“Oh, she’s real bad, alright—got an infected leg!” Britta called out.
“Bitten?” Davey asked.
“Not that I can see. Looks like a cut of some sort. Blood poisonin’, maybe. Eddie here wasn’t lyin’—she’s gotta see Doc, and fast.”
My racing heart stuttered. They had a doctor?
“You think takin’ them to camp is wise?” Davey asked. “We don’t know jack shit about ‘em.”
“I know this girl’s gonna die if we don’t. Fact is, she’ll likely still die even if we do.”
A moment later, I heard the sound of the kayak being dragged across the concrete.
My elbow found purchase in Davey’s gut, my boot in his shin. Grunting in pain, he faltered, losing his grip on me. I grabbed his arm, twisted it as I ducked beneath it, and roughly yanked it behind his back.
“Drop the gun,” I demanded, pressing on his arm. Hissing in pain, Davey’s firearm clattered to the concrete. “I go where she goes!” I called out to Britta.
Britta paused at the edge of the woods, tossing me a cursory glance over her shoulder. “Then you better stop your flirtin’ with Davey and hurry the fuck up.” Disappearing behind the trees, her voice echoed throughout the dead end. “Ain’t nobody gettin’ in after sundown.”
“She’s tellin’ the truth,” Davey growled. “You wanna be with your girl, we need to move. Once we’re outta sunlight, we’re outta luck. House rules. No exceptions.”
I considered his words, every passing second taking Willow farther from me. Finally, with no other options, I released Davey with a hard shove. Spinning around, he looked from me to his gun, but made no move toward either. Face to face with him, I recognized him as the paramilitary guy who’d been driving the Jeep in Elkins Point. Up close, he was a great deal older than I’d initially thought—with salt and pepper hair, a matching beard, and deep lines etched into his suntanned skin.
My gaze shot to the trees Britta had disappeared behind. “Are you going to shoot me?” I asked.
“Remains to be seen,” he said. “You gonna do as you’re told?”
“Remains to be seen,” I retorted.
Snorting, he shook his head at me and gestured toward the woods. “Either way, we best get a move on.”
Taking a deep breath, I nodded in agreement. Whatever happened next, whoever these people were, I was out of options and Willow was out of time.
The walk through the woods was more of a trek through a dimly lit maze; the forest here was thick, far denser and darker than it had been by the farmhouse. There were no pathways, no notable landmarks, nothing but a handful of game trails that led nowhere.
We’d been walking only ten minutes or so when I realized that Davey had no intention of allowing me to catch up to Britta and Willow. His pace was deliberately slow as he led me in wide zigzagging patterns, either to throw off my sense of direction, or for some more nefarious reason.
Eventually the forest began to thin, opening into a dirt and gravel parking lot, lined with old streetlights and concrete parking bumpers. There was a definite road here, too—a well-worn dirt roadway newly imprinted with numerous tire tracks. Staring down the empty road, I wondered if it led to the highway.
“You comin’ or what?” Davey stood at the far end of the lot, impatiently tapping his fingers on the stock of his gun.
The path descended a steep hill, branching out in several directions at the bottom. Davey directed me to the right, back into the rapidly darkening forest. Eventually the path began to widen, the forest opening into another lot. Beyond the lot, a ten-foot-high wall stood, made from a compilation of various slabs of wood, in a hundred different colors. The mishmash of colors and textures gave it an overall shoddy appearance, like that of an old quilt faded with age. A small guardhouse loomed behind the wall, towering a good six feet above the wall; two people stood inside, each of them holding a long-range rifle.
Both rifles were pointed at me.
Davey whistled and the wall jerked, revealing a rolling gateway. As the gate continued to roll slowly open, a man and woman were unveiled.
The woman I recognized as the short-haired motorcyclist I’d seen during my initial trip to Elkins Point, but the man I hadn’t seen before. For all intents and purposes, he seemed like an average man, of average build, with average features; however, his dark eyes told a very different story—a distinctly not-average story.
