The Blood that Binds (Thicker than Blood Book 3)

by Madeline Sheehan

  Leisel’s features flared as she fought to keep herself composed. Behind her, Maria and Betsey were staring mutely at us, their expressions stricken.

  “And what about the others?” Leisel asked. “Did you see anyone from Xavi’s team? Jim? Anyone?”

  Logan shook his head. “I haven’t seen anyone else since this morning.”

  Maria covered her mouth with her hands, just barely suppressing a sob. With a shushing sound, Betsey turned to her, gathering the young woman into her arms.

  “Okay, I need to think,” Leisel muttered, her brows drawing in tight, pressing her lips together as she looked to the sky. “First, I need to brief the rest of the camp on what’s happened—you two come with me.”

  “Wait,” I hurried to say. “Can I go check on Britta?”

  Leisel gave a sharp nod. “That’s fine—I only need one of you. Logan, I’m going to collect everyone and then I’m headed to the dining hall—see you in five?”

  As the three women headed back the way they’d come, Logan turned to me. “Hey,” he said, taking my face in his hands. “Are you okay?”

  Despite feeling the very furthest thing from okay, I nodded. I’d been through worse than this—I already knew it wouldn’t break me.

  “Okay, look,” he said, glancing in the direction of the dining hall. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll come find you once I know what’s going on.”

  As Logan disappeared down the path, I dashed to Doc’s. The usual smells of cleaning agents and antiseptic greeted me upon entering the cabin, though stronger than usual, along with the same sickening scent of blood and sweat that had permeated the truck.

  Approaching the room I’d once occupied, I found Britta. She lay in the same bed I’d nearly died in, her lips blue, her skin pale and shining with sweat, her hands and leg tied to the bed railings. Joe stood at her bedside, dressed in ill-fitting scrubs and looking considerably cleaner than he had just minutes ago. The room itself looked pristine. Every surface was damp and glistening, the smell of disinfectant nearly unbearable.

  Brushing past me into the room, her arms filled with bags of fluid, Doc cast a glance in my direction. “Perfect timing, Willow—I’m going to need another set of hands.”

  “There’s ma’ girl,” Britta slurred, attempting to lift her head. Blinking sluggishly, she tried to smile, only managing a slight grimace. “Now, Willow, what tha’ fuck did y’all do with ma’ foot? Joey won’t tell me where’s run off to.”

  Flinching, Joe dropped his gaze to the floor.

  “I… um…” I stammered.

  “She’s drugged,” Doc said. “She doesn’t have a clue what’s going on and she’ll be sleeping soon. You remember where the scrubs are? Go get yourself cleaned up.”

  “I remember,” I called over my shoulder, already hurrying toward the bathroom. I undressed in a hurry, leaving my bloodied clothing in a small pile under the sink. Scrubbing myself clean, I donned a set of purple scrubs before hurrying back to Britta.

  “They got Davey and they got my goddang foot.” Chuckling softly, Britta’s eyes were rolling back in her head, showing white. She attempted lifting her hands, frowning when she found she couldn’t move them. “Hey… y’all… I’m stuck…” She pulled weakly at her binds.

  “That’s okay, honey,” Doc replied. “There’s nowhere you need to be right now. Why don’t you start counting back from ten—can you do that for me?”

  Britta’s fingers twitched. A deep frown furrowed her face. “I can’t move… my god… dang… hands…”

  Covering one of Britta’s hands with both of mine, I held her still. “Hey,” I whispered. “You don’t need to move. You just need to sleep, okay? Let’s count together. Ten, nine…”

  Britta’s fingers loosely squeezed mine. “Eight,” she joined in. “Seven…”

  It occurred to me then that this might potentially be the last time I would ever speak to my friend. That, despite Joe’s split-second decision to take off her foot, she could still be infected. And even if she didn’t turn, there was still the possibility of her dying from blood loss or various other infections.

  “Britta,” I rasped, bending my face to her ear as she continued to count. “I just want you to know… I just wanted to say…” I shook my head as tears filled my eyes and emotion clogged my throat. “… thank you for being my friend.” Britta didn’t respond—her eyes had closed, her hand limp in mine. Releasing her hand, my shaking fingers slid a clump of sweat-soaked hair from her face.

