Page 131 of Nothing But Air

Teague and Kyle fought for position. For the gun. For their lives.

“Eden!” Teague’s voice, sharp with warning.

Kyle broke free, the gun no longer in his hand. He lunged back toward Teague, his face twisted with rage.

The two men crashed together again.

One of Kyle’s hands found Teague’s throat while the other closed on the gun. Teague drove his knee up hard into Kyle’s stomach. A grunt. A curse.

Kyle stood and staggered back as he lifted the gun and pointed it at Teague’s chest.

But his feet slipped on the rain-slicked stone.

For one suspended moment, he teetered. Arms windmilling. Eyes wide—not with fear, but with confusion. As if he still couldn’t understand why this was happening. Why she’d chosen wrong. Why the world refused to match the story he’d written in his head.

Then he slid.

The gun was still clutched in his hand as he scrambled for purchase. His fingers found nothing but slick limestone. He got one shot off, but it landed in the rocks to their left. The scream lasted maybe two seconds?—

Then it cut off.

Eden couldn’t move.

Rain poured down her face, mixing with tears she didn’t remember starting. Her wrist throbbed. Her legs shook.

“Overhang!” Marcus’s voice was barely audible over the storm. He pointed toward a depression in the cliff face. “Get to—” He swayed. His eyes rolled back.

Teague caught him before he hit the ground. “Eden! Help me!”

She moved on autopilot. Got under Marcus’s other arm despite the pain in her wrist. Together they half carried, half dragged him toward the shelter.

It was barely big enough for three people. More of a shallow overhang than a cave. But it kept the rain off.

They got Marcus settled against the back wall. In the dim light, Eden could see the extent of his head wound—a gash along his temple still bleeding, the blood mixing with rain and running down his face.

“Marcus.” Teague checked the injury. “Can you hear me? Tell me your name. Where you are.”

“Marcus…Roosevelt.” The words were slurred. “In the Grand—” He turned his head and vomited.

Concussion. Bad one.

Eden pulled out the first aid kit with her good hand.

Teague reached for her injured wrist.

“Don’t.”

“Let me see?—”

“Don’t touch me.” The words came out sharper than she intended. “This is my fault. All of it.”

“Eden—”

“I brought Kyle here. I vouched for him. I told you to trust my judgment when my judgment—” She couldn’t finish.

When my judgment was what got Landon killed.

“I called you reckless.” She looked at her hands—both shaking, no doubt from cold and shock, one swelling. “Lectured you about trusting God. But I was the reckless one. Depending on my own judgment. My own strength.” Her voice cracked. “And I was wrong. About everything.”