I wince, being able to picture it too well.
Luciana continues quietly, “Chances are, he saved my life. By the time the attacker finished with Nemeth, he didn’t have the energy left to deal with me immediately.”
Or the time, I think, knowing that ambushing Luciana and Nemeth had been only the opening act for the hunter’s busy day.
“But it cost him,” she finishes at last. “Gunshot wound, broken bones, pulverized face. It’s not . . . it’s not looking good.”
I want to squeeze her hand, but I’m attached to too many lines. I understand how she feels, though. I need Miguel, Scott, and Neil to pull through, because the thought of them dying while I get to live is too terrible to contemplate. Both a burden and a grave injustice.
“Bodies,” I manage at last. “In Devil’s Canyon. There’s a chamber, filled with eight mummified remains.”
Luciana nods. “One of the teams discovered it this morning. I don’t know if you remember, but you were talking about it as you drifted in and out of consciousness. The mummies needed you, the mummies were coming to get you, hunted humans, human hunter. We didn’t understand it all, but it was enough to know something else was going on near the cliff face. I remembered the area where Daisy had first picked up a scent trail before becoming confused, and provided a rough direction. If we’d had more time on our expedition, I’m sure Daisy would’ve made the discovery herself. Of course, our party had things going wrong from the very beginning.”
The hunter had been outplaying us from the start, no doubt about it. And yet still hadn’t truly appreciated the depth of a father’s love, or the power of a father’s rage. Neil would approve: Martin had made his death count.
“How long?” I ask—as in, how long have I been in the hospital?
“Thirty-six hours.”
I’m startled by this, mostly because it feels like I could easily sleep another year. Beneath the hospital sheets, I can feel the nearly concave shape of my hollowed-out stomach.
“They have you on fluids and glucose,” Luciana provides. “Now that you’re awake, I’m sure a doctor will be in to see you shortly. This is a small hospital, so having five major trauma cases at once is straining their resources, hence your ‘room’？”—she gestures to my curtained-off space—“which is actually a temporary bed in the ER. The way I understand things, your injuries aren’t that serious, so you don’t need to stay. Mostly, you need a week’s worth of sleep and probably a month’s worth of food. Your body will take care of the rest.”
I nod, because I don’t know what to say. In all honesty, I have no idea where to go or what to do next. Luciana once told me a week in the woods would change me. She had no idea.
Now Luciana places a gentle hand on my shoulder: “I have a room for Daisy and me back at the original motel in Ramsey. You’re welcome to crash with us again. When you’re ready to be discharged from here, let me know and I can give you a ride.”
“Thank you.”
There’s a rustle from the curtains behind us. Some kind of signal Luciana must understand.
“Sheriff Kelley would like to speak to you now,” she states.
I nod. The debrief. I have done such things before. I’m tired and hungry, and yet still in better shape than my companions.
And someone has to tell the story.
* * *
—
Sheriff Kelley has the same trim, wiry build I associate with Martin and Nemeth. He’s full-on cowboy: boots, jeans, impressive silver belt buckle, and cream-colored Stetson. It really works for him. He strides into my curtained-off space and I already feel slightly safer. Penetrating blue eyes, weathered face, hard lined features. I’m convinced—you want a good-looking man, come to Wyoming.
He positions himself on my right-hand side, shoulders square, feet spread for balance.
“How ya feeling?”
“Okay.”
“Docs’ll fill you in more. I understand your shoulder was dislocated. Fixed now. Sprained ankle will take a bit longer. Rest is mostly bruises and lacerations, though your face won’t look so pretty for a bit.” He pauses, as if to see if that news bothers me. I think it’s charming he assumed I was pretty to begin with. He continues bluntly: “Your friends weren’t so lucky.”
“My friends weren’t so lucky,” I agree.
Sheriff Kelley rocks back on his heels, peers at me intently. “What the hell happened up there?”
I start laughing. I just can’t help myself. Except maybe I’m crying. I can’t tell anymore.