Rebekah staggered backwards. The second she landed, she expected pain – the excruciating agony of Lima’s bullet tearing its way through her – but she felt nothing. When she looked down at herself, at her chest, her stomach, there was no bullet wound.
Had he missed?
From only four feet away?
She looked up, the grass like a wall around her. Lima was gone. She couldn’t see him anywhere. She pushed herself to her feet, still crouched in case he was near.
What the hell had happened?
That was when she saw the blood on the grass.
A slather of crimson on some strands to her left. She saw footprints too: male, big, an eleven or twelve.
They looked like they were going backwards.
She glanced behind her, at the place she’d landed, and saw the rusted piece of metal she’d been about to use as a weapon. Scooping it up, she gripped it tightly, then faced the grass ahead of her again, the spot where the blood lay, like a marker.
Something moved.
She saw it out of the corner of her eye.
She swivelled on her heel, in the direction of the Cherokee, pulse throbbing in her ears. No sign of Lima there. No sign of anyone.
She looked towards the blood again.
Took another step. A second.
The blood was fresh, running in thin red tresses. She reached out, slowly parting the grass, gripping the weapon harder than ever.
As soon as she did, she saw him.
Lima was lying next to some rotting timber. He’d landed awkwardly, propelled backwards by the bullet that had passed through his face. Rebekah took another step forward, his blood swapping the grass for her arm, but she hardly noticed: it was him on the ground, his eyes like glass, the bullet wound a dribble of treacle an inch above his left eye.
Startled, she looked back the way she’d come and suddenly glimpsed the shape of another person. As it moved, she remembered how she’d never been able to get a handle on Lima’s position, how she’d thought he’d tricked her, looped around her somehow.
But now she knew it hadn’t just been Lima out here.
It had been Hain too.
She backed up slowly, one deliberate pace after the next, trying to make as little noise as possible, gripping the weapon so hard it was cutting her skin.
Hain was coming towards her.
She could see him now.
She raised the chunk of metal she was holding. She had to get him before he saw her clearly. She had to strike before he ever got the chance to pull the trigger.
Come on, you son of a bitch.
And then a hand pushed through the grass, an arm reaching out for her, a face, a body – and it wasn’t Hain at all.
It was a man she’d never met before.
His gun was at his side, the barrel pointing down, and the second he saw her properly, he stopped dead and held up a hand to her.
‘It’s okay, Rebekah,’ he said, almost whispering it.
He slowly placed the gun on the ground.
‘It’s okay, I promise. I’m not here to hurt you, kiddo.’