Chapter 2
Killian looked back over his shoulder, assuring himself for the dozenth time that she was still there. With every step that had them ascending towards the next rise his guilt rose with it. The truth had almost made its way to the surface numerous times only to get caught at the back of his throat when he opened his mouth. It wasn't too late. He could tell her what she was really walking into, beg her forgiveness, and send her back home none the worse. Maybe tonight. They'd camp soon and he could tell her then, or let her get a good night's sleep and tell her in the morning. There was still time to do the right thing.
The right thing, he scoffed silently. The right thing would have been to not follow her back to her homestead in the first place. He could tell himself all day long it had simply been to ensure her safety and maybe barter for goods, but he knew the real reason. From the moment she'd knocked him off his feet, literally and figuratively, Killian couldn't seem to help himself; she could very well be the answer to his prayers. Besides, with the Berserkers seemingly set on expanding their territory, it wouldn't have been long before she was discovered. It might not be the ideal place for her to relocate to, but his village would supply her with more security than living alone in those woods. Still, she should know all the facts before making that choice. He'd have to tell her the truth.
He glanced over his shoulder once more. The distraction of his thoughts and Emma's golden hair blowing in the soft breeze made him neglectful of his steps. Otherwise, he might have noticed the suspicious looking leaf pile. There was only a moment's comprehension at the sound of the spring release before he cried out in pain as the metal teeth of a bear trap drove themselves through the leather of his boot and into his foot. A scream of agony tore from his lips as he fell to the ground, the crushing grip of the trap radiating pain up his leg.
"Killian!" Emma shouted and closed the distance she'd been maintaining between them.
They worked together to remove the infernal contraption, and once he was freed Killian couldn't help but beat the ground beneath him with his fist. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Rolling onto his back, he covered his face with his arm while focusing on evening out his breathing. The rhythm of his heart throbbed under the wounds on his foot, and he prayed it wasn't broken. It would be difficult enough warding off infection, to say nothing of how this would slow them down. Killian sucked in a sharp breath and held it tight within his lungs. He couldn't tell Swan the truth now, couldn't risk her leaving him like this. He'd need her help to get back to the village.
For better or worse, the bear trap had sealed both their fates.
"Can you stand?" Emma asked. "We should get out of the area in case the owner of that trap is nearby."
"Aye," he answered on a ragged breath, taking her proffered hand to help get him back onto his feet.
He winced, and bit back an expletive when he attempted to put weight on the injured limb. Looking over to Swan with the request for help on his tongue, he noticed her wary expression and realized he'd picked up her discarded rifle when he'd stood. He offered her a sheepish grin as he handed it back to her. After settling it onto her shoulder by its strap, she tucked herself into his side and braced him as they slowly made their way from the area.
"Once we set up camp, I'll take a look and see how bad it is," she said with a faint tone of strain in her voice from his added weight.
Killian hated this additional burden she was now having to shoulder because of him. She'd have enough burdens to deal with once they arrived at the village. "I'm sorry, Swan. I should have been more careful," he grunted. The throbbing was now punctuated by a burning sensation that threatened to consume his entire leg.
"Hey. It's not your fault. I'm just glad you weren't alone when it happened."
She took her focus off the forest floor and glanced up at him, momentarily relieving his pain with her soft smile and sincere eyes.
God, she was beautiful.
"Aye, love. Me, too."
~/~
It was slow going, but eventually they found a place that was a comfortable enough distance away from the trap where they could set up camp. While Killian worked to get his boot off of his now terribly swollen foot, he instructed Emma on where to locate some supplies they might need from his pack. Sweat beaded across his brow from the pain and exertion of removing his boot, and more than once he knew a tormented moan had escaped the back of his throat; he didn't want Swan to believe him weak though, so he did his best to push the agony aside.
"Here." Emma handed him the extra undershirt she'd found so he could begin tearing it into strips to use as bandages. "What else?"
"Side pocket," Killian instructed, discomfort making his words sound constricted and tight. "There should be a jar of yellowish paste, a salve, to rub on the wound, as well as a flask full of disinfectant."
