The guys were still huddled together, talking anxiously, knowing something was wrong with me but not knowing what.
“If you want to know,” I said irritably, “you could just ask.” I regretted it the instant those words were spoken. The guys didn’t deserve my pissiness.
Eric, Matthew, and Thom approached me.
“I’m sorry, fellas,” I mumbled.
“No problem,” assured Matthew, patting me on the head.
Thom opened an alcohol wipe and held it under my nose. I inhaled its scent, and the nausea eased a bit.
“Nice trick,” I whispered to him.
“So what’s the malfunction?” queried Eric.
Thom and Matthew had bandaged Eric’s hands. I remembered seeing how raw they were when he’d dropped Jimbo’s patch. After the beating he’d administered, he might have some broken bones of his own. I tried to focus on answering him, but I could only push out one word while staring at Thom’s feet.
“Appendix.”
Eric’s look of worry deepened. I continued trying not to look at him.
“Are you sure?” he asked, and I nodded.
He stood there for a long moment, not saying anything, then he raged away, fretting and spouting expletives. I heard crashes as anything in his path was toppled or crushed or thrown.
My appendix had settled down before. Maybe it would again. I dry heaved into the puke cup some more. No, it wouldn’t resolve itself this time. The odd gnawing had been joined by a new, constant, sharp heat.
“You need to cut it out.” I said this into my puke cup, but it was directed to Thom. Each of us was familiar with anatomy, because of our hunting experience, but Thom had some medical training, too, from Before. I couldn’t think of another option I would live through.
Thom knew there wasn’t any good solution for my predicament. He’d already arrived at the same conclusion—probably before I had. He looked like he’d been mauled and was about to be shredded further. I couldn’t look at Thom anymore.
“I’m sure,” I reiterated, forcing my voice to sound calmer than I felt. I knew exactly what I was asking of him. The cruelty of it made me even more furious at the situation.
Thom saw me eyeing one of Matthew’s guns. I wasn’t interested in dying of sepsis.
“Okay,” Thom acquiesced. He pulled out his first-aid kit and reached for mine.
“Eric?” I called. Tried to call. I started heaving into my puke cup again, and Thom whisked out another alcohol wipe while calling for Eric at a volume his brother would actually be able to hear.
Eric stopped his storming about, curbed his fit, and ran to my side.
“Hi, Chief Thundercloud,” I teased gently, putting a hand to his arm. “We need a fire. Hot iron for cautery. Just in case. Can you attend to that?” I knew he needed a task to keep his mind occupied.
“Okay. Anything else?”
I shook my head. “Not yet.”
He leaned down, kissed my ear, and hurried off.
Matthew had cleaned a nearby table. Thom set up an assortment of first-aid items and was sterilizing things.
The last of the farmer’s wife’s pain medications were still in the bottom of my backpack. Matthew grabbed some for me and mischievously suggested, “Should we have Eric boil some water, too?”
“Nah,” I said softly, emitting a tiny giggle.
Matthew tenderly elbowed my shoulder, then moved away to help Eric with the fire.
I caught Thom’s hand and held onto it. “Eric would see right through that.” I made myself look directly at Thom, and I smiled for him.
He half-smiled back.
I gestured so Thom would bring his ear closer to my lips. “You can do this. I’m not Falling now,” I promised.
He pressed his head to mine for a few seconds, then got back to preparations.
I swallowed a handful of bitter pills I knew wouldn’t help much, hoping they wouldn’t come back up. Before long, I lay back on the table Matthew and Thom had prepared. Eric’s fire crackled in a barrel nearby.
“How do you know where to cut?” Matthew asked Thom nervously.
“McBurney’s point,” Thom responded on autopilot. “Two thirds of the distance from her navel to her iliac crest.” It sounded like he was reading from a textbook.
“Her what?”
“Bellybutton to hip bone.”
“Oh. Okay.” Matthew seemed reassured.
Thom scrubbed my abdomen. “Ready?”
