What Lasts in Us

CHAPTER FIFTY TWO

Maia's my height, perhaps a little bit taller. She's thin but lean, and she's putting that to good use as she pulls me away from Lindsay, closer to where Liam and Nina lie, their bodies nothing more than a snack to the couple of MeVs who currently kneel over them, eating them from the inside out. Blood is everywhere; gore is everywhere.

Maia saves the scene from turning into something worse; once she stops tugging me to the other side of the clearing, she points one gun to my head, wiggles Lindsay's from its holster, then shoots the MeVs dead – and she shoots both Nina and Liam to make sure they're dead as well.

I look to Lindsay, but there's nothing he can do. And there's nothing I can do. Maia's come for me, and she has me.

"Lower your weapon," she says to me, voice too close for my liking. Her lips graze my ear. "Drop it."

Like a situation so many weeks before, I only drop my handgun because I'm the one with the gun pointed at my head. It falls from my fingers and hits the ground beside me with a thud, and suddenly, I feel very, very naked. I've never not had my handgun. I've had it with me since Dad gave it to me.

Maia's body is flush against mine, my back to her front. And the proximity unnerves me, as the only weapon in my possession is the knife in my boot. I am vulnerable and defenceless.

And of course, things take a turn for the worse once Nate shows up. He's late to the party, but despite this, despite my precarious position, he still comes in, gun raised, ready to blow off Maia's head – or the like.

"Let her go," he demands, even though Maia has one gun pressed to my head, and she has another – Lindsay's gun – pointed in his and Lindsay's general direction. The situation itself isn't only bad and precarious, but Nate's outgunned.

Maia doesn't say anything, nor does Nate. They kind of square off, facing each other on opposite sides of the clearing. Guns raised, they wait for the other to make the next move.

Lindsay stands beside Nate like a zombie. His gaze never breaks away from his dead brother, and I doubt it even registers to him that I'm in trouble. But I understand his behaviour. He's lost his sister and brother within the space of a few hours.

Maia points Lindsay's gun at Nate, deciding that Lindsay isn't a threat so much as Nate is. She might be outnumbered, but she has more weapons.

"No," Maia says finally. She adjusts her stance; she doesn't hold me, she just stands behind me at an angle, so she can reach past me to point Lindsay's gun; the other one is simply pressed to my head, because why would she need to physically touch me? I'm not going to try anything with a fucking gun pointing at my head.

"Let her go," Nate repeats. He almost growls the words, and he even takes a step forward, like I don't have a fucking gun pointing at my head.

"No," Maia says again. "She's coming with me."

"Like hell she is," Nate says. "You are going to let her go, and when you do, I'll let you walk out of here with your brain still inside your head."

Even without seeing her face, I know Maia's smirking. I used to share a house with her when I lived in the settlement, along with Eva. I got to know the two women very well, especially their moods and tics. Like how right now, despite everything, she finds this situation remotely amusing.

"I don't think you're in the position to make any deals with me, you cocky son of a bitch," she replies. "If anything, I will shoot you in the head so you don't say anything stupid ever again."

A cold finger runs its way down my spine, and I realise, as the cold spreads through me, attacking every limb, that I'm scared. I'm scared for Nate. Maia's like me. She will do what she has to do, no matter how cruel it is. She's just waiting for the right moment.

"Nate," I say. It's the first time in a very long time since I've pleaded with someone. And for once, not for my safety. But for his. For Emmi's. "Do what she wants. Look after Emmi. Don't–"

Maia pulls me to her and presses the barrel of her gun to my temple. The cold metal bites into my skin. "Try it again," Maia snarls, her grip just as painful as the weapon, "and I'll put a bullet through your head."

Nate takes another step forward. Since his appearance, I don't think he's so much as looked at Liam and Nina, or the MeVs who tried to eat them whole. No, he's had eyes only for me, and what Maia's doing to me. But now he's pushing it. He's taken three steps too far already, and I can feel Maia's erratic heartbeat against my back.

She holds her ground, just like Nate keeps his aim steady. His gun is zeroed-in on the point right between Maia's eyes, no matter where or how she stands, or who happens to be standing between them.

I can't believe Nate would be this reckless, this stupid. He will get shot. It's only a matter of when. I'm just trying to avoid the inevitable. I need him to walk away so he can actually walk away. Maia won't hesitate if he starts really pissing her off. I've seen it happen before, and never once did I think I or someone I know would be on the receiving end.

"Nate," I say again, hoping he'll see some sense. "Do it. Do what she wants. She's not messing around."

"Like you would," Nate says to Maia. He ignores me completely now, his blue eyes focussing on Maia instead. He never drops his gaze, because in the gloom, the eye can play tricks. "You need to return her alive. She's no use to you or anyone else dead."

"That's only an assumption," Maia says, pulling the hammer back. The handgun makes a click right by my ear. "King said he wanted her back. He never specified how. So to me, it doesn't really matter." She pauses, breathes in deep. "So I'm going to say it again, and I'm only going to say it once: take another step in any direction, any direction that brings you closer to me, and I'll blow Charli's head off."

"Nate," I say. I plead with him again, because if he can't see reason, hopefully something in my voice – fear – will make him understand. "Nate. Look at me."

He does. He reluctantly tears his gaze from Maia, like if he doesn't keep an eye on her, she might do something. Uncertainty is written all over his face, whether he wants it to or not. He's desperate, unsure, arrogant, all rolled up into one. But he's at a loss for what he can do. I don't doubt that he wants to help me, but with the way he's going about it, it's going to end badly for everyone involved. Him more likely, because as it stands, he's a threat. I would be too if I was armed, but because I'm not, I'm nothing more than a stupid woman who has a gun pointed at her head.

"Do what Maia says. If she won't hurt me, she'll definitely hurt you. And if you're hurt, and I'm gone, then who's going to look up after Emmi? You just got her back. Think of her, and look after her. Don't you worry about me. I'll find my way back to you."

Nate swallows, and even from this distance, even in the dim light with the sky lightening, I can see he's struggling. "Okay," he says, like he's saying it out loud to convince himself – though he's been doing it for all her life. "We'll find you. I'll get you back."

And then there's the unspoken words, the way he looks at me like he doesn't understand how this is happening, how I can simply accept my fate and allow Maia to take me away.

"Touching," Maia says. "But I hate to break it to you, we'll be long gone by the time you even get started in your search."

She pulls the trigger. The gunshot is one loud bang which reverberates around the clearing like an explosion. The bullet hits Nate and he crumples, his legs giving out.

I scream for Nate, I scream at Maia, and I ram my elbow back as hard as I can, hoping to hit her any way that I can. I hit her somewhere, because she gasps at the impact. But I don't break free from her grasp. No, she hangs onto me, and smashes the butt of her gun into my temple with such force that black spots dance across my vision, and I keel over, falling like a meteor falls to earth.

There's nothing but stars. And dirt. Dirt in my eyes, dirt in my mouth, my nose. And Nate. I don't know where he was shot, but it was enough to knock him off his feet. He's dead, I think. No, I know he's dead. Something in my gut, in my heart, tells me he's dead.

My vison blurs, and suddenly, all I see is a long, dark tunnel, with a tiny bit of colour right at the end getting smaller and smaller.

All things considered, my last coherent thought is, oh my–