by Dixon, Ruby
He reaches for my hand, and I clasp his in mine.
It’s going to be okay now. I repeat that over and over again to myself, because I need to believe it.
* * *
The next morning, his fever is even worse, and I feel helpless. He kicks off the blankets, and when I try to put them back on him, I notice they’re soaked with sweat despite the fact that he’s shivering. He won’t eat, and when I try to push sips of water on him, he seems uninterested in that, too. I do what I can to make him comfortable, but fear lodges in my belly and won’t leave.
He needs more help than I can give him.
If this cave is full of supplies, that means someone’s coming by here. We’re probably not far from the beach at this point. I could go down to the others and force them to give us help…somehow. But I worry that they’d just rope Gren again, tie him up and treat him like an animal. He’s thrashing in his feverish sleep, and I sometimes have to scoot away or he’ll hit me with one of those oversized, clawed hands. Do I chance getting the others? As the minutes tick past and Gren continues to thrash in his fever, I worry that I’m making the wrong choice.
But what if they can’t help? They wear skins and carry spears.
And I know Gren would rather die free than a slave.
A low growl catches my attention.
“Willa,” Gren groans, reaching out from the bed and grasping at air as if seeking me.
“I’m here,” I tell him, and hurry back to his side. He clutches at my hand tightly, and then pulls my entire body against his. “Friend,” he says between pants. “Friend.”
His skin is sweaty, his fur damp, and he’s so hot that tears spill down my cheeks. Even pulling me against him doesn’t wake him from his troubled sleep. I pat his hand and caress his arm. “I’m here,” I tell him again, even though I doubt he realizes that I am. “I won’t leave you.”
He growls and continues to growl even as I hold his hand. He doesn’t know where he is, and when I touch his forehead, his skin is even hotter than before.
That settles it. I think of Gren reaching for me while I try to find the others. I think of him dying, alone, his arm outstretched as he looks for his only friend.
I’m staying by his side until the very end. Nothing could keep me from him.
* * *
Gren shivers off and on through the night, and when I put a blanket on him again, he doesn’t protest. He’s a sweaty mess, and when I try to bathe him, he snaps his teeth as if in pain, lashing out. No more bathing, then. I don’t know if it’s doing any good anyhow. I settle for wetting a bit of fur and squeezing it out over his mouth. I wish we had cotton towels.
Fuck the towels. I wish we had doctors.
I barely sleep that night, and when the morning light trickles in from the skylight hole in the ceiling, I peel the blankets back and look at Gren’s wounds. Most of his scratches are gone, healing into faint red lines. Instead of this being good news, it just emphasizes how bad all the bite-marks are all over his body. Worse than that, there’s a sickly-looking fluid leaking from them, and the skin around the bites is puffy and red. I put the blanket back on him, because what else can I do?
Gren shifts in the bedding, and then his eyes open. They’re glazed with fever, but he focuses on my face.
“Hey, sugar,” I murmur, caressing his fuzzy cheek. “How are you feeling?”
“Willa.” He tries to lift a hand to touch my face, and it seems to strain him. I take his hand in mine and put it against my cheek for him.
“I’m here.” I smile brightly at him, even though I feel like screaming. He looks worse than before. Are these his last minutes? He studies my face, and his gaze is so tender that a huge knot forms in my throat. “I wish I’d pounced on you like I wanted to,” I tell him. “I should have done it instead of worrying about it. Maybe you’d be all right if I’d climbed all over you instead of going out for a tinkle.”
His nostrils flare, and I inwardly cringe. There’s no way he’s going to miss his own sickly smell, of the infection that’s raging in his wounds. I hate that he has to smell that.
To my surprise, though, he struggles to sit upright in bed, growling. “Gren?” I ask, putting a hand on his chest. “Lie down, sugar—”
He shakes off my hand, trying to get to his feet. He can’t, and instead, he just crawls forward, his teeth bared, an angry snarl in his throat.
I watch for a moment, confused, and then I realize this isn’t his confused-growl or even his communication-growl. This is a growl of protection, and with his feral snarl showing all of his teeth, he’s ready to attack.
