“Keep your distance,” Sheela warns me.
I look at Hannah curiously, then gasp as I see why the doctor has warned me to stay back. Ignoring her advice, I take a step closer.
Kingston, who I hadn’t seen earlier, puts a hand out to stop me.
“How is this possible?” I ask, my eyes on Hannah’s wound. “Is she… is she healing on her own?”
Sheela nods, lifting her gaze to meet mine for a moment. Then she sets back to work. She’s stitching the wound in Hannah’s abdomen, but the place where the skin is pinched together appears to be mending. The skin around the wound is healthy and pink. “I stitched up her back, but by the time we rolled her over to work on her stomach, the wound in her back was almost completely healed.” Sheela finishes her stitches and then steps back, stripping off her gloves. She watches the wound, a look of fascination on her face.
I watch it with her and under our gaze, it actually mends itself, the edges knitting together to leave healthy skin behind.
“Her kidney was nicked. I thought I would have to remove it, but before I could get my scalpel into the wound, it had repaired itself.” Sheela’s voice is hushed, as though she can’t believe what she’s seeing with her own eyes.
Hell, I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
“How is this possible?” I ask.
She comes around to my side of the bed. “Let’s let her get some rest. We can talk in the hall.”
Kingston checks the straps binding Hannah to the bed, then follows us into the hall, leaning against the wall and listening.
“I can’t be certain of anything without extensive testing first,” Sheela begins.
“I understand, but please, tell me what you think is happening.”
She nods, excitement lighting her eyes with the hope of possibility. “She spent a lot of time with Silas. At first, I thought maybe he bit her, and she didn’t say anything, but now I’m not sure. Of course, we might not be able to tell since her body is healing, but we know Primitives carry their bite wounds until they die. So, until we can ask her ourselves, we have to assume that they had intimate contact.”
I stare at her as I try to imagine what that could look like, while Kingston chokes on his own saliva.
“Uh… they had sex?” I ask the question no one wants to ask.
“Or something,” she admits. “Primitives are always in the process of dying, hence the name Necrotitis Primeval. This process can last almost indefinitely, but they usually die violently within five years of the Turn. Humans are capable of self-healing. You, Skye, for example. The flu recently ravaged your body, but when you healed, it took you only a few days to reach your usual healthy self.”
“So are you saying there’s an opposite effect happening here, something like that?” Kingston steps closer, inserting himself into the conversation.
Sheela nods. “I think it has something to do with the fluid of a healing Primitive, or a Primitive who is reverting back to human, mixing with the fluids of a full human. It creates a slow Turn in the human but seems to give them accelerated healing abilities.”
It hits me suddenly that Hannah might be the key to bridging what we know about humans that crossover to Primitive. She’s invaluable to our future. If we found the key to rapid healing, there are serious implications to what we can do for our species.
“If… when she recovers, have her moved into a locked room in the laboratory,” I say to the doctor. “Keep her and Silas apart. I think we’ve had enough experimentation for now.”
“Of course.”
“Spend a few days observing both of them. We’re in unprecedented territory and we need as much knowledge as we can gather.”
As I turn to leave, Sheela stops me.
“I’d still like to follow through on my plans to visit the Mountain People tomorrow.”
I turn back to her. “Of course. I’m sorry we haven’t gotten you out there sooner. Our meeting this morning feels like it was days ago with everything that’s happened.”
“I’m sure it does,” she says, reaching out to touch my shoulder. “How is Wolfe? Was he hurt?”
I laugh. “It was a minor cut, and I had to bully him into letting me take care of it. He wanted to go back to the wall to oversee construction.”
Kingston chuckles behind me. “Sounds like him.”
I sober as I continue to look at Sheela. “I was terrified he would turn. I didn’t know he’d taken the vaccine.”
She folds me into a tight hug, showing me that I’m talking to my friend now, not our Sanctuary doctor. When she pulls back, she gives me a sympathetic look.
