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“She really got you, huh?”

“She missed.”

“And now you’re a killer whale.”

“What?” I instantly regret asking.

“Orca. Killer whale. Black and white and you got a blowhole on your back.

“You’re a blow hole.”

“Wow. It only took the brink of death to bring out your sense of humor,” Ciro says sardonically, wearing a long angelic robe and holding his hands, palms pressed together out in front of him.

“I don’t think death is supposed to hurt this much.”

Grimacing, I raise myself up onto my elbow, huffing and puffing more than a little. That’s a lot of blood. But I can breathe…

Bullet missed my lung.

I manage to sit up, laying my arms across my knees. “How bad is it?”

“Uh. You’re asking your imaginary dead brother how bad your wounds are. Not crazy at all.”

“Oh, I have no reservations about that. I’m fucking bonkers.”

“Looks like it went in under your collarbone. Any lower and…”

Double-checking my hallucinatory companion’s assessment, I reach back grunting as I find the exit wound. Cool.

Black out for a few seconds.

When I come to, I stand, focusing on the pain and wrapping it in tight, focused will. Tuck it away. Compartmentalize.

Only Circe could have shot me so perfectly. It saved my life. Now I need to save hers.

If I don’t die first.

Creeping to the car we drove here takes ages. Tires are slashed. Engine shot to hell.

First aid kit is mostly empty. I tape some gauze to the wound.

“What’s the plan, man?”

“Not bleed out in the cold.”

“Ah. Cool. Maybe grab that jacket.”

Check.

“Long term goals?”

“Find medical help.”

“He can be taught! You should take the map.”

Roger that.

It’s rudimentary, outdated. But I manage to get a ballpark of where I’m at. The lab-house is out in the middle of nowhere. But that nowhere is right on the border of Russia. Nearest town is on the other side, no more than ten miles.