Page 372 of Primal

“Lean on me, not her,” he mutters, jerking his chin at Payton. ”She’s got the gun. And you’re fucking heavy.”

“Point and shoot,” she mumbles. “How hard can it be?”

My laugh cracks into a wet cough. I lock my knees, tell the dark closing in to fuck off. Ten more minutes.

“Derek’s still out there. Stay sharp.”

Wesley adjusts his grip. ”You die on me, I’m leaving your corpse here.”

I grin, all teeth and blood. ”Noted.”

Payton’s ahead, laptop in one hand, gun in the other. Rachel stumbles after her, arms wrapped around herself.

And me? I let Wesley haul my half-dead ass forward, one uneven step at a time.

My boots skid—fuck—he wrenches me upright before I eat floor.

Payton nods at Rachel to open the doors.

Cold slams into me like a fist. Better than the heat inside. The rain has eased but still does a good job of washing off the filth. Good. Fuck this place.

We move quickly—they do. I drag behind, every step carving fire through my stomach.

The shortcut looms ahead. Past the generator shed. Through the blackberry thorns.

Payton shoulders the door open. Waits until I can get one boot through the gap.

Derek’s out there.

The bomb’s ticking.

And I’m running out of blood.

One more step.

Just one more.

Chapter Thirty

Rachel slips through the blackberries first. The rest of us trail behind—slower than I like. Every few steps, Kade sags into Wesley.

Kristy’s dead. Lana’s dead. I don’t get to grieve. Not when there’s a bomb ticking and Kade’s … dying.

I glance back again—his face is pale. Too fucking pale. That patch’s getting bigger—almost black in the stormlight.

Wesley’s gaze snags mine. Same dread, same fear. We can’t stop—not even for Kade.

But if he goes down—

No. Not doing that.

Stomach wounds don’t kill fast. They hollow you out, drop by drop.

Just like Kristy.

I wipe at my eyes. Blink hard.

The chapel looks smaller. Orange-gold windows and pale stone, the dark cross jutting skyward—a box of bloodstains and bad memories. Another building in the distance now.