Wake of the Dead | Two

Chapter Seventeen | Killian

Even though the men had left, Killian's heart continued to race. The pavement had scratched at his cheek uncomfortably, not to mention the hot, throbbing pain where the bullet was lodged in his calf. It was a burning sensation like no other, grating every time he moved as the metal scraped farther beneath his skin. Shifting uncomfortably, all he could do was lean against Jasper's shoulder. He held his leg stiffly at an awkward angle off of the ground, with any slight movement causing another wave of agony to shoot up his spine. With his hands clenched tight on Jasper's shirt, Killian waited impatiently for Chris to finish up searching the corpse on the pavement.

Glaring at Harley he rasped, "Give me back my crossbow." In usual circumstances, Killian might have thrown a punch in Harley's direction. But he could make an exception that time--if Harley hadn't shot those bolts, he and Jasper could have been killed just moments prior.

"Sorry man, I needed it-" Harley began as he helped the crossbow back onto Killian's shoulders. At the corner of his eyes, Killian noticed how Jasper's gaze followed Harley's every move, watching like a hawk.

"It's alright," Killian interrupted Harley before the other man could start rambling and apologizing, "You saved us. You don't have to be sorry." Perhaps if he had more energy he would have snapped at Harley, but Killian was too exhausted to argue back. Aubrey shot Killian a small smile, and he returned it with a halfhearted twitch of his lips. Pressing his face into Jasper's side, Killian shifted his stance uncomfortably. There was a dull aching in every one of his muscles, almost as if they were threatening to give out. His head spun, a sickening bile raised to the back of his throat.

A large hand lifted his chin, and Jasper's brows knit together. His lips pressed into a thin line, tugged down into a frown at the corners. The butterflies in Killian's stomach replaced the nausea as Jasper carefully ran his thumb along the scrapes on Killian's cheek. Part of the skin had broken on his forehead and cheekbones, leaving small cuts that stung whenever the man touched them. "Hey, look at me." The large man's voice was soft and comforting. Killian sheepishly glanced up, meeting Jasper's eyes. "Hang in there, Boy Scout. We'll find somewhere to rest and get those wounds taken care of in a bit."

"I'm not weak," Was all Killian could manage to say, hating the way his voice shook to contradict his statement.

Tilting his head to the side, Harley crossed his arms. "We know that. You got shot in the leg, you're bound to be a bit sick." To say that he was pleasantly surprised with the response would have been an understatement. This small patrol had saved him from being killed--Aubrey had apologized immediately for taking so long, now they were expressing both concern and understanding. Maybe he'd been making friends without realizing it.

Another voice broke through the quiet murmurings of conversation when Chris pulled a bundle of tattered letters from the dead man's body. He unfolded the topmost loose leaf note, then his expression changed from mildly annoyed to horrified. "Jasper, you should read this." He said. Hurriedly jogging over, he handed the note to Jasper.

With his eyes flickering across the page, Jasper began to read out loud. The handwriting on the note was sloppy to say the least. "It's a note to somebody named Malcolm," He began. Jasper's brows furrowed even further as the letter went on. "One of the scouts have taken out a group in a small town called-" Jasper paused for a few seconds, his face paling. "Swanston. Two survivors managed to escape, I doubt they'll be returning."

A shudder ran down Killian's spine, his chest tightening. Clenching his hands harder onto Jasper's jacket he said, "Jackson..." Despite everything he'd gone through with Jackson betraying him and shooting Jasper, Killian couldn't help but be concerned for his cousin. He was still family after all. But the thing that frightened him most of all was the name Malcolm. A name he'd heard many times before, one that sent a violent shudder through his whole body.