Dominic’s blood on my hands.
The empty rifle lying in the snow.
Three things I hear.
Ringing in my ears.
King’s voice shouting through the phone, somewhere on the ground.
Approaching footsteps.
Three body parts.
My heart cracking in my chest.
My baby, barely formed, in my belly.
And my soul, in the center of my being, wailing over our lost chance at happiness.
“I’m sorry, too, Dominic,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save us.” I bend to the side and press a soft kiss to his cheek. “And I’m sorry I never told you how much I love you.”
A man rounds the front of the bullet-riddled vehicle.
And I straighten, still touching Dominic, still gripping the brass knuckles.
The man’s mouth pulls up on the side as he lifts the barrel of his gun.
Our lives are about to end, and he thinks it’s amusing.
I lean against Dom.
Together.
And then chaos erupts around me.
More gunfire than before.
The sound is deafening.
So many weapons unloading all at once.
The man in front of me vanishes, his body ripping apart before my eyes.
The noise is so loud.
It’s so incredibly loud.
I brace.
Waiting for the pain.
But nothing hits me.
Nothing hits Dom.
I turn my head, craning to see where the shots are coming from.
And I see it.
I see them.
A row of people. A whole fucking row of people, walking shoulder to shoulder out of the snow with their weapons raised, aimed over my head.
They keep walking.
Keep walking and keep shooting. And I don’t know where they came from.
They materialized from the field, dressed in all-white tactical gear.
And…
I notice the formfitting snow suits. Notice the curves.
They’re women.
My mouth drops open.
There are like twenty fucking women raining down hell on the people attacking us.
Maybe more than that.
Their thick knitted face masks hide their facial features. But they’re women.
I know they are.
They keep walking nearer.
And they keep shooting.
Reloading as they move.
I can’t even tell if anyone is even shooting back at them.
The line moves closer until they’re near enough for me to see their eyes through their masks. Then their line parts, and they walk around us and our downed vehicle, never sparing me a look.
But then one person breaks off from the line. And they move toward me. Toward us. Their gun lowered toward the ground.
My shaking fist drops.
As they stop before me, the person pulls their face mask off.
And this one is not a woman. I was too awed to notice how large his build is in comparison to the rest of them.
His dark eyes are kind and calm, so when he tips his head toward Dom, I nod, and he crouches down on the other side of my husband’s outstretched legs.
The man pulls a clear bag out of his jacket pocket, and I recognize it as a collection of first aid supplies.
I stay at Dominic’s side, keeping my hand in place as I give the man room.
“Let me see.” The man finally breaks the silence, and I pull my hand away from Dom’s chest. Hesitant to stop pressing on the wound, but more hesitant not to take the help.
The stranger reaches forward and rips Dominic’s shirt open, then dumps the contents of the bag onto Dominic’s lap.
As he’s bent over, tearing open a package, I notice the man has long hair. It’s pulled back into a bun, the golden strands partially covered by the collar of his white jacket.
“Who are you?” I whisper.
The man doesn’t look up. “Later.”
I hear my name, muffled, coming from somewhere, and I realize that all the gunfire has stopped, so I can hear King shouting from Dom’s phone again.
Glancing around, I find it next to me on the ground.
One final shot rips through the air.
Okay, now it’s over.
The man wipes a little cloth over Dom’s bullet wound, then follows it with some kind of gauze bandage.
I expect him to press it against the bullet hole, but then he starts jamming it into the bullet hole.
“What are you doing?!” I half shriek.
“This is how it’s done.” He doesn’t spare time explaining to me. And I have to trust him.
What other choice do I have?
He shoves more of the gauze into the hole, then wads up the rest of it and presses it against the wound.
“Hold it here.”
I do as he says and press down with both hands. The oversized brass knuckles still around the fingers of my right hand.