“He was one of the first to take the vaccine when you were brought here from your journey to spread the vaccine far and wide. I think you were in the harem at the time. He wanted to make a public spectacle of it, even though he’s a private guy. He wanted to show the citizens of this Sanctuary that they have nothing to fear by taking the vaccine and everything to gain.”
At first I’m shocked, then I realize Wolfe does this sort of thing all the time. My big gruff soldier who insists he won’t lift a finger to help humanity, would happily watch them burn, is always making moves to put others ahead of himself.
“At least we know the vaccine works,” Sheela says brightly.
I laugh. “That’s a hell of a way to test it.”
She grins and squeezes my arm. “I have to get back to work.”
As Kingston and I leave the hospital, I say, “Make sure she has an escort out to the mountains. She doesn’t pay attention to her surroundings when she’s distracted by work.”
Twenty-Six
Dr. Summers
The wind rushes through the windows at me as we race toward the Outsider encampment in the mountains above our Sanctuary. Closing my eyes, I breathe in fresh damp air. I enjoy the feel of the sunlight hitting my skin when it shines through the patches between the trees.
One of the men who is usually assigned to hospital security is driving. His name is Cole, and he’s an easy man to be around. Quiet, thoughtful. His job is to get me to the encampment, help me drop off supplies, and gather the ones we need, then take me back to the hospital.
I have lived in the Santa Fe Sanctuary for almost two years, and this is only my second time leaving it. We children of the Great Fall are taught from a young age that survival can only be achieved inside of a Sanctuary. We are taught that anywhere outside of Sanctuary is a dead man’s zone. Only the strongest can survive.
I spent my entire life in the New York Sanctuary until we were forced to leave after the power plants began overloading, driving Primitives to overrun the Sanctuaries. The difference with New York Sanctuary is that it’s on an island and Primitives can’t swim. We took advantage of the fear infecting the island by the terrified calls coming from the mainland and left. We were a group of women with too much to lose under the rule of a brutal Warlord who treats women like cattle. We couldn’t have been sure we would survive any better in another Sanctuary, but we had to try. Now, we are openly working in our chosen professions and thriving. I couldn’t be happier.
And working with the first female Warlord! The thought almost always brings tears of joy to my eyes. Perhaps we will survive this apocalypse if there are people like Wolfe and Skye in the world, advocating for equality.
“We’re here.”
I look at Cole and nod my understanding.
I get out of the vehicle and wait for him to unload the trunk, then we set about strapping the equipment to our bodies. There’s no road leading to the encampment, which offers them some protection from other, more vicious Outsiders. But it means I will have to walk for over an hour, loaded with supplies. The trek also limits how much we can carry in. We didn’t dare bring more people after the recent illness sweeping the city.
Honestly, I shouldn’t have left at all, but I’d needed a breather from the constant illness and the pressure of my Primitive treatment program. I need a walk through a sun-dappled forest and a few hours spent with
good people.
Now that I know my Warlord is no longer sick, I can leave the hospital in the capable hands of my head nurse, Jessa Albright, for half a day.
We begin our trek, following a compass to the subtle markings within the forest leading to the camp. They placed small piles of rocks beneath bushes at certain checkpoints to make sure friendlies coming their way know where to go.
Twenty minutes into our walk, a voice calls out, “Doctor Summers!”
I look up into the treetops, shading my eyes. Swinging down from the branches is a young man I’d met recently, when his father, Alfie, brought him to see Sanctuary during our last council meeting. I grin as he presents himself before me.
“How are you doing, Pike?”
Pike is the fifteen-year-old son of Juniper and Alfie. I spent time with the family and enjoy his youthful presence.
“Good,” he says, reaching for the bag slung across my shoulders. I hand it up to him gratefully. “Follow me.”
We follow behind Pike as he leads us straight toward the encampment.
“Any illness among your people?” I ask anxiously.
