“Are we looking for a landline? One of these restaurants would probably let us use theirs.”

I’d pulled off the highway in one of those little towns that were basically just two blocks of fast food restaurants. The lights were too bright, the traffic too slow. I searched each intersection, my focus on just one thing: finding the supplies I needed to fix whatever was causing all this bleeding, causing my head to spin and my ribs to burn like someone had set them on fire, but not just any fire, a slow-burning fire that was hotter than anything had the right to be.

“Quentin? Where are we going?”

“I need you to do something for me,” I said, hoping my voice wasn’t as weak as it sounded to my ears.

It must have been, though, because I suddenly had her full attention. She sat up a little straighter in the seat, her eyes bouncing from the hand I had pressed against my ribs to my face.

“Are you hurt?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t think I needed to.

The unmistakable red and white sign of a CVS drugstore appeared just ahead. I guarded myself against the bump of the curb as we pulled into the parking lot a little faster than I’d originally planned. I parked near the doors, barely managing to get into a spot without hitting the high curb.

“What do you need?”

“Bandages. Alcohol. Some aspirin or Tylenol or something like that.” I hesitated a second. “Some longer tweezers.”

Her eyes widened. I didn’t want to frighten her or let her know just how worried I was. I wouldn’t know for sure how bad it was until I could look at it, just as I wouldn’t know what it would require until then. But I needed to be prepared.

“Quentin,” she said softly, reaching over to touch my arm again. I just nodded.

She climbed out of the car without another word.

I waited, watching her through the glass walls at the front of the store. She was calmer than I probably would have been, moving down the aisles slowly, stopping to review this product and then that, filling her little basket with a variety of things, not just the things I’d asked for.

She was one smart cookie.

I closed my eyes, telling myself it was just for a second. I was startled awake by the movement of the car when she climbed back in, slinging two bags filled with her purchases into the back seat.

“Do you want me to drive?”

The idea of moving from one seat to the other woke the pain in my ribs. I shook my head. I needed to stay aware, needed to be capable of getting myself to the next step, if nothing else. I needed to get us through this mess.

“We need to find a motel, then.”

My thoughts exactly.

We needed an out-of-the-way sort of place, one of those motels that used to be on the main highway, but then the city planners in their infinite wisdom built a new thoroughfare, or the state built a newer, straighter highway. A mom-and-pop sort of place that was still open despite the hardship that had fallen on them with their drop in business.

It took a few minutes of driving up and down the side streets of this little town, but I finally found what I was looking for. The Sunlight Inn, a little motor inn with ten units. Perfect.

I pulled to a stop outside the office, telling myself this ordeal was almost over.

“See if you can get a room at the end there,” I said, gesturing with a jerk of my head. “Where we can hide the car.”

She nodded, slipping away without further question.

I once again watched from the car as she negotiated with someone on my behalf. I should have been the one in there. She was the one in danger, the one the Guardians were looking for. But the less attention we brought to ourselves, the better. A guy stumbling into that office with a gunshot wound in his chest would probably stick out.

She came back out a minute later, swinging an actual key off the end of one finger. She climbed into the car and gestured. “The last one.”

I moved the car to the end of the long, low building, pulling into a spot at the very end of the building, hidden by some low bushes and tall hedges. Malaika climbed out and immediately grabbed some of our bags and her purchases from the CVS before opening the room door with that old-fashioned key. I closed my eyes and must have fallen asleep again, because the next thing I knew, she was pulling my door open and tugging at my arm.

“I got everything into the room.”

I gritted my teeth as I pulled myself up a little straighter in the seat. The pain was almost unbearable. And the movement caused fresh blood to flow over my fingers.

“Quentin?”

“I’m okay,” I grunted. “Just…give me a second.”

Malaika stepped back, watching with wide eyes filled with fear.

I moved like a man of advanced age who had more arthritis in his joints than he had actual joints left. When I finally gained my feet, I thought I might black out as my vision faded. But then it came back, and, by some miracle, I got into the room.

“The supplies?”

“In the bathroom.”

I stumbled across the room, wondering why they always insisted on putting the damn bathroom all the way on the other side of the damn room. When I got there, I shut the, not excited to allow her to see the damage before I had a chance to take a look.

Now was the moment of truth. Either we were going to get out of this with only a few inconveniences, or we were in big trouble.

I slowly slipped out of my sports coat, not pleased with the wide swath of blood that stained the left side of my shirt. There was a hole the size of a quarter just above my lowest rib, the material of the shirt clearly singed. Unbuttoning it was the most tedious task I think I’d ever engaged in. I tried not to look at myself in the mirror, putting off the inevitable as long as I could. As I touched each button, I replayed the fight in the stairwell over and over again. When had he shot me? It could only have been during that one moment, that moment we were struggling over his gun. It was a small gun, maybe a twenty-two. At close range, it would be more than powerful enough to do some real damage, and this clearly had been at close range. Not point-blank, but close enough.

But if it had pierced a lung or a vital organ, I would already be dead. There was a slight amount of hope in that.

I finally dropped the shirt and looked down. It was almost a pretty little hole, perfectly shaped. Blood oozed out of it in visible streams, dripping lazily down my abdomen, soaking into the waistband of my jeans.

There was a lot of blood.

I turned on the water and wet a rag, relying on the edge of the counter to hold me up. Washing the area didn’t seem to help because the blood just kept coming. But my thoughts kept telling me that was the best thing to do. I had to clean it. I had to see what was underneath all that bloody mess.

But my hand was shaking, and my vision was going in and out. I lost whole minutes of time whenever I closed my eyes.

It was not going well.

Malaika began knocking on the door. I ignored her at first, trying to handle it on my own. But when she tested the doorknob and found it unlocked, I couldn’t stop her from coming in.

“Fuck!” she hissed under her breath when she saw the blood, the stains, the mess I was making trying to clean the wound up. She took my arm, and I somehow found the strength to resist her. But only for a second.

“Come on,” she said softly, her voice like that of an angel. “Let me take care of you.”

“The bullet…”

“I know.”

She grabbed a stack of towels and led me into the bedroom. I had no words for how wonderful it felt to fall back onto the bed, to finally lie still and give myself over to someone else. She touched my chest lightly, her fingers probing around the wound.

“I need to sterilize it,” she said.

How did she know what to do?

Pain seared through me as she poured alcohol straight into the wound. I didn’t even cry out. I simply lost my vision and then slipped away—disappearing for I don’t know how long—into the sweet abyss of oblivion.

When I became aware again, I could feel her touching my ribs, the sweetness of her touch as unbearable as the pain.

“Malaika…”

“You’re okay,” she said softly. “I removed the bullet and sewed up the wound. It’s still oozing a little, but less than before.”

I vaguely nodded, trying to open my eyes to look at her beautiful face. My true angel. But the energy it would have taken was just too much.

“Drink.” She held something up to my lips, weakly flavored. Gatorade, maybe.

I managed to swallow a few gulps, but then it was too much. She wiped my chin like I was a child.

“You’ll need antibiotics. It’s probably already infected.”

I inclined my head slightly.

“Let me take you to a hospital.”

“They’ll find you.” I forced my eyes open then. “Not until you’re safe.”

She leaned close to me, her lips brushing mine. And then the world went dark again.