Page 371 of Primal

Payton looks at my makeshift bandage.

Her throat bobs. “If we go and you …”

… die.

“Yeah. I know.”

“Then don’t.” Her voice breaks. “Let someone else—”

“Payton. If we don’t stop it, he wins.”

“I can’t—” She looks at me like I’m already gone. “I can’t lose you too.”

“You won’t.”

“If you so much as stumble, I swear to God—”

I force a crooked smile. “You’ll save my ass?”

She squeezes my arm—hard. “No. I’ll drag you back from the fucking dead.”

“This is nuts.” Wesley pinches the bridge of his nose. Looks at the bodies. His throat works.

“That’s on Derek,” I mutter. “Not you.”

No one argues. Corpses don’t need convincing.

Wesley sighs. “Dumbest fucking plan ever.”

“What’s your name?” Payton asks.

White Lace is standing beyond the pews, arms crossed, trembling. “Ra-Rachel.”

“Rachel.” Payton nods. ”You should come with us. Especially with him still out there.”

“But—”

“Stick with us or die alone. Your choice.” A shaky exhale. “Sorry. It’s … been a really shitty night.”

“Payton.” I suck in a breath sharp enough to see stars. “Grab the gun.”

She picks up the Glock—awkward grip, both hands.

“Ever fired one?” I ask.

“No.”

“Point and shoot.”

Wesley scoffs. “She gets to hold the gun?”

“You’re helping me walk.”

“Can’t you say please?”

“Please.” I grit my teeth. Shift off the pew. “And thank you.”

The chapel sways. Wesley ducks under my arm, bearing most of my weight.