He shakes his head and turns to talk to me, walking backwards. The boy must know every tree and bush in the forest because as he talks, he easily sidesteps obstacles without looking.
“Naw, we’ve been great. One kid broke her wrist or something, but they bandaged it up with some of the supplies you sent out in the last shipment.”
“That’s good, now please turn around and walk properly.”
He flashes me a grin and turns around, running ahead as he calls back, “You sound like my mom.”
It’s the last thing he says to me before a shot rings through the forest. I watch in horror as his body crumples, laying on the forest floor, unmoving. I lunge toward him, but Cole drags me back, shoving me against a tree and covering me with his body.
“Ambush,” he growls down at me.
I stare around, but I see nothing.
“I have to check on Pike!”
He shakes his head. “We’re close enough to the camp that they would have heard the shot. Scouts will reach him soon. We need to get out of here.”
“No.” I shake my head frantically. “We have to get him to the safety of the camp.”
“There’s someone out here who either wants to kill you or take you,” he snaps. “Whoever it is, they aren’t here for me. I’m not important.”
Another shot rings out, hitting the tree inches from Cole’s head. He twists around to look, then shoves me and shouts, “Run, doctor!”
This time I don’t hesitate. I listen to every instinct in my body clamoring for me to get myself the hell out of whatever situation I’ve landed in. I hurtle away from the scene, my bodyguard crashing after me. I’m grateful for his presence as I dive deeper and deeper into the forest. Unfortunately, we choose the wrong direction.
I slam full tilt into a chest and tumble backwards onto the forest floor.
I look up in time to see an enormous man, covered in leather and fur, pull a gun from his belt. As Cole runs toward me, the stranger takes a shot. It rings through the forest.
I twist around in the dirt and watch in horror as my bodyguard hits the dirt. He lands facing me, his sightless eyes open as blood runs from a wound in the middle of his forehead.
I shriek and push myself onto my hands and feet, about to launch myself back up and into a full run. Before I can go anywhere, a heavy hand lands on my shoulder, then encircles my arm.
I look up into the fearsome face above me and gasp as I recognize it. “Malachi.”
The man who imprisoned me for over a year for pursuing a career.
He stares down at me, his black eyes empty.
“What are you doing h - ?”
He slams his hand over the lower half of my face and shoves me back into a tree. At first, I think he’s angry, but when I tilt my head to look up at him, he’s staring out into the forest, a frown on his face. Then I can hear shouts.
I bite his hand and open my mouth to scream, but he snarls at me, “If you shout, I will kill anyone who comes to help you.”
I slam my lips shut, my eyes sliding to my dead bodyguard. I nod sharply.
“Good girl,” he says. “Now run.”
We run through the forest in the opposite direction of the shouts. Malachi keeps me in front of him, pushing me to run faster. I’m surprised at how fast he can run considering the bulky muscles roping his thick body. Soon, he becomes frustrated with my smaller strides, picks me up, tosses me over his shoulder and speeds toward the mountain road.
I close my eyes as the forest floor spins beneath me and I pray my people from Sanctuary will notice my absence soon. I have no desire to go back to New York. Especially not under the control of Malachi, right hand and executioner to the Warlord.
Twenty-Seven
By the time we reach his car, I’m nauseous and getting ready to puke on his back. He tosses me off his shoulder and lets me land in the dirt at his feet. While I pick myself up, he drags my backpack off me and tosses it in the open car window.
“Get in,” he snaps, dragging the door open. It protests and creaks under the force.
This man is used to driving alone with no passengers.
I remember him well from my time spent in the New York Sanctuary. My underground crew and I did our best to avoid this terror of the streets and his men. Men who were loyal to the warlord would drive around and harass citizens, arresting anyone who resisted their backward laws.
I didn’t meet Malachi until I was charged with unlawful activity and sent to prison. Even then, he rarely spoke. He would come check on the prisoners, stop outside my cell, and watch me. Then, one day, he informed me we were married and I would leave the prison for his home the next day. With the help of my friends, I’d escaped that night and we left the island amid the mainland panic.