We all answered in the affirmative. I felt an arm clamp down over my ribs and another arm firmly drop onto my hips, pinning my arms to my sides.
“I don’t need that,” I said to Matthew.
He continued to hold on tightly. “You’re getting it anyway.”
Off to the side of us, Eric paced back and forth, back and forth. He’d attend to the fire, then pace again.
“Here we go,” Thom said.
I tried to relax my muscles. The blade sliced into me. I tensed against Matthew’s stronghold, and felt him reinforce his grip. Forcing slow breaths, I fought to distract myself but couldn’t think of anything else as Thom rooted around in the cut he’d made.
“Damn! Can’t see,” uttered Thom. “Mattie, hold this open.”
Matthew’s arms released me, and I felt his fingers pull at the edges of the new incision.
“Mattie the Retractor,” I kidded, but after that I couldn’t speak.
“More,” Thom said, and Matthew pulled harder at the incision.
The pain was indescribable. I held still and kept quiet. If I squirmed and cried, this would only take longer; it would only hurt us all more.
Matthew looked up and away from the incision he was holding open. He glanced over at Thom. They both looked shocked and worried. Thom shook his head once, as if making a decision, and Matthew nodded.
“There!” Thom announced a moment later. “Okay… Pull up, Mattie! Clamped… Got it. Here.”
I groaned; I couldn’t help myself. One got away from me. As a distraction, I closed my eyes and pictured Eric, every tiny detail. It felt like trying to remember each component of a dusty stream of sunlight flooding through an old windowpane. It felt like he was unreachable.
And then he wasn’t. Eric had come over to speak softly in my ear. He told me a story about going kayaking with his brothers. Of how he’d tried to capsize Matthew’s boat, and ended up flipping himself over instead. I enjoyed the image. I thought about Eric’s arms, and what they must’ve looked like as he swam through the choppy water.
Thom finished up quickly, then cleaned and stowed the first-aid items in their kits. Matthew held out a small baking pan for Eric’s inspection.
“No, it is definitely not supposed to do that,” Eric said. My appendix had exploded in the pan when Thom deposited it there.
“I’m Trendelenburging you,” Thom announced. He lifted my legs onto a pile of lawn furniture pillows. “May not help with shock, but it should take some of the pressure off.” It did.
Then Eric said, “Rest now, Kit o’ My Heart.”
He noticed the tremors my hands had developed.
I thought of Rose.
“Bad?” he asked.
“It’s… something.”
Eric took out the last of the pain pills and gave them to me. “I’m going to see if I can find some more of these.” He stood and moved away.
I watched his back until he was out of sight, then I popped the pills in my mouth. Thom mumbled something about how we were staying put for the night, and he entered one of the nearby houses to make preparations, looking dazed.
Matthew grumbled something about inhumanity and he left to take out the threat of the remaining undead army on his own. They weren’t much challenge, thanks to the fishing line. I listened to the gory noises beyond the fence (Matthew was apparently opposed to using the fishhooks, so he stabbed each rotter through the head), and I squeezed my eyes shut, pretending a Foley guy had gone overboard with the sound effects on some silly zombie movie. Splor
ch. I’ve never been good at fooling myself, though. When Matthew returned, the sounds around us had changed—no more undead noises, just the wind in the leaves and grass, and some birds enjoying the late afternoon sun.
“How’d you guys get past them in the first place?” I asked him as he cleaned his knife.
“Most of the perimeter, they were spaced farther from each other. And they were older—falling apart. A bunch of them weren’t even attached to the fence anymore. The human guards here were lazy. Lackadaisical. Embarrassingly low standards. Hell, even taking a beating, you knew we were here before we mowed those idiots down. How’d you do that, anyway?”
“Your footsteps are distinctive,” I told him. I’d been able to pick them out since my earliest days at camp. I couldn’t manage further words.
