She smiled a watery, motherly smile at no one in particular, and I had a vision of Max going ahead of Logan to check for danger at the drug store — even though Logan was the one with combat training.
My own eyes stung, and I looked away. I tried not to think about Max. The guilt was too much, and there was no one I could talk to about him. It seemed selfish to bring it up with Logan or Amory; I knew their pain had to be greater than mine. Whatever state she was in, I hoped Logan wasn’t listening.
“Will she be all right now?” I asked, refocusing on Logan.
Shriver’s mouth was a hard line. “I don’t know. She may need more blood than Ida can safely give.”
“Can we find another donor?”
“She’s B negative. She can only receive blood from someone who’s O negative or B negative.” Shriver’s voice became a low whisper. “It’s not likely.”
The tears were coming now. There was nothing I could do to stop them. I couldn’t lose Logan. She’d become one of my best friends.
The tent flap rustled again, and two of Ida’s men rushed in carrying another woman. She was whimpering like a wounded dog and bleeding profusely from her abdomen. They laid her down on a cot I couldn’t see and drew the curtains around her. Shriver shuffled back to examine her, looking grim. Staring at the ceiling of the tent, I tried to block out the sounds the woman was making. I felt helpless.
Several minutes later, the crying stopped. It was silent for a long time. Then Shriver emerged from behind the partition, and the two men carried the woman back out again with a brown sheet draped over her body.
I shivered. A tent full of those fighting to live had no place for the dead.
I drifted in and out of consciousness, and when I finally became alert again, Shriver had disconnected Ida from Logan. Ida looked fine, but Logan was still too pale.
I turned to Ida, who was sitting at Logan’s side with a radio in her lap. It was just static, but I knew she was listening in on the PMC frequency for any news about the rebels who had gone off to fight.
When I opened my mouth to speak, my voice was scratchy. “Is she —” I coughed, and Ida got up to bring me a cup of water.
“Shh. Just rest, Haven. Doctor Shriver is doing everything she can.”
“I can give my blood!”
She shook her head. “You can’t. You’re A positive.”
I sighed, wondering if she was just telling me that so I would let it drop. “When the others get back, you have to keep Greyson from coming to camp. I don’t want him to catch the virus.”
“He will be fine. The virus has a long incubation period. We will know who is infected long before they are contagious.” Ida’s tone was tired. I understood. She too had watched people she loved die.
“It’s not safe here!” I tried to sit up, but pain shot up my neck when I tried to lift my head. I could practically feel my wound ripping open again. “With all the dead carriers? And what if more come?”
“We’re hoping to have all the bodies gone tonight. That way, the dead won’t be able to infect anyone else, and they won’t draw more of the afflicted here.”
“Are they burying them?”
“I’m afraid not. There’s a large ravine not far from here. We just don’t have the manpower to dig that many graves.”
I swallowed. For a moment, I was glad I was confined to bed. I didn’t want to leave the tent and see all the dead carriers and rebels lying in the snow.
The sun was going down, and I heard the ring of the dinner bell. It seemed strange to me, but even after the disastrous invasion, life went on as usual.
Ida left to get me some food and returned with a steaming bowl of chili and crackers. She helped me prop myself up into a half-seated position so I could eat. The chili was PMC rationed and didn’t seem to contain any beef, and I was grateful. Something about a ravine full of dead bodies when meat was so scarce introduced a morbid thought that made my stomach turn.
After I’d eaten my fill, I fell into a fitful sleep. I tried not to listen to the endless static of Ida’s radio as I lay shivering on my cot. Several more injured rebels were brought in, and Shriver kept returning to Logan’s bedside to pile more blankets on her. The wind rattled the tent poles and whistled in through the cracks in the canvas. It was freezing. When she left the tent to draw fresh water, I could see it was snowing again. Huge, wet flakes were blowing about, and I worried about all the rebels who were out fighting in the elements.
Some time in the night, I heard a screech on the radio and a garbled man’s voice. We listened intently, but between the static from the storm and the howl of the wind, it was impossible to discern what he was saying.
Ida got up from her vigil at Logan’s bedside and drew her hood up to block the freezing wind. I wanted to run and scream in frustration. What was happening with the rebels? Where were Amory and Greyson?
I waited, but Ida did not return. I lay there listening to the wind, unable to move. Shriver had disappeared to set up another medical tent. As it was, ours was overflowing. It reeked of blood and antiseptic and sick people.
After what felt like hours, I heard a shout in the distance. I tried to sit up again, but my injuries stung in protest. My head felt weird, and I thought I might have a concussion. There were more shouts coming from outside, but carried on the wind, they sounded very far away.
I heard footsteps in the snow, and the tent flap was whipped back. Amory stepped into the tent. He was covered in blood and dirt and sweat, but under all the grime, his face was pale white. His eyes locked on mine. In two strides, he crossed to my bed and threw himself down on top of me.
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I-I would have come sooner.” His fingers raked my face as he examined my wounds. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said in a scratchy voice. “But Logan . . .”
Amory turned, and his face fell when he saw her lying there. The color still had not returned to her face, and she looked so small buried under the mound of blankets. As he sank down on the cot next to her, the tent flap rustled again.