“Hello,” the woman said brusquely, clasping her hands together. “I’m sure you’re wondering about your companion, so let me first assure you that she’s with our doctor who’s been instructed to do whatever she can to help her.”
I opened my mouth, only to close it when the woman held up her finger. “You, however, are an entirely different matter,” she continued, her tone distinctly hardening. “This is our place. The people here are our people, and we take their safety very, very seriously.”
Much like the man’s, the woman’s looks were similarly deceiving. She looked to be in her mid to late thirties and was on the smaller side, with dainty, pert features. At first glance, she appeared diminutive, almost shy even. Her skin was fair, dotted with freckles, her hair short and moderately styled, and she dressed plainly in dark, solid colors. You didn’t really see her type anymore, the sort of person you wouldn’t ever pick out of a crowd, that you’d never mark as exceptional in any way. Those people hadn’t survived very long.
It was ultimately her eyes that gave her away and hinted at who she really was. Golden brown in color, they were, at first glance, sad eyes… maybe even a little angry, too. But the longer I looked at her, the longer she looked at me, the harder her gaze grew until I was looking into the steely-eyed stare of a woman who’d definitely seen some shit. A woman who knew full well what a threat looked like… and I fit her description.
“First things first,” she said. “I want to know how many more of you there are and where your camp is.”
I shook my head. “There’s just us—I mean, there were three of us… but now it’s just us.”
One of her dark brows peaked. “And why is that?”
Scrubbing my hand over my face, I sighed. “I’d left them at the farmhouse to scout ahead and they were fucking around in the woods and…” I trailed off while I fought for composure. “… and now it’s just the two of us,” I finished through my teeth.
“So you’re telling me that it’s just been the three of you surviving out there?” she asked, disbelief tinging her words. “This entire time, just the three of you?”
“Yes.”
Glancing at the man beside her, a silent exchange occurred between them. “Suppose we choose to believe you,” the woman said slowly. “Would you care to share how you found us?”
“I didn’t.” I jerked my chin in Davey’s direction. “You found me.”
“You can’t expect me to believe it was just a happy coincidence that you ended up on our dead end.”
I struggled for calm. The rational side of me understood their need for safety protocols, but the irrational side of me was desperate to get inside that wall, desperate to get to Willow. The sun had already set, night was upon us and I couldn’t let that gate close with me stuck on the wrong side of it.
“I saw you in town,” I practically snarled, no longer able to mask my growing anger. “And I figured you had a camp nearby but I didn’t have any plans on coming to look for you until Willow got sick. So, yeah, I was looking for you, but I didn’t know where you were, only that you were here somewhere.”
“So it was you who made the mess at Carole’s.”
My chest tightened, frustration squeezing all the air from my lungs. “Does it fucking matter?”
“Watch your fuckin’ mouth, son,” Davey growled, stepping toward me.
My glare swung in his direction. “Fuck you—I’m not your son.”
“It does matter,” the woman said evenly. “I need to know where your head is. It’s all relevant.”
For a moment, I only stared at her. “You want to k
now where my head is?” I finally said, laughing bitterly. “Lady, my little brother is dead and Willow is… I don’t even know what Willow is because you’ve got her in there while I’m stuck out here with you asking me where my fucking head is! It’s been just the three of us for God only knows how long and… and if she dies too… Jesus Christ, this whole fucking thing is all my fault… ” My words died off in anguish.
Davey was practically on top of me now, his weapon clutched in his hands, ready and willing to use it if given the go-ahead. I barely spared him a glance. He was merely the muscle; it was the other two, the not quite so average man and woman that posed a much greater threat.
“And I get it,” I continued through my teeth. “I really do. You don’t know if you can trust me, but you’ve got to believe me—I don’t give a shit about this place, and what you have or don’t have—all I care about is Willow.”
The woman’s head tilted; her eyes bored into mine. “And what if we can’t help Willow—what happens then?”
Every fiber of my being roared in protest at the mere suggestion. “Then I’ll leave.” I managed to spit out. My next two words didn’t come easily; I felt as if my tongue were wading through quicksand. “… without her.”
