Chapter 7

chapter

seven

The murmur of voices woke Sawyer from a restless sleep. He opened his eyes, but it was too dark to even see his usual splashes of light and shadow.

He closed his eyes again and focused on the sounds, the muffled voices too indistinct to tell whether they were male or female. Boots creaked over the old wood floor. A thunk. Something that sounded like… a strangled shout? A thump. Zelda growled deep in her chest. It was a strange sound and he put his hand on her head to comfort her. His girl almost never growled.

Crash.

Everyone came awake as glass broke and a cool breeze swirled into the cabin. Sawyer thrust himself upwards, heart pounding with a sudden surge of adrenaline. "Lucy!"

"I'm here." Her hand closed around his. She was still by his side. "Everyone's okay." She sounded like she was trying to assure herself as much as everyone else. "It's just another storm rolling through. The wind broke a window."

He could feel the wind, damp and cool, on his face. Hear it howling through the opening like a ghostly wail.

"I got it," Ethan said. "Someone grab that plywood over there."

"Got it," Grant said.

Sawyer heard them shuffling around, wrestling the plywood sheet over the broken window, heard the hammer of nails going into wood. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. And then it was quiet again.

Too quiet.

Something was wrong.

There weren't enough breath sounds for the number of people in the room.

"I don't hear Maya's breathing." He shoved to his feet, fumbled for his cane and tapped his way over to the cot. He found Maya's arm with his hand. Her skin was unnaturally cold. He traced up her arm to her chest—no movement.

A chill of dread seeped into his bones as he slowly drew back. His hand was wet. He raised it to his nose and sniffed. Blood. It was cold and slightly gummy between his fingers. Coagulating.

"Oh, no," Lucy said, horror in her voice. "Grant! Help! Maya's not breathing."

Sawyer caught her before she could launch a rescue. "Luce. She's already gone."

"No. No, that can't be." Lucy's hand slipped from his, and he heard the rustle of her movements as she leaned over Maya. "We need to try CPR."

"I'm sorry." He reached out but found only air. "She's cold. She's been gone for a while."

"She's dead?" Joel said faintly.

"It was a long shot," Bea muttered and then cleared her throat. "We all knew it when we dug her out from under that tree."

"No tree did this," Ethan said gruffly. "Unless trees have started carrying knives. She was stabbed."

"What?" Lucy demanded. "Show me."

There was a flurry of movement, a cacophony of voices, curses, exclamations of surprise. Sawyer stood in the middle of it all, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He thought he'd come to terms with his blindness. He'd thought all the years of therapy and soul-searching hikes had helped him adapt, reclaim his independence, and find peace with his limitations. But in this moment, he felt the stark edges of his disability—unable to see the blood on his hands, unable to see Maya's lifeless body, and worst of all, unable to see the danger before it struck.

What if it were Lucy lying cold on that cot? He wouldn't have been able to stop it. Wouldn't have been able to protect her any more than he'd been able to protect Maya.

A light flickered on, and finally Sawyer could see the usual blobs of colors and shadows. The vise around his chest loosened and he sucked in a sharp breath.

"Who the fuck stabbed her in my house?" Ethan's boots thumped loudly on the wooden floorboards as he paced. Sawyer followed his movement, catching glimpses of a bushy head of hair and a bushier beard. He looked like a growling bear disturbed from its hibernation.

Another figure moved to the center of the room and held up his hands. Sawyer got an impression of a younger man, mid-to-late twenties, tall and fit, with a white bandage wrapped around his head, but then the guy stopped moving and disappeared back into the blur before he could make out any more details. That had to be Grant, he decided, which was confirmed when the guy spoke:

"She was fine when I checked on her before we all went to sleep. I think she was going to pull through."

"An accident," Joel whispered. "It has to be, right? Just some kind of…"

"Accident?" Ethan scoffed. "Kid, you don't accidentally stab someone in their sleep."