Standing in the entrance with a huge cut running down the side of his face was Greyson.
“Hey.” His eyes darted from me to Logan. He pushed his hands into his pockets, looking like a lost little boy.
“I was worried about you,” I said.
He let out a burst of air and flopped awkwardly onto the edge of my cot, throwing an arm around my shoulder and pulling me in to him. “I’ll take the PMC any day over a horde of carriers, but I wish we’d been here. I’m sorry.”
I smiled a little, letting myself relax slightly now that I knew they were both all right. Then I noticed his eyes darting to Logan. She still had not moved.
Finally, when he could delay the question no longer, Amory cleared his throat. “What’s wrong with her?” His voice sounded helpless.
“She’s lost too much blood,” I said. “Shriver gave her a transfusion, but it wasn’t enough. Logan’s B negative, and that’s a really rare blood type.”
“B negative?” repeated Greyson.
“Yeah.”
“I’m B negative. Give her my blood.”
It was too good to be true. I squeezed Greyson around the waist. “Really?”
“Yeah, of course.”
Before I could say anything, Shriver rustled in looking harried. I shot Greyson a look I hoped communicated my gratitude and relief.
“No. No. No. There are too many of you in here. You need to clear out.”
“Shriver!” I tried to sit up to get her attention, but she already had her hand at the neck of another sleeping patient, checking his pulse. “Shriver, Greyson is B negative.”
She let out a long burst of air. When she turned, I could see the puffy gray shadows sagging under her eyes. “I don’t have time to do another transfusion right now. I’ve got a whole mess of wounded people in the other tent who need patching up.”
“I can get started on them,” said Amory.
Shriv
er looked reluctant, but I could tell she was giving in. “You know, even with the right amount of blood, there’s still only about a fifty-fifty chance she’ll make it. Her wounds are very serious.”
“Please,” I said, cutting her off.
She sighed heavily. “All right. Kid, are you sure you’re B negative?”
“I give blood all the time.”
Shriver turned to Amory. “Get in there and start triaging the returning soldiers. I’ll be in as soon as I can.”
Greyson sat on the cot next to Logan’s, but Shriver forced him down into a reclined position.
“I have to cut into your arm.”
He nodded, but I could see a twinge of panic in his eyes. Greyson hated hospitals, and “giving blood all the time” was a generous lie he told about the two times he had passed out at blood drives on campus. I couldn’t believe he was doing this for Logan — for me.
This time, I could watch as Shriver cut into his forearm to expose his artery. My stomach turned as she fiddled with the tube that would connect his bloodstream to Logan’s and cut into Logan’s other arm to expose her good vein. Suddenly I understood what she meant when she said field transfusions were less than ideal. They were much more invasive for both the donor and recipient, and they were much more personal.
Once Logan began receiving Greyson’s blood, Shriver stayed for several minutes, watching for any adverse reactions.
Logan did not change.
Finally, she turned and left to go help Amory tend to the wounded, and Greyson and I were left alone with Logan.
We sat in silence for several minutes, me listening to his ragged breathing. It was the sound I only heard him make in times of extreme fear or at the end of a hard sprint.
“Thanks,” I said.
“For what?”
“For giving her blood. If anything happened to her . . .”
“I know,” he said quietly. “But she’s not just your friend now.” He cleared his throat, and when he spoke next, his voice was higher than normal. “I like her, too.”
“She likes you.”
Greyson’s head twitched toward me, but he snapped his eyes back to the ceiling. “No, I mean . . . I like her a lot, Haven.”
The full meaning of his words hit me, and I felt a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. It felt oddly foreign. These sunny moments were too few and far between lately.
“I know it’s stupid,” Greyson continued. “I mean, I know she was in love with your friend who died.”
“Max.” His name sounded fragile as it left my lips. He was already fading away.
“I’ve seen that look she gets . . . when she’s thinking about him.”
“It’s been really hard on her. It’s been hard on all of us.”
“I know. She’ll never want me.”
“Of course she will.”
“I can’t compete with a dead guy,” he said bitterly.
“Greyson!”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just . . . he’ll always be better in her mind. When people die, you build them up so much. You forget how to love someone real.”
“You don’t know that. Just give her some time.”
“I know! I’m not an asshole. I shouldn’t even think of her that way, but she’s just . . .” he trailed off, and I understood. Logan was incredible, and it made me happy to think of my two best friends in the world together.
“I wish you’d met her before this happened,” I said, fighting a yawn. “When Logan turned on the charm . . . you wouldn’t have stood a chance.”
He let out a soft laugh and then fell silent.
“What if she dies while I’m connected to her?” he asked after several minutes. “What if my blood kills her?”
“Haven —” The scratchy voice from underneath the pile of blankets was so faint, I thought I had imagined it.
We both stared at Logan’s face. For a second, she looked as though she were still unconscious, but then she grimaced with her eyes still closed and spoke again. “Haven, get this morbid asshole away from me. I am not going to die.”
Greyson’s face lit up, and I felt a cold weight lift off my chest.