  “That’s not going to keep her out for long,” Doc said briskly, rushing around to the other side of the bed where a rolling tray of silver instruments had been laid out. “And I’ll need to cauterize her leg before she wakes up—the pain alone could give her a heart attack.”

  “Joe, get your butt over here. Put this between her teeth, alright?” Doc shook a strip of leather at him; distinct teeth-marks already punctured the bit of material, telling me it had been similarly used before.

  “Willow, you put some gloves on.” Doc nodded sharply toward a box on the counter. “While Joe holds her hands, I’ll need you to hold her leg still.”

  Firing up a small metal blow torch, Doc used it to heat the flat end of a large silver scalpel. It dawned on me then, the full horror of what was going to happen. My eyes went wide, feeling the burning rise of vomit in my throat.

  “Everyone ready?” Doc asked. Tools aside, Doc began removing the impromptu dressing from Britta’s leg. Blood continued gushing from the wound, mangled flesh and exposed bone where Britta’s foot should be. “There’s extra skin to work with,” Doc muttered. “Figured as much. Willow, hold her leg—hold it as tightly as you can.”

  Picking up the blowtorch, Doc resumed heating the scalpel. “Here we go,” she said firmly, sparing me and Joe a brief look, just before pressing the heated scalpel to the end of Britta’s leg.

  The smell of burning flesh, not unlike the smell of burning hair, filled my nostrils. Britta’s body jerked—her eyes fluttered behind closed lids and her fingers twitched, yet she didn’t wake. Holding tightly to her leg, I locked eyes with Joe and for a moment we only stared at one another, as if neither of us could bear to watch as Doc pressed the scalpel to Britta’s stump for a second time. This time Britta’s mouth opened around a moan and the leg I was clinging to jerked violently.

  “Hold her still,” Doc snapped. “We’re nearly there!”

  I tightened my grip, my fingertips digging into Britta’s bloody flesh. With the third press of the heated scalpel, Britta’s eyes flew open with a bloodcurdling scream, partially muffled behind the bit of leather stuffed between her teeth. Her back arched upward even as we all fought to hold her to the bed. She went still just as suddenly as she’d woken, her eyes rolling back and her body going limp.

  Silence engulfed the room. Joe sat down hard in his chair, his throat working furiously. Doc turned away, placing her instruments onto the cart and wiping the sweat from her brow with the crook of her arm. Releasing Britta’s leg from my shaky grip, I retook her hand in mine.

  “She needs antibiotics and more fluids,” Doc muttered as she began moving around the room, gathering up various items. “I need to clean and dress her leg. She needs blood, too, which means I need to find those damn blood type tests from that last hospital raid. Then I’ll need to find out if anyone in camp is compatible…” Trailing off, Doc pressed the back of her shaking hand to her forehead and went still. Taking several breaths, she turned to me. “I’ll be back shortly—don’t let anyone in this room, do you hear me? If either of you leave, make sure to scrub back in before returning. We need to keep as sterile an environment as possible.”

  As Doc pulled the door closed behind her, I turned back to Britta, tightening my hold on her hand, sending prayers up to a god I didn’t believe in—begging him to save my friend.

  A knock at the door had Joe and I jerking upright—me from my slouched position beside Britta’s bed and Joe from his chair, holding his head in his hands.

&nbs
p; “Who the fuck is it?” Joe snapped.

  “Logan,” an equally irritated baritone clapped back. “I’m looking for Willow.”

  “Coming,” I called, scrambling for the door. “Don’t come in—the room is sterile.”

  Opening the door just enough to enable me to slide through, I quickly pulled it closed behind me. Hurriedly pulling off my gloves, I tossed them into a nearby trash bin and threw my arms around Logan.

  “Britta?” he asked, his face buried in my hair. He’d cleaned up some—his clothes were clean, his hands and face washed, his hair wet and wound into a tight ball atop his head.

