Chapter 1202: Rescue, Explosion
Inside the cabin, Hannah stared at Doyle and the black pistol in his hand, the muzzle pressed hard against her forehead. Manuel's parting instructions echoed in her mind—a warning about the sniper's southeast position, a testament to his keen understanding of the terrain.
Hannah attempted to calm herself, saying, "Doyle, I can't run. Before I die, please untie me."
Doyle regarded her suspiciously. "I don't want to die like this. At least, free me before I die."
After a moment's hesitation, Doyle lowered the handgun. "Even for a few more minutes, I'll grant your wish," he said. "I love you, Hannah, but you've let me down."
Hannah remained silent. Doyle untied her, positioning her to face southeast while he stood facing away. She maintained composure, careful not to betray any unusual behavior. He carefully untied the hemp rope from her arms, then her legs, cautioning, "Hannah, don't try anything. The gun has no eyes."
"I know," she replied.
Doyle raised the gun again, aiming it at her forehead. "Any last words?"
"Does it matter?"
"Say them. Die feeling relaxed."
"Death by your gun? I'll never feel relaxed, no matter how long after."
"You still hate me."
"Isn't that what you wanted?" Hannah sneered.
Doyle laughed coldly. She was right; he’d wanted her to hate him, to regret, to share his pain. This was the end—he would kill Hannah, then himself, wiping the slate clean.
He placed his finger on the trigger. "Hannah, I'll be with you."
She stared at the bloodlust in his eyes, then closed them, resigned to death. She’d faced life and death many times, yet the fear remained.
"Bang!"
A gunshot shattered the silence. Hannah felt as if she’d died, but moments later, she remained unharmed. Slowly, she opened her eyes to find Doyle lying dead, a bullet through his forehead. If the shot had veered even slightly, she would be the one lying there.
She stared at his wide, unclosing eyes, unsure if his stillness was remorse, lack of time, or simply a silent passing. His blood-covered face was unrecognizable. Lost in thought, she remained there until strong arms enveloped her, covering her eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks; she couldn't tell if from fear or a strange sadness.
"It's okay, Hannah, I've got you," Oscar whispered, his voice unusually gentle, yet trembling. His tremor exceeded hers. The shot had been calculated, agonizingly so. Seeing her alive, nothing else mattered; he had Hannah.
A "tick-tock" sound pierced the quiet. Oscar froze. Hannah realized it—a time bomb. Had Doyle planned to destroy their bodies?
Before she could react, Oscar grabbed her hand and they ran, reaching the rescue personnel at the entrance.
"Go!" he roared, dragging her, silently counting down the seconds. Ten seconds left.
Five, four, three, two, one!
A deafening bang. The cabin collapsed, sending everyone sprawling. Oscar shielded Hannah, pressing her beneath him. A roaring sound filled her ears. Then she heard a whisper: "I love you."
Silence descended. Then, hurried footsteps.
"Oscar!" Manuel shouted, finding them. Even with his bulletproof vest, Oscar was severely injured.
"Hannah, Hannah!" Miguel and Michelle, having briefly left, returned after hearing the explosion. They found the wreckage and began searching.
Hannah opened her eyes, staring blankly until the weight on her back lessened. Manuel pulled Oscar away; he was unconscious, but his grip on Hannah's arm remained firm.