No one spoke. Not the woman or the man beside her. Not Davey, who was still staring daggers in my peripheral. Not the two guards in the tower with their rifles still trained on me, or the handful of people who’d gathered at the gates.
Then the woman’s clasped hands broke apart and her rigid posture relaxed. She was a quiet, unassuming woman once again. Inclining her head, she said, “Follow me.”
Logan
Antibiotics. I shook my head, still unable to believe it.
Sitting on a cushioned chair, my legs bounced anxiously, my feet tapping against a spotless linoleum floor. Nearby an old box fan was noisily blowing warm air in my direction. At my side, Willow lay asleep in one of two hospital beds—actual hospital beds—with a blood pressure cuff wrapped loosely around one arm and an IV line inserted in her other. The IV pole stood between us, a bag of fluid dangling from each hook, one filled with saline, the other with antibiotics, both dripping slowly through the tubing. There was more medical equipment arranged around the small room—several tanks of oxygen, an ultrasound machine, even a small x-ray machine. It even smelled like a hospital—the sharp scent of antiseptic and cleaning products.
And electricity, I thought, still feeling rattled as I blinked up at the overhead light for the hundredth time, watching as it flickered.
And an actual fucking doctor.
She’d introduced herself as Keshia. But everyone calls me Doc, she’d said with a warm smile and a shrug. She was an older woman, tall and thin, with long salt and pepper locks that hung halfway down her back. Instead of a white lab coat, she wore cutoff denim shorts and a black tank top, showing off a full sleeve of tattoos on both arms. Fiddling with the stethoscope hanging around her neck, she told me that Willow had a bad case of cellulitis on her leg and what looked to be blood poisoning.
She explained that the bagged antibiotics had expired long ago, but with limited resources available, anything at all was better than nothing at all. Then she’d treated Willow’s leg with a topical ointment she’d made from her homegrown penicillin cultures, the same ointment she used to treat the wounds on my hands. Both my hands were bandaged now and throbbing fiercely.
Willow and I were alone now, but the door to the room remained open, allowing me full view of an adjoining room—a waiting area that also doubled as triage. On one end of the room were a handful of mismatched chairs and a cluttered desk; on the other end, a wheeled stretcher sat surrounded by emergency medical bags—the sort that EMTs used to carry with them.
Currently, Doc was seated at the desk, idly flipping through the pages of a large hardback book. In a nearby chair, Davey was staring at me, his rifle cradled in his arms. On the wall behind him hung several health educational posters. Just above the front door hung a wooden sign with the words: CAMP NURSE crudely painted in white and red.
I’d seen similar signs on my way here—REGISTRATION OFFICE, CAMPSTORE, DINING HALL, BATHHOUSE—making it clear that this place had once been a summer camp. Despite its origins, to call this place a mere camp would have been a grave understatement. Roughly the size of a football field, the cordoned space bordered a lake and was protected by a fortified wall. They had children here, families, even a goddamn doctor. I still couldn’t quite believe it.
Looking at Willow, her skin had taken on an ashy hue and she had deep, dark circles ringing her closed eyes. Staring at her, I was reminded of someone else. Somewhere else.
“Logan.”
The door creaked open; Mackenzie stood in my bedroom doorway, holding a candle in her hands, motioning for me to join her.
Beside me, Lucas was sound asleep, shivering as he slept. Tossing my blankets over him, I moved quietly into the hall, closing the door partway behind me.
“We’re leaving Asheville,” Mackenzie whispered, her breath visible in the freezing cold corridor. “Tomorrow.”
I blinked at her. “What do you mean, you’re leaving? It’s the middle of fucking winter, where the hell are you going?”
She shook her head and the candle flickered, reflecting off the tears in her eyes. “My dad heard another FEMA broadcast on the radio today, and my mom has been begging to leave for weeks, ever since… ” she trailed off, her gaze dropping to the floor. “They just told me we’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Just the three of you?” I asked.