  “Doc cauterized her leg,” I whispered against his chest. “But she still needs blood and antibiotics and…” My words fell away as my eyes began to burn. I felt suddenly exhausted and weak and a whole host of other disconcerting and overwrought feelings that I couldn’t even find the strength to name. Fisting my hands in the back of his shirt, I began to cry in earnest.

  “Willow,” he said, once my tears had quieted. “Jesus Christ, I hate doing this to you right now, but I have to go.”

  I glanced up sharply. “What? Go where?”

  Logan sighed heavily. “I have to go back out there. Leisel is putting a team together to help find the others—she needs someone to show them where everything happened.”

  Backing away from his arms, I blinked furiously. “No, no fucking way,” I said, swiping angrily at my tear-stained cheeks. “You were just out there—tell her to find someone else!”

  He shook his head. “It has to be me. She wants to recover Davey’s body—if we can—and then see if we can locate Xavi’s team.”

  I glared at him, jaw clenched, my sore muscles straining to the point of pain. We’d barely survived the first two rounds with the horde and he wanted to go for a third? Did he have a death wish?

  “Please don’t do this.” I said those four words with so much force that they shook as they left me.

  “I don’t have a choice,” he said. “It’s either me, you or Joe, and Joe just hacked off Britta’s foot, and you’re barely standing as it is.”

  “You’re never going to stop, are you?” I bit out. “You’re always going to be like this, aren’t you?”

  “What the fuck, Willow—be like what?”

  “Like this!” I shouted, desperation mixed with fury and fear unfurling in my belly. “Always having to save the day. Always having to take charge of everything. Never thinking about how anyone else feels. Not caring how anyone else feels!”

  Logan went momentarily slack-jawed before his mouth snapped shut and his eyes flashed with fire. “What the fuck is wrong with you? They need my help—I’m going to help them.”

  “I need you, too!” I shouted. “I need you here and alive but that doesn’t matter to you, does it? You’re just going to go back out there, not giving a shit about how I feel!”

  “How can you be so selfish?” he demanded.

  My eyes widened with renewed rage. “I’m selfish because I don’t want you to die? I’m selfish because we just lost Davey and we might lose Britta, and if I lose you too, then I don’t know what the fuck I’ll do!”

  “No,” Logan growled. “You’re selfish because you don’t want me to help—because you want me to stay here like a goddamn coward when I should be out there trying to stop more people from dying!”

  “Why do you always have to be the fucking hero? Why can’t you be selfish for a change?” Furious tears fell from my eyes and I angrily swiped them away.

  “I’m not trying to be a hero! But I’m not going to be a coward either. Not for you, not for anyone.” Logan squeezed his eyes shut, regaining control of his temper with a growl and a quick shake of his head. “Look,” he gritted out. “Please understand… I’m just trying to do the right thing—for us, and for Silver Lake, too.

  “I’ll be back,” he continued, drawing closer. “I promise you.” He reached for me and I flinched away, my eyes and nostrils flaring as I fought against another wave of tears.

  “Willow—Jesus Christ—I’ve got to go.” Scrubbing a hand over his face, Logan began moving toward the door. “Stay with Britta—I’ll be back before you know it.” He paused with one hand on the handle, looking as if he wanted to say something more… do something more.

  Glaring at him through narrowed, tear-filled eyes, I resisted the urge to run to him—to continue begging him to stay. With one last, lingering look, Logan let the door shut behind him. I remained where I stood, my feet rooted to the floor, still staring after him long after he’d left. Hoping that, at any moment, he would burst through the door, having changed his mind.

  But also, silently adding his name to my growing list of prayers.

  Later that evening, I found myself standing outside Doc’s cabin, my gaze on the darkening sky above, visually tracing the dim outline of the moon in the distance. Night was fast approaching and yet no one from either team had returned—Xavi’s or Leisel’s.

  The realization that they could all be dead right now, that they could have been killed or worse, while I waited for news that might never come, had settled in my gut like an iron fist. Every breath felt like fire, every beat of my heart felt like the crush of an anvil.

  Why hadn’t I hugged Logan goodbye? Why had I yelled at him instead of telling him to be careful? Why did I do any of the things I did? Logan was right—I was selfish. Selfish, stupid, and mean.