After locating the items, Emma positioned herself at Killian's feet. She cast a questioning glance up at Killian, who nodded his consent before she lifted his injured foot, still encased in a blood soaked sock, onto her lap to have a better look. Carefully, she peeled off the crimson stained garment, exposing the damaged flesh underneath. Three of the traps steel teeth had managed to penetrate the top of boot and pierce his skin, which had been further torn during their efforts to remove the foul contraption. Emma opened her canteen and began to gently clean off the blood, wincing apologetically each time Killian hissed. He could see the mottled discoloration of bruising already beginning to form along the top ridge of his foot and junction of his ankle. Fortunately, the sole of his shoe had kept the trap from injuring the underside.
"Take the flask and pour its contents over the wounds," he instructed while bracing himself for the forthcoming sting.
After she unstoppered the flask, Emma lifted it to her nose to take a whiff and her eyes immediately began to water. "What the hell is in here?" she coughed.
"Distilled alcohol," he answered. "We make it for medicinal purposes."
Emma cocked her head to the side and her brow slid up her forehead. "Medicinal purposes?"
Killian felt the tips of ears heat up and knew their red coloring gave him away. With a small, but sly smirk he added, "Perhaps the occasional recreational one as well."
"So your village is comprised of pious believers who also dabble in the art of moonshine," Emma teased.
"It has its uses," he countered. "It does wonders as a disinfectant," he waved at her to pass him the flask, which she did. Offering up a salute of cheers first, he took a long pull of the stout stuff before handing it back with a sputtering, "and as a way of fortifying oneself for its effects on open wounds."
The liquor spread through him, leaving a soothing warmth in its wake. Hovering the flask in position over his foot, Emma looked up at him once again, waiting for his signal that he was ready. Another quick nod and a stinging fire had him clenching his jaw against the cry of pain that was trying to work its way up from his chest. When the burning finally started to subside, Emma rinsed away the remaining alcohol and began to dry off his foot with the remnants of his torn undershirt. With a gentle touch, she applied the salve before wrapping the strips of his shirt around the wounds and propping his foot up on her bedroll.
"Okay. You just stay there and rest while I get things set up."
"Swan, I can't let you do that all on your own," Killian protested.
"And I can't carry you all the way to your village, so I need you to rest that foot, because you're going to have to walk on it tomorrow," she shot back, hands resting on her hips while giving him a look that did not invite any further argument.
"As you wish," he sighed, knowing she was right and therefore useless to dispute her reasoning. "Might I offer a suggestion then before you get started?"
"What's that?"
"That branch." He pointed to the tree just off to their left with a low hanging branch. "See if it's pliable enough to pull the end down and stake to the ground. Then you can drape my tarp over it and create something of a tent. From the look of those clouds, I believe it might rain again."
Emma looked up at the greying sky. "Yeah. That's probably not a bad idea."
It was difficult for him to sit by and watch Swan do all the work, but it wasn't long before she had their tent set up, wood collected, a fire started, and the makings of a meal under way, cobbled together from the provisions each of them had on hand. Looking over those provisions had Killian chuckling lightly.
"What's so funny?"
"Looks like you brought half the cabin with you," Killian ribbed as she pulled out yet another parcel from her pack.
"I would have brought more if I could," she admitted sheepishly. "I hated leaving all of Ingrid's books."
"Don't worry. I've got a pretty good selection of my own back at the village. You welcome to them anytime you like."
Silence stretched between them as night fell, each seemingly lost in thought as they nibbled at the meager offerings of dried beef, hardtack, and the few raw vegetables Emma had harvested from her garden before joining him. Killian stewed, trying to make peace with the fact he couldn't say all the things he wished to. A time would come when he'd owe her a full explanation, but he couldn't risk it now. Didn't want to risk it.
In the few short hours they'd spent together, both at her homestead and here in wilds of woods, he'd grown to enjoy her company. It was a rare experience for him to have someone not of the village to converse with, someone he could open up parts of himself to that he dared not share with any member of his community. Of course, he still had to guard his words. He didn't wish to say anything that would cause her to second guess her decision now, and it wouldn't do for careless thoughts he'd expressed in these quiet, and seemingly safe moments to get back to the villagers through Emma's innocently intended recountings of their journey. Still, he was thankful to be here in her presence, a presence that, though tested and shaped by the trials of this world, continued to hold a sense of purity and goodness he longed to reclaim for himself and his-
"Why did you leave that particular blessing?"
Emma's voice wrenched him from his thoughts, and it took him a moment to process her question. "Beg your pardon?"