Something’s coming to our cave.
I race to grab my spear and then push in front of him. If those awful snowcats have followed us up here, I need to defend Gren. Nothing’s hurting him while I’ve got air in my lungs.
“Willa,” Gren says, and then hisses, like an angry cat.
“No, you stay back,” I tell him, moving to the front part of our cave, where it narrows into a winding tunnel. I can block anything that heads in this direction. That’s one good thing about our cave—it’s defensible. I get to the end of the tunnel, hold my spear at the ready, and wait.
Everything is silent. I listen for footsteps, trying to think what it could be. More cats? A pony-creature? Some new horror?
My worried breathing is overloud in our cave. Then, strange voices drift off the walls, speaking in a language I don’t understand. They’re male voices. I frown into the darkness, and then I hear an amused laugh, and then a question. The word “Mah-dee” is spoken and I gasp with realization.
Hunters. From the tribe.
They’ve found us.
I clutch the spear tighter, my body trembling with fear. “Stay back, Gren. We don’t know if these men are friend or foe.”
He only hisses at me, lost in the fever. I’m not afraid, though. He would never harm me.
A male alien comes around the corner, laughing at the companion behind him—and then stops short at the sight of me with my spear out. His eyes widen, and I recognize the long, messy braid of hair. Zolaya, Veronica’s friend. Behind him, Hassen nearly runs into his back when he stops.
We all look surprised to see each other.
Gren hisses, breaking the silence, and then growls, shifting on his feet. As I watch, the two aliens reach for their belts…and its then that I see the ropes.
They’re not here on a friendly meeting.
“Get the fuck out of here!” I scream at them, shaking my spear in their direction.
Zolaya murmurs something, putting out his hands to indicate that I shouldn’t attack.
I jab at him again to show that I’m serious. “You’re not touching him. Go away. No one wants you here!”
“I just said…we only want to talk,” Zolaya speaks in that soothing voice. Then, he frowns. “Did you not get a translation chip from Mardok?” He repeats the words in the other language, the fluid one of their people, and takes a step forward.
I stab at him with my spear, this time close enough to make the leather laces on his vest twitch, and Hassen hauls his friend backward. Both of them are scowling, but I don’t care. They’re not touching my Gren.
Translation chip. I’m irritated that they bring up something like that as if it’s a carrot to be dangled in front of my nose…and then I’m just full-blown angry. Gren hasn’t been able to speak to anyone at all. No one tried to give him a fucking translation chip. “Leave us alone,” I tell them, furious. “No one wants you here.”
Gren growls again and then ruins the effect by panting heavily. He collapses on the stones at my feet, hisses again, and then tries to crawl forward, as if determined to protect me with his dying breath.
That breaks me.
“Y’all get out of here,” I say again, sweeping my spear at them.
“Wil-lah,” Hassen says. “Come back with us—”
“Never.” Not when they brought ropes with them. They can turn right around and leave, because we are neve
r going with them. Ever.
“He is dying,” Zolaya states, his gaze flicking to Gren.
“Then he’s going to die here. Free.” I shove my spear at them again, getting hysterical. “But you two fuckers are getting the hell out of here!”
At the wild note in my voice, and the crazy swing of my spear, they both step back. Zolaya exchanges a look with Hassen, and then they both turn to go. “We will go,” Zolaya says.
“Good,” I call after them as they disappear down the tunnel. I remain where I am, quivering, spear white-knuckled in my grip. I listen to their footsteps retreat, and then they speak again, their voices muffled as they head outside. I hear their boots crunch on the slippery gravel slope, and then they are gone.
I sag to the ground, exhausted and trembling.
We’ve been found. I shudder, thinking of the ropes they carried at their waists, and how close Gren came to being tied up by them again. It would be pure torture for him. He’s going to die free, damn it.
A big hand curls around my wrist, and then Gren strokes his thumb over my skin. “Willa,” he pants. “Friend.”