“Mr. and Mrs. Gleason are coming—the Harts too.” She began shifting uncomfortably,
My nostrils flared. “So everyone is just picking up and leaving?”
Mackenzie shifted uncomfortably. “I think you and Luke could probably come,” she said in a small voice.
I doubted that. Mackenzie’s parents might have loved me once, but that had changed once we’d begun living under one roof. They’d gotten to see firsthand how my family operated, and they hadn’t liked what they’d seen.
“I can’t even get Luke out of bed,” I told her, growing angry. Mackenzie already knew this; every day she’d watch me attempt to coax him from beneath his covers, trying desperately to convince him to eat.
“I’m sure he’d get up if he knew you were leaving…”
“What about Willow and her mom?” I bit out. “Are we just going to leave them here?”
“My dad said Willow’s mom isn’t going to last the week,” she whispered. “… and you know my mom doesn’t like Willow.”
“Nobody likes Willow,” I snapped. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything? We still can’t leave her here alone.”
“Logan, my mom is scared of her. She’s been coming up with all these insane theories about what happened and she’s got it stuck in her head that it was Willow who… you know… ”
“Yeah,” I scoffed. “I’d forgotten what a really scary time it’s been for your mom lately.”
“Don’t do that,” she whimpered. “That’s not fair.”
“Don’t talk to me about what’s not fair. Both of your parents are still breathing.”
“Exactly!” she cried out. “So come with us—let’s leave this awful place behind!”
I stared at her in the near darkness. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed varsity cheerleader with a cheery disposition, Mackenzie had checked all the right boxes for me. She’d been the cheer to my game and the easygoing smile that had always countered my ever-present scowl. Only now, ever since the world had gone insane, I’d come to realize that all she’d ever really been to me was a means to an end, a helping hand in getting me out of this do-nothing town. In reality, the feelings I had for her had never been more than tepid, at best.
“Luke won’t leave Willow,” I ground out. “Fuck, Luke won’t even leave his bed.”
“And you won’t leave Luke,” she finished in a harsh whisper.
I stared at her, disgusted. “Yeah. He’s my litt
le brother, remember?”
Chuffing, she shook her head angrily. “Then I guess that’s it.”
“Guess so,” I bit out.
Her eyes flashed in the candlelight. “We’ve been together since sophomore year and now I’m leaving and that’s all you have to say?”
“What the fuck do you want from me?” I demanded. “Jesus Christ, if you’re looking for someone to beg you to stay, look somewhere else. This is bigger than you!”
Mackenzie blinked hard, her tears spilling over just as she spun away with enough force that her candle went out. Leaning back against the wall, I was staring blankly at the empty space Mackenzie had vacated when a coughing fit erupted throughout the hallway.
Moving quickly down the hall, I entered a dimly lit room on the right. A low fire crackled in the fireplace, casting shadows over the figures on the bed.
“Logan,” Willow breathed. “Can you hold her still—make sure she doesn’t fall? I need to get her some water.”
“Go,” I told her, taking a seat on the bed as Willow rushed from the room. Her mother offered me a weak smile; shriveled and emaciated, with dark circles ringing her eyes, she looked nothing like the vibrant, bright-eyed woman she’d once been.
“Logan,” she whispered. “Logan, once I’m gone… I want you to take Willow and Luke and… and get out of here. You can’t stay… here. You need to… go south… where it’s warm. Find… food.”
She began to cough again, deep, rattling spasms that shook the entire bed. As blood sprayed from her mouth, I grabbed a nearby towel, already stained with her blood, and wiped at her chin.
“And keep Willow… safe,” she wheezed once she could speak. “She’s a smart girl… but she’s stubborn. Too… stubborn for her own good. Promise me… you’ll keep my… baby… safe.”
My throat tight, I gripped her hand between both of mine. “I promise,” I whispered hoarsely. “I’ll keep her safe—you don’t need to worry.”
“You’re a good… boy,” she rasped. “You’re not…like… ” she trailed off as she began to cough again. And this time she didn’t stop.
The Blood that Binds (Thicker than Blood Book 3) Page 10