"Ruth 1:8," she clarified. "Why that verse?"
Killian ran his hand over the scruff at his jaw, scratching at the stubble, before giving a half shrug. "I suppose it was because I admire what you did for your family. Giving them a proper burial. Most folks don't do that anymore."
"Do they at your village?"
"When we can," he nodded. "We've a cemetary outside the perimeter fence, but sometimes it isn't possible to bury the dead there."
"Like, when the ground is too frozen in the winter?"
Killian nodded and sincerely hoped she wouldn't ask what they did with the dead in those cases. He didn't care to think upon it either. Casting away perished loved ones to be devoured by the beasts of the forest had never sat right with him, but there was no other option sometimes. Not if they wanted to avoid disease.
"Do you remember much about the old world?" she asked, thankfully changing the subject.
"I was young. Seven or eight." She scooted a bit closer to him, opening her posture as she settled in for the story. He didn't think she even realized it, and it was this show of openness, this small gesture of trust as a layer of her armour was set aside that gave him the fortitude to share his tale. Or some of it, anyway. "As I said, it's mostly just flashes of things. I'm not even sure what are actually my memories, or things my brother told me after the fact." Killian took a deep breath. It had been a long time since he'd talked about his brother, or any of his family for that matter.
"I do know that my parents were professors. They brought my brother and I with them from the UK when they received a grant to study survival and how the pioneers adapted to the New World. Many of the villagers were originally a part of that study."
"Is that how your village started?" Emma asked with an incredulous tone. "As a research study?"
"Aye," Killian chuckled. "Whole families choosing to give up modern conveniences in order to recreate what the pioneers did." His face sobered before adding, "Until the sickness came, and it was no longer a choice."
"Are they still alive?" she inquired tentatively. "Your parents?"
"No," he answered with a sad smile, assuring her he wasn't upset by her question. "Right after the pestilence started, my mother got sick. Not from that," he clarified. "It was something else." He stared at his bandaged foot and remembered the cut she'd gotten on her arm… and the blood infection that had followed. "Antibiotics would probably have saved her, but it was too dangerous to venture out at that time and she…"
"I'm so sorry."
Emma rested her hand upon his knee, drawing his gaze from his foot to where it rested. Strange how different her touch was as compared to that of… Killian shook his head and continued on.
"My father did his best to carry on, but it wasn't easy. Fortunately, he had the other villagers to help, but I don't think he ever really... He, uh… a several months after my mother passed, he went out hunting and he… he never returned."
"The sickness? Or Berserkers?"
"Would you think me horrible if I said I hoped that had been his fate?" Killian held his breath, eyes fixed on the ground just outside the campfires embers, hoping she wouldn't think the worst of him for his confession. "It's just that, it's easier to think he met an unexpected fate rather than-"
"Ingrid wasn't my real mother," Emma blurted out. Killian whipped his head up, his eyes connecting with hers as they reflected the flicker of the firelight beside them. "None of them were related to me by blood," she continued on, her nerves vibrating just under the surface of her usually cool and collected demeanor. "Ingrid found me abandoned in these woods. Said I couldn't have been more than a few hours old." Her eyes fell to the fire, a haunted look he knew all too well filling their green depths. "It never made sense why they would just leave me here, unless they didn't wan-"
"There are a number of reasons why they might have left you here," Killian interjected. It was one thing for him to ponder whether his father had walked out on him and his brother, but he couldn't bear the idea that Emma would ever question her self worth, would question whether or not she was wanted.
"Yeah," she said knowingly, voicing that which they both knew they'd often thought, but rarely voiced, if ever. "Like… maybe they just didn't want a kid tying them down."
"Oh, Emma." Killian covered her hand, still resting on his knee, with his own and squeezed gently. "You mustn't think like that. We mustn't think like that. I'm sure that if your parents could have, they would have kept you with them."
She smiled up at him; not quite a sincere and assured thing, but it made his heart swell nonetheless.
"And I'm sure your dad would have come back if he'd had the choice," she echoed back to him. "There are enough monsters in this world. We don't need to imagine our parents being one of them, I guess."
"Aye," Killian agreed pensively while silently thinking to himself, Though, sometimes people become their own kind of monster.
