“I need you to live.”
Will saw his body move away from the floor. He saw black swirls, he saw yellow and red, and he smelled roasting flesh. Something sharp repeatedly banged against his chest and produced pain. But the pain on the side of his head was much worse. He felt things were moving, and he felt out of control. He closed and opened his eyes, and each time he did, he saw different images. He heard breathing and felt something wrapped tight and unforgiving around his back. Movement increased and became as rapid as the breathing he heard. He saw things and then no longer saw or heard anything.
“You’re not safe yet.” The voice sounded different.
Will’s head whipped back, and he saw white light. It slumped forward, and he saw snow and feet and legs quite close to him. Again something angular banged against his chest, and the images before him jarred in time with each small impact. He felt that he was moving fast. He felt helpless. His eyes closed even though he did not wish them to do so. His brain began to fall into some kind of strange sleep.
Will opened his eyes and saw sky. Underneath him everything felt cold. He focused on his hands and pushed with them without knowing what the action would do to his body. It forced him up into a seated position and into a place that at first he did not understand. He was seated in thick snow and on a steep hillside. He shook his head quickly to try to focus his mind.
“Don’t do that.”
Will stopped. He looked toward the voice, which seemed real. He saw Roger, but the man was not looking at him and was instead crouched on one knee while looking back up the hill. He held a rifle and was peering through its scope. Will shook his head again.
“You’ll lose consciousness if you do that. And I’m not going to haul you back onto my shoulder for another thousand-meter run if you ignore me.” Roger pulled away from the scope and looked toward Will. “We must go.”
Will touched a hand to his head and felt a long groove along the right-hand side of his hairline. He knew that the injury must have come from the assassin’s bullet. He coughed and recalled the thick smoke within the house. His vision blurred, and he blinked several times to try to regain control of his sight. He breathed in deeply and felt pain in his lungs. He slowed his breathing and tried to calm his body and mind. He spoke. “How the hell did you get me out of that house?”
Roger came toward him. “I didn’t. But the man who torched the place and then shot you most certainly did.”