Putting thoughts of the past aside, I pick myself up off the ground, looking around for a way out. There are none unless I want to run back into the forest. He’d easily catch me, though. I look hesitantly at the car, but he grows impatient, grabs my arm and shoves me inside. My feet barely clear the frame when he slams the door shut.
I try to open it from the inside, but it won’t budge.
He climbs inside the car and I feel almost more threatened now than I had in the clearing where he killed my bodyguard. The interior closes in on both of us and we sit staring at each other.
He’s breathtaking in a purely physical sense with his a beautifully carved jaw, bulging muscles, messy black hair, tan skin and obsidian eyes that see right into my soul. But he’s Lucifer incarnate and the evil he embodies leaves me cold.
“My Warlord will come after me,” I tell him, trying to sound angry, even though my heart is in the pit of my stomach. “She knows I came up here and won’t stop until she gets me back.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Your Warlord is a woman?”
“Yes,” I snap. “And she’s fucking amazing. She’s going to find me, kill the hell out of you and send your body back to New York as a warning not to fuck with the southern Sanctuaries.”
Before I can so much as blink, he has me pinned against my seat with a knife at my throat. His face is in my hair, his nose touching my ear. A shudder ripples through me, even as I notice his pleasant scent. Strange, considering baths aren’t easy to come by on the road.
I expect him to say something about Skye or to threaten me, but he surprises me. “How did someone as pretty as you become a doctor?”
Suddenly our interaction takes on a new danger and I lower my eyes so he can’t see the fear in them.
“Looks, one way or another, aren’t a requirement for practicing medicine,” I say to him, hardening my voice. “If a person needs me to save their life, they won’t give a shit what I look like.”
His blade rests directly over the pulse point in my throat. I barely dare to breathe as we sit together in his old rusty car.
Finally, he moves the knif
e and puts it away. Ignoring our altercation, he starts the car, revving the engine a few times before taking off down the mountain road. I look behind me to where the seatbelt is supposed to be, but there isn’t one. I’m not surprised, most vehicles nowadays are missing bits and pieces.
The way this one roars and clunks, I think it might be on its last legs. I wonder why he hasn’t chosen a new one. He’s the right hand to one of the most prominent Sanctuaries on the continent, yet he drives a rust bucket with smashed out windows and missing seatbelts.
The ride becomes particularly uncomfortable when we reach the bottom of the mountain and he guns it onto the open road, surrounded by high desert. Dirt whips in the windows and I cringe as a rock hits the hood of the car, then bounces harmlessly away. I push myself lower in my seat and pull the collar of my shirt up to cover my face.
We drive for hours without speaking; he concentrating on the road and me trying to figure out how to get myself out of this situation. I come up with and discard several plans. So far, my favourite idea includes hitting him over the head with a large rock and stealing his car when we stop for gas or supplies.
It’s not really a viable plan since I’m not sure I’m capable of crushing a skull with a rock and I’ve never driven a car before. It hadn’t been a skill I’d ever needed and women weren’t encouraged to drive them where I came from. A woman in a car stuck out, and I’d spent most of my life lying low so as not to be forced into slavery.
When we stop, it’s off the highway in a small, abandoned town with a gas station.
There are working gas stations dotted throughout the United States. The pumps are regulated and periodically refilled by the people who live in and control the refineries. The Sanctuaries who negotiate with the gas towns, give them supplies, women, whatever they want. In return, maps to the gas controlled by those people are given to the Sanctuary.
I stay inside the car while Malachi fills up the car and several tanks stored in the trunk. The sharp scent of gas hits me and I breathe deep. I’ve always liked the smell of gas. I imagine my ancestors, the ones who lived before the Great Fall, smelling it too. I get a weird feeling of commonality and connection with the past when I think about the things I might share with them.
Skye's Sanctuary (The Sanctuary Series Book 5) Page 15