Matthew played with my hair and did his best to distract me.
ric eventually returned from raiding Jimbo’s group’s supplies, and Matthew left for the house Thom had disappeared into. Eric had found Percocet, as well as sleeping pills and antibiotics. He administered an antibiotic pill, more pain meds, and some ginger ale. He let the medicine set in to work a little before telling me, “It’s going to get dark pretty soon. Thom cleared a house, and he and Mattie are setting up a room for the night. I’ll take you in and get you settled, okay?”
“‘Kay.”
He picked me up and took me into the house he’d indicated, locking the door behind us. He carried me up the stairs and stopped at the top.
“Bathroom?” he asked.
I nodded miserably, not sure how to manage this.
Eric carried me into the bathroom, mostly closing the door behind us. He set me on my feet in front of the toilet, and I leaned hard on the countertop so I wouldn’t keel over. Eric set a pump bottle of hand sanitizer in front of me. He knew how I felt about cleanliness.
“Here, take Bob.” He set his flannel shirt on the counter. “To sleep in. It’ll be easier.” He cut off my gory shirts, knowing I wouldn’t be able to remove them myself. He helped me into Bob, slid down my pants and underwear, and lowered me onto the toilet seat. Then he exited the room and closed the door.
Even though there wasn’t much I needed to do, it took an eternity. The position I was in wasn’t helping. Finally, I gave up thinking I could manage to get back up without assistance. I called, “Eric?”
He immediately returned. He tried to help me back into my underwear but decided it wasn’t worth the effort when I nearly collapsed.
“Fuck it.” He tossed my panties into the corner and kicked my pants over there as well. He scooped me up again and carried me down the hall to the bedroom.
I wanted to die in a new, different way.
Matthew and Thom were waiting for us. “Do you want to try to eat something?” Matthew asked as Eric slid me onto a king-sized bed.
“No, thank you,” I answered, pretty much just mouthing the words.
Thom propped my legs on pillows and pulled a sheet over me.
Eric gave me yet more pain pills—I doubted they ever fully took away pain—and followed them up with sleeping pills. I took two sleeping pills and shoved a couple others in Bob’s pocket. Eric curled beside me and held my hand. Within a few minutes, I was out.
When I woke up, Eric was snoring softly at my side. A gentle, easy rhythm I found comforting. Matthew was draped over a recliner, his mouth hanging open as he slept. Thom sat at the foot of the bed, crying silently.
I poked at him with my foot. After a couple of minutes, I nudged him once more.
Thom shook his head, paused, and shook his head again. “The pain I inflicted today…” He choked on the words. “I’m so sorry.” He hunched his shoulders, looking, of all things, ashamed.
“Needed to be done,” I told him. I looked at Eric’s sleeping form. “You saw how he was. He couldn’t have done it.” I wanted Thom to know he wasn’t anything like the monsters who did terrible things to us for entertainment, but I couldn’t find the words. “Thank you,” I whispered.
He looked at me, eyes shining. There was something else in them, veiled. Some other pain was heaped upon the one he’d given voice to. But he was locking it away for another time.
“Rest now?” I pressed an Ambien into his palm and took what I thought was the last one.
He took his pill, and lay carefully down beside me on the gigantic bed, trying not to move the mattress. He looked crushed. Guilty. “You should hate me.”
“Of course not. I revere you.”
I slid my hand under his, and he curled his fingers around my palm. I watched him close his eyes to fall asleep. I watched him transition from awake to asleep, and listened as his breathing changed.
The one pill wasn’t enough to knock me out. I tried to be still, but my squirming woke Eric up. He handed me more sleeping pills, and took another for himself. He kissed me. Then we were all asleep.
The next day, I was captive to that huge bed. Eric took advantage of it in the morning.
“So… what do you think of me?” he asked lightly, as if he didn’t already know. He wanted to hear it.
I tried to approach this sideways. “Context?”
He gave me a break. “General.”
“I think you’re sexy, strong, intelligent, sexy, funny, sexy, kind… a little too curious.”
He laughed while shaking out more pain medication for me.