“That’s right,” I tell him, weeping. “I am your friend. Let’s get you back into your bed so you can rest comfortably.” If nothing else, I can provide him that.
It takes a long time to get Gren’s hulking body back into his pile of furs, and by the time he’s settled, we’re both exhausted. I manage to get him to drink a few sips of water, but he refuses food and goes quiet, and I realize he’s passed out. I watch him sleep for a minute, my heart aching as I gently brush the sweaty hair from his brow. Nestled in the wild length of his dark hair, he’s got tiny horns just above his brow. Huh. I keep stroking his head, wishing I could do more for him than just touches.
“I won’t leave you,” I whisper to him, and then I get up.
I’m wiped out, but I can’t rest. I glance over at my spear, now lying on the floor, and grab it. Just to be on the safe side, I march to the entrance of the cave and peer down the long, steep, gravel-slick path. Sure enough, I see the two big blue aliens sitting near a fire a short distance away. They’re not coming up…but they’re not leaving, either. Frustrated, I glare down at them as I think. I don’t know what to do. Are they just going to sit down there and wait Gren’s death out?
That makes me hate them just a little more.
Eventually, I go back into the cave. There’s nothing I can do about them except stay alert. If they decide to attack, they’ll do it at night, so I have to stay on guard. I rub my tired eyes and return to Gren’s side, because I want to be there if he wakes up. I take his hand in mine and keep my other hand on the spear, turned toward the cave entrance.
“I’ll keep watch over you, Gren,” I whisper to him.
I’m half-drowsing when I hear the loud scratch of gravel outside on the path. I jerk awake, my heart hammering, and I race back to the entrance of the cave, down the winding tunnel, spear at the ready.
“I told you to leave us alone,” I cry out.
The male alien just raises a hand in the air. It’s Hassen, his hair cropped short and loose at his shoulders compared to Zolaya’s long, sloppy braid. He’s got a torch in his hand. “I brought you fire, Wil-lah.”
I hesitate. “Why?” I ask warily, not moving toward him.
“Because you do not have any?”
“Bless your heart,” I tell him, but I don’t move forward. “I don’t need anything from you. Just go and leave us alone.”
“Zolaya is gone,” he says as if that answers everything. “I have brought you fire.” He gestures, indicating I should take the torch from him. “And a word of advice.”
“I said I don’t want anything from you—”
“There is a basket in the cave,” he continues, talking louder so his voice carries over mine. “It is full of short, green needles that smell foul when you crush them. Put a pouch of water over the fire, add a handful of needles, and let it cook until the smell turns sweet. Then, have him drink it.”
I eye him warily. “Why?”
“It is for pain. It will not help his sickness, but it will help him sleep easily.” And he holds the torch out to me again.
He could be lying. He could be misleading me into drugging Gren so they can tie him up and drag him back to camp. But I’m so tired that I can’t think straight, and I desperately want to help Gren any way I can. “And then you’ll leave?”
“I will not leave. I will stay below and keep scavengers away from your cave.” He hesitates, then adds, “You left a large scent trail that will bring predators. They like the smell of the weak and will come hunting.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I hesitate, then move forward and take the torch from him, and retreat back into the cave. I don’t thank him, though it goes against my southern upbringing not to. I still don’t know if this is a trick.
But I have fire. And Gren might have a pain reliever. It’s more than we’ve had, so I’ll take a chance.
14
WILLA
Another day passes. Despite the tea, his wounds get worse, until I feel the sickness of it is in my nostrils. I keep the fire going, though, and force tea on him every time he wakes up. Hassen doesn’t return to bother us, at least, but Gren doesn’t awaken much, either. I feel like he’s sinking and it’s just a matter of time. So I curl up next to him and hold his hand, tracing my fingers over the uninjured parts of his knuckles to let him know that I’m here, and I’m with him, and that I won’t ever leave his side.
I don’t even realize I’m asleep until I hear Gren growl.
