The truck door flew open and Bobby started to slide out, giving her a terse wave. She raised her hand in response.

A crack of gunfire sounded. Harper stopped cold.

Another shot rang out. Then another. Confusion paralyzed her in the whipping rain, and a pained roar came from her throat.

Her brother slumped and fell backward into the truck cab. A vise of horror seized her body, and the truth hit her like a gale wind: Bobby had been shot.

Time froze. Harper saw her body move toward the truck as though watching a movie somehow outside herself. Her brother needed her.

She made it to the truck door and impatiently shrugged off her backpack, barely hearing the splash of it hitting the sopping ground over the pounding of her heartbeat.

Blood pumped out of the three holes in Bobby’s chest. Harper ripped his shirt away from his body and tried to press it against the wounds. The white material stained red but was unable to hold the blood at bay. There was just too much pouring out. Too fast.

“Harper.” Bobby’s voice was a strained whisper.

“Bobby! What the heck is going on? What-”

“No time,” Bobby interrupted. “Remember the Barracks?” He wheezed and coughed.

“What?” Harper grabbed his shaking hand. It was freezing. She frantically searched through trees, but could see nothing through the rain. “Just hold on. I’m getting my phone. I’ll get help.” She gave his hand a squeeze and turned to reach for her drenched pack on the ground. Bobby’s iron grip on her forearm stopped her motion and forced her to face him.

“No time,” he repeated softly. She could barely hear him. “G-get to the Barracks. I left something.” He coughed again, fainter this time. “For you. Left something for you.”

“I don’t understand.” Harper couldn’t believe what was happening. “Bobby, don’t leave me.” Her brother was going to die. And there was nothing she could do about it. “I need you.”