About forty-five minutes later, Nico’s eyes fluttered awake again. He propped himself up on his good arm, facing me. His face was pale and slick with sweat, but his eyes were sharp.

I put my head in my hands, crying with relief. I would not have to kill Nico or take my chances alone on the road.

“Anabelle?” Nico asked. I shook my head, unable to speak. “I’m all right,” he said, reaching toward me, but stopping as the pain from his shoulder seemed to take hold.

I swallowed. “How do you feel?”

“Well, like I’ve been shot. What happened?”

“After you turned off the road, the soldiers shot you in the shoulder. Then the UTV fell partway down the cliff and I think something hit you in the head. You passed out.”

“What about the UTV?”

“Stuck between a tree and the cliffside.”

He brushed a hand over his face and seemed deep in thought. “And our pursuers?”

“They crashed. They’re all dead.”

He met my eyes. “Are you all right?”

I considered his question. I was shaken, and the thought of taking his life had been nearly incomprehensible. But the death of the soldiers and even the bullet wound had hardly fazed me. More than anything, I was angry. If we had died, the news about Keon’s ruse might’ve been lost forever.

I nodded. “I’m okay. But I think we need to get out of here as soon as possible.”

Nico looked at me with a new mixture of surprise and respect. “Thank you for bandaging me. You saved me from bleeding out. How did you know what to do?”

“At some point, I just learned,” I replied. I rifled through Nico’s bag and found us both bottled waters. “What do you want to do now?”

Nico’s mouth formed a grim line. “You’re right. We need to get as far away from here as we can. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a tracker on the soldiers’ truck.”

With my help, he stood on wobbly legs and looked at the UTV, still firmly wedged against the rock. “There’s rope in the back,” he said. “We need to try to lower it down the hill.”

“Tell me what to do. If you exert yourself, you’ll reopen the wound.”

We set to work immediately. With Nico directing me, I tied one end of the rope to the UTV’s hitch and the other around a flat rock, then climbed into the driver’s seat and shifted into a lower gear. I pulled the rope with all of my strength, and the UTV inched forward. Slowly, it slid downwards, gaining more momentum. I kept the rope taunt, stopping it from an uncontrollable fall. Several times, I had to stop and push rocks out of the way, but eventually the UTV crashed through the underbrush at the bottom of the hill and settled on all four wheels.

I leaned against the cliff and breathed heavily. “Good work,” Nico said. He packed up his bag and slung it over his good shoulder. Although the pain in his shoulder must’ve been excruciating, he kept his expression neutral.

Using one arm to support himself, he began to hike down the hill, and I untied the rope and followed. When we reached the bottom, we examined the UTV. It had seen better days–it was heavily dented, scraped, and the windshield was shattered. Miraculously, the fuel tank had remained intact. Taking an old shirt from his pack, Nico wiped at the blood, dirt, and glass coating the dashboard.

He turned back toward me. “It’s already been a long day, but I think we should travel overnight. This may look like an accident, but Keon’s agents aren’t stupid. When they arrive, they’ll find signs of a fight. What do you think?”

It was the first time he’d asked for my opinion. “I agree. We should go as far as we can, as quickly as possible.”

Nico nodded, lowering himself in the driver’s seat. The bright-red bandage was stark against his dirty torso. “Can you really drive?” I asked.

“I must. There’s no time to show you how to work the gears.”

I slid into the passenger seat as the UTV sputtered to life. Nico coaxed the vehicle through the underbrush. It had developed a new grinding noise, as if the metal panels were rubbing against the wheels. But it worked.

We moved slowly to avoid the larger trees and bushes. The tall grasses of the fields slapped against my ankles, leaving a red rash. At the end of the valley, we merged back onto the trail.

As we traveled, the landscape began to change. The hills became taller and more jagged, and soon the road was winding between crests and troughs. The broken pavement disappeared until the road was nothing more than a dirt trail through the jagged hills. The ride was rough, and I glanced at Nico each time we jostled in our seats. He was completely focused on the road ahead, with his left hand gripping the wheel. Although I felt myself succumbing to a trancelike state, I fought to stay awake so that he would not have to drive alone. Before long, the sun sank below the horizon and the hills were awash with the burnt orange of sunset.

Nico braked as we dipped into another valley. He secured the UTV and reached backwards for his bag, unzipping it and offering me a bottle of water. “We don’t have much water left,” I observed.

“Water is the least of our worries, if Keon’s men are on our tail.” I glanced back at the dirt road, where our deep tracks were clearly visible. I hope he has a plan.

We refueled the UTV using the tank in the rear. Afterwards, Nico sat against the wheel and unwrapped his bandages. I joined him, using my backpack as a chair and leaning forward to get a closer look. The wound was gruesome–it still oozed blood, and flaps of skin hung limply from its corners.

“This needs stitches,” he said, examining the wound with a grim expression. He pulled his bag down from the UTV and opened a small pocket, removing a vial, a circular needle, and a bottle of orange liquid.

My eyes widened. “You’re not really planning to stitch that yourself, are you?”

He lowered his hand in a calming gesture. “Don’t worry. With your help, it will be fine.” In one motion, he uncorked the bottle and downed its contents in a series of gulps. The smell, grainy and woody, was very similar to the whiskey the resistance had drunk back in Historical Amberasta.

I swallowed my protests and sank back down. He splashed the vial, which smelled like alcohol, onto the needle and thread. “Come here,” he said, his voice carrying an undercurrent of anxiety. “We need to sterilize the wound.”

He handed me the vial and held his arm in place. At his direction, I poured the rest of the liquid directly onto the bullet wound. His muscles twitched, but he breathed deeply until the pain subsided.

Next, I pinned his arm to the side, angling my head away from the wound. I heard the first stitch as he dipped the needle into the skin of his shoulder. He blinked away sweat as it ran down his forehead and worked quickly, directing me to grab different parts of his arm and skin. His position was awkward, since he had to reach across his body with each stitch.

“I’m finished,” he said, tearing the thread between his fingers. His hands were shaking. “Now it’s your turn.”

“What?”

“The exit wound.”

My mouth tasted sour. I forced my hands to be steady as I took the needle, sterilized it again, and pushed it into his skin. My stitches weren’t light and nimble like Nico’s, and he grunted with pain each time I moved. Finally, I finished, tying off the end with a sewing knot and breaking the thread.

Nico had grown pale, and his breathing was labored. I wanted to comfort him, but the words didn’t come. “I’m sorry,” I said, cleaning the tools and putting them back into the backpack.

“Don’t be. You saved my life.” He tilted his head against the UTV, closing his eyes. After a moment of hesitation, I scooted closer to him and pulled his arm onto my lap, rebandaging his wound.

The sky fully darkened before he stood again. Some color had returned to his face, although his legs still seemed to shake. He pulled on a shirt and popped open a can of beans, which we ate directly from the can. Although they were cold, the savory taste brightened my mood.

Nico looked at the sky, and his brows furrowed as his eyes traced the constellations. It was a little cloudy, but he seemed to find what he was looking for. “There’s Polaris,” he pointed. “The North Star. We’ll start going True South soon.” I gazed upwards, but I could not make sense of what he was seeing.

“We’re over 600 miles from Karakul,” he added. I had the sense that he was trying to comfort me, but I still felt uneasy.

“Okay, let’s keep going. If there is someone following us, we should lose them by dawn.”