"Which of you bastards did it?" Bea's voice was quiet, yet it somehow filled the room and silenced everyone else. "And why? Why would you kill her ? She was helpless."

Lucy's breath hitched, and Sawyer could hear her choking back a sob. An alarming surge of emotion threatened to overtake him, but he forced it down and tapped his cane on the floor to get everyone's attention. "Okay, we need to stay calm," he said, trying to bring back some order in the chaotic room. "Let's all?—"

Joel spoke over him, his voice cracking with fear: "One of you did it. One of you killed her."

"Damn it all to hell," Ethan spat, his footfalls abruptly halting. "Get out. All of you." He paused. "‘Cept the kid. He's the only one I know for sure didn't do this. I'll protect him until help arrives, but the rest of you aren't welcome here anymore."

"Joel stays, I stay," Chuck said, and there was genuine concern behind the bluster. "I'm his father, and there's no fucking way I'm leaving him here alone with you."

The guy was a grade-A asshole, but he truly cared about his son, and for that, at least, Sawyer had to give him a modicum of respect.

"No one's leaving," Lucy said. "It's dark outside, it's storming, and if one of us is a murderer— if ," she stressed when someone made a grumble of protest, "then we're safer as a group. One person can't take us all on."

"Wasn't safer for Maya," Chuck muttered.

And there went that tiny bit of respect right out the window. Sawyer glowered in his direction. "You know, you're always so fast with a snarky comment, but I never hear you offering any solutions."

"At least I'm not pretending to be the goddamn hero in all this. What are you gonna do when we catch the guy, Sawyer? Whack him with your stick? Sic that doe-eyed dog on him? Why don't you sit down and shut up and let the normal people handle this?"

Normal.

Sawyer kept his back straight, refusing to let the word hurt him. When he woke up in the hospital in Germany and realized he'd never be normal again, he'd succumbed to a bitterness so potent, it had threatened to ruin him. But he wasn't that broken soldier anymore. He'd found his worth again, first in Zelda and then in Redwood Coast Rescue. And he would not let this angry little man take that away from him.

Zelda growled, a low rumble that echoed through the room.

Sawyer tilted his head and smirked. "Zelda doesn't like your tone, Chuck."

"No one does," Bea said.

Chuck moved then, backing up a step, allowing Sawyer to zero in on his location. He took a confident step forward without help from the cane and stared at the man. He knew people found the pale blue of his eyes intimidating, and used to use it to his advantage. At one time, all it took for a wayward Marine to fall back into line was a hard stare from Staff Sergeant Murphy.

"Zelda's trained to protect me at all costs, so don't underestimate her because she's cute. And as for my stick?" He swung it and Chuck flinched, which gave him the target he needed. He stopped short of actually hitting him, instead resting the tip against Chuck's shoulder. "It's specially made, reinforced with steel. I whack someone with this, it will do damage."

"Whoa, okay, let's all take a breath!" Lucy set a hand on his arm. "Sawyer," she said more softly. "Lower the cane."

After another moment, he relented, choking up his grip on the cane until his hand rested back on the handle. He stroked Zelda's head, and she stopped growling. Chuck's relief when they turned away was palpable, and he sorely wished he could see the guy's bravado deflate like a slowly leaking balloon.

He'd always hated bullies.

Lucy, however, didn't let it go. Her voice was sharp as she confronted Chuck. "We're all scared. We're all paranoid and on edge, and rightfully so. But lashing out at each other won't help. It will only make things worse."

Chuck grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, but Sawyer caught two words: "…not blind…"

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"I said you're not blind," Chuck snapped, his bravado returning. "You all saw the way he looked at me just now. He's lying. Maybe he killed Maya."

Every gaze in the room turned to him. He felt the stares like the hairy legs of a spider skittering down the back of his neck. "Blindness is a spectrum, asshole. It's not all or nothing. I can see colors and vague shapes and shadows. My eyes are fine; the problem is my brain can't interpret the information it receives from them because a sniper tried to blow my head off in Afghanistan. But movement helps— so, yes, I can see you reaching for whatever it is you're about to throw at me, and, yes, I can catch it."