~/~
Emma stretched, but a mild shiver from the morning chill robbed her of the full satisfaction of the motion, the range of which alerted her to the fact she was alone within the makeshift tent. Killian's bedroll was cold beneath her palm, and a quick glance outside the tarp told her he wasn't sitting by the fire, which had extinguished itself overnight. Pulling on her boots and jacket, Emma saw that both his rifle and the walking stick she'd found him the day before were also gone. Perhaps he'd gone off to take care of… personal matters?
After seeing to those matters for herself, she nervously waited for him to return, wondering if she should simply start another fire and attempt to make breakfast, or go in search of him. It didn't take her long before deciding to grab her rifle and setting off after him, heading towards the small stream she'd spotted while collecting firewood, assuming he might have headed that way first.
She was rewarded with a boot print in the soft earth when she arrived and followed the signs he'd left behind as best she could. The trail led her up a small embankment. With her eyes trained on the forest floor for fresh clues of where Killian was headed, she didn't see him crouching behind a nearby tree attempting to wave her down. Quickly he darted towards her, stumbling on his injured foot and startling her. Like the first time they met, he clamped a hand over her mouth while pressing a finger to his own. With his arm wrapped around her waist, he pulled her down behind a tree and silently motioned to something just over the berm.
Killian removed his hand from her mouth, but kept his arm secured around her middle while she leaned over to look around the tree. Seated several yards from them was an elderly man in front of a small fire next to a camp set up similar to their own.
"What are you doing out here, Swan?" Killian murmured into her ear. His words and the underlying agitation rumbled in his chest pressed against her back.
"I could ask you the same thing," she whispered back, turning her head to face him as she spoke and finding herself practically nose to nose with him. She swallowed hard when his eyes locked onto hers. Their blue depths were shadowed by something dark and menacing, but it quickly dissolved as his focus settled on her and not the man whose presence had obviously caught him off guard. "You weren't there when I woke up," she said softly. "I was worried."
"Sorry, love."
A chagrined look passed over his features, followed by another expression Emma could not identify, before he loosened his grip from her waist, allowing her to pull away from him, though he seemed as hesitant to let her go as she was to move from him.
"I saw the smoke this morning and followed it."
His words reminded her of their mysterious neighbor, and she focused her attention on the man once more. "Is he a Berserker?"
"No. They usually run in pairs or packs. He seems to be just an old man."
"Should we go down there?"
"No." Killian's clipped and callous tone surprised her. "We don't know if we can trust him. For all we know he set that trap."
"What happened to, it is not good for man to be alone?" she challenged, unsure of where this new distrustful nature was coming from.
"What happened to trust is earned?" he shot back. Her expression must have conveyed her confusion and wariness over his behaviour, causing him to soften his demeanor and tone. "He may very well be just a harmless old man, love, but I'm injured. If we go down there, and there's trouble-"
"I can handle it."
"I know you can, Swan," he assured her. "But I don't want to put you in that position if I don't have to. We should double back, grab our packs, and give him a wide berth just to be safe. Once we get to the village, I can send out a scouting party to come back for him."
Emma worried her lip while thinking upon Killian's words. She knew he was right, even as she internally questioned Killian's caution and agitation, wondering why he'd been so open to invite her to join his community, only to shun this man. It made her momentarily doubtful of his motives. He did have a point, though. He was injured, and worrying that he'd slow her down, or that she'd have to shoulder the burden of trouble if the man turned out to be a threat did seem more in line with what she knew of him. Besides, they didn't know this person. He appeared to her to be some sort of drifter, and she knew from stories and her own experiences that drifters typically couldn't be trusted. Still, something about Killian's reaction wasn't sitting right with her.
"You're right," she agreed reluctantly. He gave her a relieved half smile before gingerly getting to his feet and offering her hand up off the ground.
They took a single step back towards camp when a filthy looking man with an AR-15 stepped out from behind another tree, stopping them in their tracks.
"Leaving so soon?" he sneered. Killian moved to raise his gun. "Ah ah. Play nice, or I'll put a bullet between your eyes."
"Good job, son!" the old man called from bottom of the hill. "Why don't you invite our new friends on down here."
Prompted by the barrel of the automatic rifle, Emma and Killian made their way down the embankment. Emma noticed Killian hobbling on his bad foot, and wondered how much of it was real, and how much was for show, hoping to make the men think he was worse off than he was. She prayed it was the latter.
