Sound stretched thin, like I was underwater. Everything faded. A faint ringing nestled into my ears, climbing higher, higher, until I wanted to scream just to break it.
Someone was screaming.
Not me.
Mommy.
Her voice cut through the ringing. She sounded wild.
“Mackenzie. Mackenzie!”
She scrambled down the stairs, hands slipping in my blood as she tried to cradle my head. Her fingers shook. She lifted me, stared for a heartbeat, then dragged me against her chest with a sob that sounded like begging.
“No, no—baby, please—please!”
Agent West’s voice broke somewhere above us. “Mackenzie! Oh my God!” He fumbled with a walkie-talkie, shouting into it, “Bobby! I need med now.”
The basement door swung open, and a man in a black cap appeared, rushing toward us with a bag clutched in one hand.
“What happened?” the man in the black cap asked.
Black spots swam around the room like lazy bugs in sunlight. A small white moth buzzed near my ear, landing on the wall. I watched it, waiting for the ringing to stop.
“I dropped her. God, I dropped her!” Agent West shouted. “She hit her head.”
The man knelt beside me, holding up two fingers. “Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up, sweetheart?”
His voice was thick, round, and warm. The kind of voice that always sounds like it’s smiling, even when it isn’t. He had a mustache. It looked silly. I felt woozy. My thoughts bounced around my skull.
Something on the floor beside me caught the light. It was dark and slick, shining like a puddle after rain.
“Two,” I mumbled, barely moving my lips. My stomach churned. My head burned.
He leaned in, gloved fingers gently brushing behind my head. When he pulled his hand back, it was soaked in red.
Agent West’s face went as white as a ghost.
“Does your head hurt?” the black-capped man asked.
His question pinned me to the floor more than his hand did.
“Yes,” I whispered.
A flashlight flashed across my eyes. I blinked but didn’t turn away.
“Concussion. She probably needs stitches.” His voice was steady, but worry edged it. He turned to Agent West. “You’ve got two minutes before the Butcher’s back. You’re out of time. We got most of the bodies out, but there’s one… It’s going to take us some time to clean up.”
The air had that sharp, coppery smell again. The one that never went away, no matter how hard Daddy tried to clean up his mess.
“I know,” Agent West snapped. “Do you have something? Wrap her up.”
The man nodded. He pulled a towel from his waistband and quickly wrapped it around my head, tying it tight. Blood stained the white like spilled paint.
“Keep pressure on it,” he said to Mommy. “Don’t take it off until you get to the safehouse.”
My eyes fluttered. I really wanted to sleep.
“Okay.” Mommy’s hands shook as she pressed the towel down on my head.