Chuck's hand paused in mid-air.

"Chuck." Lucy stepped between them. "Let's be civilized. Put down the bottle. You'll just waste water that we can't afford to lose."

For a long moment, the standoff continued, each man stiff with defiance. Finally, Chuck harrumphed, and the plastic bottle crackled as he set it back onto the table. He didn't apologize, but Sawyer wasn't expecting him to.

An uneasy silence filled the room, until Theodore finally broke it:

"If one of us is dead, and we're all stuck here together, how long before the rest of us follow?"

"Well, damn, Theo," Bea muttered. "That's a cheerful thought."

"It's a legitimate concern, isn't it? I mean…" He trailed off and didn't finish the thought.

Sawyer sensed Lucy tense beside him, and he gently touched her arm, offering what little comfort he could. Paranoia seeped into the room like an insidious gas, filling every corner and twisting every shadow into something monstrous.

"We're not animals," Lucy said finally. "We're not going to start tearing each other apart."

"How do you know?" Joel asked.

Sawyer grimaced. The kid had grown up with Chuck as a father. It had to be difficult to see past the ugly parts of human nature when that was all you were exposed to. Still, Sawyer thought, he should try to offer some hope.

"I know because I've seen what happens when people turn on each other." He motioned toward his eyes. "I barely survived it. But I've also seen what people are capable of when they are stronger than fear. We're only animals if we choose to be. If we stick together and have each other's backs until rescue arrives, no one else will die."

Chuck snorted. "I don't trust any fucking one of you."

Before Sawyer could answer, a sudden gust rattled the windows. Sawyer put his hand on Zelda's head to calm her, feeling her fur prickle against his palm. His sweet, laid-back girl was just as on edge as everyone else in the small room.

"Storm's picking up." Grant's voice cut through the tense silence. "No one's going anywhere tonight."

"We'll sleep in three-hour shifts," Lucy added. "Grant, Sawyer, and I will take the first watch."

Again, Chuck gave a derisive snort.

Sawyer hated that the man's snide remarks bothered him. He'd dealt with worse. Hell, his own father had been a verbal bulldozer, always quick to tear down anyone in his path. Sawyer had built up a thick skin from an early age and learned to wield self-deprecating humor like a weapon to deflect the worst of the barbs, but something about Chuck's dismissive attitude rubbed him raw. Maybe it was the parallels he saw between Chuck and Joel's strained relationship and his own fractured relationship with his father, or maybe it was the way Chuck's words were like splinters under the skin of the group's already fragile unity.

He bit back a sharp retort, reminding himself that his role was to maintain harmony, not stoke conflict. He needed to keep the peace, for everyone's sake. He couldn't let Chuck's toxic attitude poison their survival efforts.

"It's eleven now," Lucy continued as if Chuck hadn't made a sound. "At two, Bea and Theodore, are you good to take over?" They must have nodded their consent because she finished, "Then at five, Ethan, Chuck, and Joel will finish out the night. Once we've all had some rest, we can figure out our next steps, okay?"

There was a murmur of agreement and a reluctant grumble from Chuck. Tension still crackled in the air as everyone returned to their makeshift bunks, but it was less like an imminent lightning strike now and more like static electricity.

Grant moved toward them, his form taking shape from the white noise of Sawyer's vision. He looked worried, his brows drawn together, a deep frown on his face. Then he stopped moving and disappeared again.

"This has the potential to go sideways fast," he said, keeping his voice low. "Chuck is a wild card. Maybe he's all talk, but I'm not so sure. He's pissed and scared, and that makes him dangerous."

"I know," Lucy replied, and she sounded exhausted.

Sawyer reached out until he found her back and rubbed in soothing circles.

She sighed and leaned into him. "But right now, I'm just concerned with getting us through the night."