“It’s working!” he whispered in awe.
“Of course it’s working,” she said indignantly.
Greyson and I stared at each other, smiling too hard to respond.
Finally, Logan opened her eyes and looked around the tent. Her eyes settled on Greyson for the first time and narrowed as her fuzzy brain worked to connect the dots.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said. “This place was crawling with carriers. You’ll get infected.”
He shook his head. “When I heard you two were hurt . . .”
“Where’s Amory?”
“He’s helping Shriver with the wounded soldiers.”
Logan looked relieved. “What happened out there?”
I stared at her, completely stunned. Thirty seconds after waking up, she had already asked the question that had been pushed completely out of my mind upon seeing Greyson and Amory whole and healthy.
“We drove them off,” said Greyson. “For now. I expect they’ve just crawled off to call in reinforcements.”
“Do they know where the camp is?”
He shook his head. “They don’t know the lay of the land well. They’ll have satellite rovers out, and if those get within a mile and pick up humans . . . Rulon’s amping up all the signal jammers.”
“But they’ll find us eventually.”
“Most likely,” said Greyson matter-of-factly. “We need to rally so we can have enough people ready to fight when they do show up.”
Logan and I exchanged looks.
“We’ve lost so many people,” I said.
“Who? Anyone we know?”
I felt a twinge of guilt. “I don’t know. I haven’t left this tent.”
Greyson lowered his gaze. “How many were there?”
“Over a hundred. It was a massacre. If Ida and her people hadn’t shown up . . .”
“Ida?” Logan tried to sit up but winced in pain. Still reclined, Greyson reached over and gently pushed her back down.
“She was listening in to the PMC frequency. She showed up when she heard that the carriers were on the move. It’s the biggest horde ever recorded. Even the PMC was panicked.”
“But who’s she with?”
I shrugged. “They looked like rebels to me.”
Logan looked doubtful and lowered her voice. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would Ida be running with rebels? She never has before, and she doesn’t approve of their methods.”
“Maybe she didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
Logan shook her head. “Do you know how many illegals Ida has helped since the Collapse? She has friends all over the country. She would’ve had her pick of safe houses.” Her eyes widened. “If Ida’s with the rebels, something is definitely wrong.”
Greyson snorted. “Gee, you think? This place just got mauled by a hundred carriers, and the PMC is closing in on the largest rebel camp in the country. I think we’re past all that.”
Right on cue, Ida breezed in the tent, holding a tray with three steaming bowls of stew, a pitcher of water, and half a loaf of bread. Her eyes flitted to Logan automatically and then did a double take.
“Oh my Lord!” Her face lit up. “You’re awake!”
Since I was the only one in a half-upright position, Ida shoved the tray into my lap and collapsed on the side of Logan’s bed.
“Oh, sweetheart! I was so worried!” She bent and kissed her forehead, reflexively wiping the area for lipstick with her thumb even though she wasn’t wearing any.
Logan smiled and looked over at Greyson sprawled on the cot next to her with his blood still flowing.
“Greyson, I presume?”
He nodded warily, unsure what to say, and Ida chuckled in delight and pulled him into her bosom.
“Ooh, so good to finally meet you! I’m so happy you’re safe! It was all Haven could
think about, saving you.”
Greyson made a muffled noise of assent, face still buried in Ida’s fleshy shoulder.
She thrust him away, positively beaming, with one hand still squeezing his arm. “I’ll get Shriver and have her unhook you two. She’s running Amory ragged over there.”
Ida disappeared, and a very irritable Shriver appeared. “I’d nearly forgotten about you,” she muttered to herself.
Greyson threw me a panicked look and winced as Shriver bent to fiddle with his arm. He tried to hide his pained expression from Logan, but I could see how ashen he had gone. Watching Shriver remove the tube, even I had to suppress a gag.
“You owe this young man your life,” Shriver murmured to Logan as she bandaged Greyson. “If he hadn’t shown up, I don’t think you would have made it.”
“I know,” said Logan with a weak smile.
Greyson grinned and sat up abruptly, reaching over to grab a bowl of the hot stew. But the moment he moved, he looked as though he regretted it. “Whoa.”
“Well, slow down!” Shriver snapped, rolling her eyes and shuffling over to her corner of the med tent. “Have some sugar.” She shoved a package of Oreos into Greyson’s lap. “You’ve given a lot of blood. You’re going to be woozy.”
“I haven’t eaten all day,” Greyson muttered defensively, crunching on an Oreo from his inclined position while Shriver patched up Logan’s arm.
“How many PMC officers were there?” I asked.
“Dunno. Probably fewer men than we had, but they were better trained. And they kept sending in reinforcements. If we’re lucky, they’ll think that was all of us.”
“Not many of us left,” snapped Shriver.
“How many were killed?”
“I don’t know. I’ve lost eighteen injured so far. Nothing I could do for them.” Her syllables were sharp and clipped, but I could detect the grief and helplessness there, too.
When she was finished, she helped Logan sit up and went to check on the man covered in bandages. I handed her a bowl of stew and watched her spoon it out tentatively.
Enemy Inside (Defectors Trilogy) Page 14