  “Willow!” Cassie hurried along the path. “Can you believe all this?” she said tearfully. “No one has come back yet and Davey… Davey’s gone. First Hank and now Davey” Wringing her hands together, she shook her head. “And Britta… my god, how is Britta?”

  Floundering for a response, I mumbled, “I don’t really know. I think she’ll be okay. I mean, Joe took off her foot really fast, and Doc thinks the blood loss may have helped keep the virus out of her system.” I shrugged helplessly. “And she said her newest batch of antibiotics are even better than the previous ones—stronger, or something…” I trailed off as Cassie’s eyes filled with fresh tears.

  “Oh god, poor Britta,” Cassie cried out softly, covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh that poor, poor woman.”

  I said nothing more—what else was there to say? In truth, I didn’t know if Joe had taken off her foot in time, nor did I know if Doc’s antibiotics would be powerful enough to stop a secondary infection from taking root.

  “Did you know that Britta was the one to bring me to Silver Lake?” Cassie gazed across camp, wiping tears from her cheeks. “She found me hiding in my old RV. The engine had blown and I’d been sitting there on the side of a road in the middle of nowhere for nearly two weeks, out of food and wondering what the heck I was going to do. My wife… well, I’d lost her recently… and then after the RV died, I was just about ready to throw in the towel, you know what I mean?

  “The evening I was going to do it—I was sitting in bed and holding the gun and trying to convince myself there was nothing left for me here. I’m not a quitter—I’d never quit anything before, but the thought of carrying on without Stephanie felt pointless. So there I was with a gun pressed to my temple, when there was suddenly a knock on the RV. Scared me so bad, I nearly shot myself anyway.” Cassie, who was still crying, chuckled through her tears. “It was as if she’d been sent to save me. My god, I really don’t know what I’ll do if she doesn’t make it…

  “And Leisel,” Cassie continued. “She’s the heart and soul of this place—none of us would be here without her. I can’t believe she went willingly into… God only knows what.”

  My anger, which had somewhat faded since Logan’s departure, suddenly returned with a vengeance—not at Logan, but at Leisel. Anger that she’d dragged Logan out there with her. Not that he’d needed to be dragged; he’d gone willingly, too… damn him.

  “I need to go,” I said tightly—everything felt tight, my throat especially—and without another word, headed for home.

  Inside the cabin, I crawled into Logan’s bed, buryi
ng my face into his pillow and swallowing back the tears that threatened to fall as the scent of him filled me completely. I didn’t want to cry anymore. After all, if I cried now, it would mean that I believed the worst. I had to stay positive—I at least had to try to stay positive. But as day turned to night and night turned back into day, and Logan had yet to return, it became increasingly harder to feel anything but terror.

  At some point, I drifted off into a dreamless sleep only to wake with a jolt, greeted by darkness and silence, and the empty echo of a cabin that contained only me and an ever-worsening sense of dread in my gut. I forced myself out of bed, feeling sweaty and sick—what few hours of sleep I’d gotten, having done nothing for me other than while away the remainder of the day.

  Inside the bathroom, I splashed some water on my face and stared miserably at my reflection, trying to will myself into action. I needed to shower, to eat something. I needed to check on Britta. I needed to go to work. There were so many things that needed to be done that I found myself too exhausted to know where to begin. Climbing back into bed, I clutched Logan’s pillow to my chest once more. “Logan,” I whispered raggedly. “Come home—please, please come home.”

  I could no longer imagine my world without him. Logan was my rock, my safety net… and had been for far longer than I’d ever been willing to admit to before.

  I found myself crying—a flash flood of desperation and unease, sobs racking my body so hard and for so long that I eventually cried myself to sleep.

  This time I didn’t wake again until dawn.

  Willow

  Two days passed without any word from Logan and the others.

  Two horrible days during which my anxiety worsened to the point where sleep had become impossible and eating had become a chore. I attempted going to work only to be repeatedly sent home by Cassie; unfit to work, unable to function, I merely wandered with a stomach full of unease, the dark circles under my eyes soon returning with a vengeance, and my clothes fitting looser.