What Lasts in Us

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

Seeing Dog makes me emotional. Can you believe it? Me, emotional? I can't either. I think I've finally broken. I think all the walls I built up to protect me all these years are finally beginning to crumble. Maybe when I was twelve – okay, sixteen – seeing and holding a puppy made me profoundly happy. Now? I feel no different, which is a massive problem.

I cuddle Dog to the point where he wants to break free and go back to what he was doing beforehand – chewing a massive bone, which I hope belongs to a deer and not a person.

Nate settles on the ground beside me. I lie sprawled out on a blanket on my side, to help give my back as much time as I can to let it heal. The small fire in front of us provides some comfort, but not much. The massive pro is that it keeps us warm and helped cook the best meal I've had in a long time; the massive con is that it's a beacon to anyone watching.

But at this stage, I don't care. I'm exhausted. I'll worry about it another time.

Dog yaps at me but I don't let him go. I force him to love me.

"Did you mean what you said?" I ask Nate.

He casts me a sidelong glance. "You need to be a bit more specific," he replies.

"When I was hurt. You said you've never been more scared or something."

"Out of all the shit I spewed to you, that's what you remember," Nate says. He ducks his head and runs a hand through his mess of hair, which really needs a cut. "Between you and Emmi, I'm surprised I haven't died of a heart attack."

"Funny," I say. "Pretty sure I didn't ask to be shot, let alone want to get shot."

"It still happened."

If I had the strength, I would try and shove him – you know, playful banter. Except my stupid shoulder with the stupid bullet in it hurts and I aggravated it like the idiot that I am. And now I'm dressed in one of Nate's shirts, because it allows me extra movement than if I was wearing one of my own.

"Okay, so in regards to the elephant in the room ..."

"You mean what we're going to do about Emmi?" Nate finishes. He scrubs a tired hand over his face. He not only needs a haircut, but also a shave. I wonder when it was the last time he'd done so. Obviously before Emmi was kidnapped, I think – well, the hair, anyway. I know he's shaved since then, but since I was hurt ... probably not.

"All things considered, I'll be the one going, not you."

If I could, I'd be jumping up and down in protest. But because I can't, I glare at him, hoping to maybe set his clothes on fire with my eyes alone.

"Don't be angry with me," he says.

"I'm not angry," I say angrily.

"Of course not," he says sarcastically.  Then he says, "Do you even want to hear what I have to say?" He looks at me now, blue eyes bright. "You were right. About that wall. They haven't fixed it. I can fit through there."

I push myself into a sitting position despite the pain and discomfort. I try to ignore it, but I'm excited by his excitement. It's contagious and thankfully, enough to make me forget about my current situation – injury-wise. "Seriously? My plan could work?"

Nate nods. "For once something might actually work in our favour," he says.

"Wait." I pause. "If we're only half a day away, shouldn't one of us be keeping watch? Which way is the settlement?"

Nate points towards the patrol car, which is in fact a Humvee. He points over the hood, angled towards the front right headlight. "That's why the patrol's in the way."