"I was wondering when you two would come and introduce yourselves," the old man greeted when they arrived, the son's rifle still trained at their backs.
"You knew we were here?" Emma asked, brows pulling together as she sensed Killian tense up even more beside her.
"Not too smart to start your fire while it's still daylight," he cautioned. His demeanor then changed as he turned out the contents of his mug to extinguish his own fire. "Unless, of course, you want to be found." Cold dread slid down Emma's back. They'd walked right into an ambush. "Now," the old man continued, "why don't you two put your guns down, and have a seat. Then we can all be a bit more civilized."
With no other option but to comply, she and Killian rested their guns on the ground next to the fire pit before sitting on a downed tree a few feet back from them. Killian let Emma sit first, then sat himself down right next to her. With their thighs pressed together, he was closer than he would have been if it had just been the two of them. Whether it was a show of possession or protection, she wasn't sure, but it was clear from the looks on the men's faces that the unspoken intent hadn't gone unnoticed by them either.
"Your knife, too," the son demanded, gesturing toward the hunting knife at her hip. After tossing it next to her gun, he lowered his rifle and began to take his own seat. "Sorry for the theatrics," he quipped. "Never can be too careful."
"No. You can't," Killian agreed tightly. His jaw was ticking furiously, and Emma knew he was berating himself for falling prey so easily. Prey was exactly how Emma felt, especially with the way the younger man, though still probably old enough to her father, was staring at her.
"What exactly are y'all doing in these parts?" the old man asked with a perfectly cordial tone, while the underlying hostility and distrust hung heavy in the air.
"We're making our way back to my people," Killian answered.
"What people would those be?"
"There's a community we're a part of." Killian kept his answers short. His voice dropping into a lower register as his growing agitation wound him even tighter. The cold, dark, menacing shadows she'd seen in his eyes earlier were back with a vengeance.
"Community?" the old man inquired with a hard edge. "Not too many that fit that description anymore. You mean those religious folks down by the lake?"
The man's son shifted in his seat, aggression rolling off him in waves that nearly matched Killian's, who remained silent as his the muscle in his jaw continued to tick. Emma wasn't sure why he was hedging on his answer, his silence was confirmation enough.
"You traveling with him by your own accord?" the son asked, breaking the silence with his attention still set on her.
"Of course she is," Killian growled between clenched teeth.
"I didn't ask you."
Killian's fists balled in his lap.
"Yes," Emma replied before things could escalate. "I'm traveling with him of my own accord. I make my own choices."
"We've had a few encounters with your… community," the old man said, drawing the conversation back.
"Funny," Killian responded, knowing there was no point in denying the man's speculation of which community he'd been referring to. "I don't recognize you."
"Well, it was a long time ago. We dealt mostly with a fella by the name of Malcolm."
Emma heard Killian suck in a quick breath before she asked, "We?" The way he'd said it implied he wasn't just talking about himself and his son.
"We weren't always just two," the son replied darkly.
"No, we weren't," the old man agreed.
"Look. We're just passing through," Killian said, switching gears with a lighter tone, and a false smile set on his lips.
"See, now," the son wagged his finger towards them, "that there is the problem. You didn't ask for permission."
False smile still in place, Killian turned his attention to the older man. "My apologies," he offered with a reverential, but tight tone. "I'm asking now."
The old man's eyes flicked between them, and Emma held her breath until he shrugged lightly, and replied, "We'll allow it." Killian visibly relaxed and glanced over at her, his eyes reflecting the relief she knew they were both feeling. Too soon, it seemed. "But the toll," the old man continued, "is your packs. Looked like you had some decent tools. Oh, and that tarp of yours as well."
Emma opened her mouth to protest, but Killian placed his hand on her thigh, staying her words. "Fine," he agreed before claiming her eyes with his, communicating his request that she just comply.
Nodding, she shifted her weight, about to stand to her feet, when the son spoke up.
"That settles him, but what about the girl?"
Emma's head snapped towards him. "What about me?"
"Well, this community of his," the man oiled as venom dripped from each of his words. "It took a lot from us. I figure we ought to take something," his eyes roamed over her, a letcherous glint flashing in his eyes that made her stomach turn, "back for ourselves."
Killian sprang to his feet, snarling, "Over my dead body."