He deserved the full truth, the answer to what he was actually asking, so I didn’t stop there. “You’re the only—” I tried to properly phrase the thought. “You’re the first person who’s ever loved me. No one ever said those words before you. Not that I can remember.” I figured my mom and dad must’ve said them, but I would’ve been too young to understand it at the time. I was definitely too young to even count as a person. I wondered what it would’ve been like to grow up with that kind of unconditional love.
Eric looked heavyhearted.
I continued, “Thanks for being patient.”
“You’re worth it,” he said. He reached out to stop me from shaking my head. “You are. Bissett knew. Farmer must’ve, since he put so much time and effort into your training. Thom and Mattie and Sam and Jeff and a bunch of others know it, too.”
He moved to touch me, then froze, trying not to jostle me and cause more pain. I patted my shoulder and he carefully lay down and pushed his head onto it.
“You’d better live through this,” Eric commented.
I brushed my fingers through his short hair. “I intend to.” We lay there quietly for a few minutes.
He kissed my shoulder, then my lips. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“I will.”
He got up to exit the room.
“Eric?”
“Yeah?”
I finally managed the words. “I love you.” I didn’t know why I’d struggled with it so; the words came out easily enough now.
He leaned down to kiss me again. “I love you too.”
Need. Bathroom. I gave in to the thought, but refused to use the call bell Eric had left for me to summon assistance. I slowly, cautiously hoisted myself from the bed. Hunched over and leaning against the wall, I trudged down the hallway to the bathroom and made use of it. Getting up from the toilet took all my strength. I tried to walk back down the hall to the bedroom, but my legs failed. I flopped to the floor, an assemblage of limbs akimbo, infuriated by my weakness. I didn’t want to need help from anyone, but here I was, stuck. I couldn’t even crawl. I sat back and waited.
After some minutes, during which I thought rather unkind things to myself, Matthew appeared on the stairs. He’d been carrying a bucket of water for the bathroom, but then he saw me on the floor. He dropped the bucket and ran up the steps.
“What happened?” Matthew put his hands under my armpits and raised me to standing. He moved to pick me up, to carry me, and I pulled away, toppling over against the wall. He caught me before I fell far, though, and we stood there with him propping me up while I tried to catch my breath.
>
“Sorry,” was all I could say.
I tried to take a step, but my foot wouldn’t move. I could barely hold my eyes open. The world looked hazy, but I knew no one else could see the thick fog which had settled throughout the house. My head hung limply. I gave it a single small shake.
“Ready?” Matthew finally asked.
I nodded weakly.
When he moved to pick me up this time, I let him. Matthew carried me down to the bed and set me on it. He pulled a sheet over me and I stared at the fabric, at the crisscrossing threads and the pilling, at the design on the bedding and the fog floating over it. I was savagely angry.
Matthew was desperate to help, but there wasn’t much to be done. He asked if I wanted anything. I tried to shake my head vigorously, but it barely moved. I was thirsty, but wanted, more than anything, for him to leave. I felt ashamed, though it made no sense to be. I needed to be alone.
Matthew pressed yet more pain meds into my hand. “Running low on these, but we’ll find more. Those assholes stashed all kinds of shit away.” He opened a can of ginger ale and set it on the nightstand, plunking a straw into it. I watched the straw bob and float upward until it almost fell out.
I thanked him, and he left to give me some space.
I looked at the pills and then swallowed them. After a few minutes, I picked up the can and sipped at the ginger ale. I needed the fluid desperately, but I was on the verge of throwing up again, which would be even more horrendous. At least I had something to occupy my time. It would take hours to get that drink down.
Thom had left a pile of alcohol wipes on the space where he’d slept. I opened one up, pulled out a corner of the wipe, and sniffed at it.
I looked at Bob and rubbed the flannel between my thumb and index finger, studying the plaid design and feeling wretched.
I make a terrible patient.
In the evening, Eric returned. I wondered about what he’d done and what he’d seen, being gone so long. He sat on the edge of the bed and stroked my hair.
Survial Kit Series (Book 1): Survival Kit's Apocalypse Page 25