I spring to my feet, disoriented and dizzy. I’m so tired that I’m drifting off to sleep even when I’m not supposed to. I don’t remember the last time I ate more than a handful of trail mix, and I’m weak and tired. I scramble to pick up the spear, even as I hear voices in the tunnel. Different voices.
“Gren?” a woman calls out, and my alien growls furiously. "My name's Veronica. I'm here with my mate, Ashtar. We're not coming to hurt you, or to try and take Willa away from you. I know you're wounded and we just want to help you. Can we come in?"
Veronica? The girl from the beach? The one that resonated to the golden guy? What would she be doing here? Confused, I clutch the spear and look at Gren, still in the blankets. His eyes are glassy, and he’s growling furiously, but he makes no attempt to get up. That’s bad.
“Gren?” I whisper. “How are you feeling?”
He gives an angry snarl, and then he’s silent.
My heart hammers painfully in my chest. He’s worse than ever. These might be his last moments. I turn to the tunnel, uncertain. Veronica says she wants to help…do I trust her? I think of her face—unassuming and sweet—and decide to take a chance. “Wait here,” I tell Gren. I slap the spear down on the ground and grab the bone torch from the edge of the fire—it’s the same one that Hassen used, and I think it’s a thigh-bone of some sort of animal with sticky, resin-covered leather on the end that seems to burn for a long period of time. I saved it in case I needed it. Now, I stick it into the fire, wait for it to catch, and then head for the tunnel.
I go a few steps in, holding the torch high, and then I see them. Veronica’s there, her brown curls wind-tousled, her skin rosy. She has a fur muff over her hands and her leathers look so much cleaner than mine. She smells fresh. I probably look like a crazy woman, and I touch my hand to my filthy hair absently. How long has it been since I bathed? It’s not on the priority list. Ashtar’s behind her, one hand on her shoulder and frowning at me. I ignore him and study Veronica. “You mean it?”
She blinks. “Which part?”
“The part where you’re not going to take me from him?” I hold the torch higher, so I can see both of their faces.
"We're here to see if we can help. That means healing, and it's all that it means. I promise."
Yeah. I’m not sure I believe that. “You're not here to rescue me?"
"I guess that depends on if you want to be rescued," Veronica
’s expression grows wry. "Ashtar took me away, and I guess that could be interpreted as 'stealing me', except I have no desire to be rescued. I'm not sure that the big blue guys agree, but I figure there's room enough on the planet for everyone to have differing opinions now and then."
I hesitate. Do I trust them? It sounds good, but…I don’t know anymore. I’m so tired. I rub my face, wishing I knew what to do. "Please, please don't betray my trust."
"We won’t.” Veronica’s voice is easy, confident, and she steps forward, palms spread to show she has no weapon. "He's injured, isn't he?"
I fight to speak past the knot in my throat. "He's dying. I don't want him to die thinking he's still someone's captive. Please…"
“He won’t. I'm a healer, Willa. I can heal him…or at least, I can try. But I can't do it out here."
A healer? I don’t know what she means by that, but Gren is on his last legs. If he was a dog, Uncle Dick would have put him down days ago.
I still hate Uncle Dick.
Anger and frustration rush through me, followed by exhaustion. If I’m going to trust them, I need to move out of the tunnel. “Please,” I say, not entirely sure what I’m asking at this point, and then indicate they should follow me. I head back into the cave that’s been our home for the last two days—or has it been more? I don’t even know any longer. I drop next to Gren’s spot, and I can hear him growling low, even though his eyes are focused on nothing but the fire. He doesn’t see me. I take his hand anyhow. “Gren, friends are here. They’re going to help you, all right?”
He growls, and I don’t know if he’s answering me or just reacting to different scents.
Veronica is fearless, bless her heart. She moves to my side and smiles cheerfully. “Hi Gren. I'm Veronica. That guy over there is my mate." She points across the fire to the big golden guy, who has his arms crossed and looks as if he’s ready to snatch Veronica away if Gren makes one wrong move. Veronica doesn’t seem to see it, though. She pats her chest. "You can probably hear us resonating, right? That means there's no chance either of us is going to take Willa from you."