The son took to his feet as well, AR raised and pointed right at Killian's chest. "That wouldn't be too hard to arrange."
"You can keep the packs, the tarp, all of it, but she's coming with me," Killian declared menacingly.
"You talk like you've got a choice in the matter," the old man chuckled.
"Why don't we let the girl decide," the son suggested tauntingly. "She makes her own choices, remember?"
"That's right, son. Where are our manners?" The old man turned and set his gaze on her; a gaze that was far too similar to his son's. "What about it, little missy? Wanna stay with us?"
Emma's pulse raced and her palms were slick from fright. She absolutely did not want to stay with these men, but feared what response her refusal might garner. All eyes were on her, the three men pinning her down with their gazes. Killian's was the one that weighed the heaviest, with his pleading blue eyes begging her to say no and make a run for it. She couldn't leave him, though. She'd never be able to forgive herself.
"I'll stay."
"Swan, don't-"
"But only if you promise no harm will come to Killian." She kept her gaze fixed at the old man, incapable of looking at Killian in that moment.
The old man nodded and shared a moment of agreement with his son. "I'll honor that," he said. Emma blew out a sigh of relief. "Killian. You're free to go."
She turned an apologetic expression upward, willing Killian to go as he stared down at her. She could see the gears turning in his mind, trying to find a way out of this, before accepting the fact there was nothing to be done and reaching for his weapon.
"Oh, no," the son said. "We'll be keeping your shotgun. Now, go on and get. We don't need anymore of your crazy in our lives."
Emma's face pinched at his words. Crazy? He's one to tal- Before she could finish her thought, Killian spun around and lunged for her, earning him a strike in the back from the buttstock of the son's rifle, which collapsed Killian to his knees.
"Please, don't hurt him!"
Emma stood and tried to put herself between Killian and the man. Killian capitalized on the distraction, removing the small knife he had hidden in his boot and plunging it into the man's gut as he stood. Emma gasped at the sight of blood spattering from the man's mouth as Killian withdrew the blade only to thrust it into the man again.
"You son of a bitch!" the old man bellowed, reaching for the handgun Emma only now spotted resting on the ground next to his camp chair.
She scrambled for her rifle, raising it while still on her knees, and firing it at the old man before he could get a shot off at Killian. The bullet hit him right in the heart, killing him instantly. Pulse pounding in her ears, and lungs screaming at her to breathe, Emma remained frozen with her rifle still trained on the dead man when Killian knelt down beside her.
"Swan?" he murmured gently. "Swan, love. It's over. We're safe. You can put the gun down." He placed a hand on the barrel and applied slight pressure, lowering it.
Emma's chin began to quiver as tears stung in her eyes. Dropping her rifle, she turned towards Killian. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sor-"
"Hey, hey," he cut in, setting his hands atop her shoulders and squaring himself up to her so he could look her in the eyes. "You have nothing to be sorry about, Swan. Nothing. Those men would have killed me, and done God knows what to you. You saved us." He helped her to her feet, making sure she was stable on her shaky legs before collecting his shotgun, and the man's AR. Bending down, he picked up her hunting knife where it lay at her feet and held it out to her. "We should go. We've no idea who else might be in these woods, and the sound of that gunshot will have carried."
Emma nodded, took her knife from his hand and sheathed it, then swung her rifle over her shoulder. "I didn't want to stay with them," she said hollowly, casting one last look at the two dead men.
"What?"
"I didn't want to stay with them," she repeated. "I only said I did, because I thought they'd kill you otherwise."
Killian took a few limping steps forward, closing the distance between them. "I know that, love." He reached out and moved a section of her hair off her face, tucking it behind her ear. "Why do you feel the need to reassure me of that fact?"
She swallowed and looked up at him guiltily. "Because I had a moment earlier when I doubted your motives. When you weren't willing to reveal ourselves to the old man and invite him along. I thought… I thought I had been wrong about you, but now I know."
"Know what, love?"
Emma resolved the words within herself before giving them voice, solidifying them with a deep breath. "That you've only got my best interest at heart. And because of that, from now on, I promise I'm gonna choose to see the best in you."
She gave him a small smile, but the heat rushing to her face from the heartfelt words she'd shared made her tear her gaze from his. She squared her shoulders and set off towards their camp with purposeful steps, completely missing the guilt-ridden expression that crossed Killian's face.