds Carved in Someone Else's Name

In an instant, all sorts of chaos broke loose. The shotgun's thunderclap deadened Hazel's ears. A burst of pellets spewed from the barrel, chewing up the chest of the rebel. Pink mist coated the air as the man flew backward.

The butt of the weapon clobbered her collarbone, sending sharp tingles soaring down her arms. Hazel's pulse battered her chest, and along with the sensations surging through each limb, it made holding onto the gun near impossible.

There was a gurgling gasp from the prone stranger before silence followed.

Hazel's heart felt like it was going to stop as well.

Had she really just.... Was there another choice? There wasn't.

Her sensitive nerves were on fire. At the same time, the sensations were wrapped in a vague numbness, like being underwater or watching everything play out from the treetops.

He would've killed Bellona. He would've killed Leo. He would've killed people she cared about.

Faraway rifle popping crescendoed. As did whooping and hollering. The flashlight flares were gone, yet the gunfire was anything but absent. The foreign group was rebels through and through.  And they were coming.

Counterfire burst out next. Something or someone was attempting to hijack the insurgents' progress.

"Leo," Hazel breathed.

A whimper from Bellona sobered Hazel. Her peacekeeper guard was clearly in pain.

At least she is still living.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled as deeply as her lungs would allow. The cold air was like a soothing, icy compress on her feverish skin, her whole body having been doused in another round of searing adrenaline.

Swallowing down the fresh trauma and severing her focus on the person she'd likely just killed, she commanded the dazed men across from her.

"Pick her back up."

After exchanging glances with one another and the crumpled corpse, each nodded and complied.

Bellona moaned again when she was hoisted upwards.

Shouting mixed with branches breaking, all of which was background to the thwack of peacekeeper rifle fire.

If the ferocity of the weapon was any indication, Leo was holding his own.

But what if he weren't? What if he were injured? Or worse? Pinned down by enemies without any hope of rescue?

In their own way, each of the Draytons was embroiled in dire circumstances, though it wasn't clear who had the worse cards.

Hazel couldn't let herself imagine Leo losing to the rebels or facing him if she lost Bellona to her wounds.

Once I get her to safety, I'll find him. His voice was in her ear, reprimanding her for even thinking it, yet she shoved the imaginary warning away.

She'd never forgive herself if either were to slip from her grasp. It would be all her fault. Keeping her eyes straight ahead, they put distance between themselves and the rebel she'd shot.

I can't have just killed a man for nothing.

Driving away anymore thoughts of the life she'd just ended, she kept her eyes on the woods as Vetch and Vesper stumbled in the dark toward the shadowy train. Once they'd arrived, she wasn't sure she'd seen anything as welcoming as the warped, propped-open train doors in her life.

Hazel bounded inside first, tossing the shotgun to the side, and helped drag Bellona the rest of the distance.

Vesper and Vetch followed wordlessly. Closer now, a fine spray of scarlet was visible on both of their clothes. She likely had a coat of the viscera herself. Ignoring the horrid thought, she routed the men to her room.