by Lissa Bryan
Sam, sensing the command of inaction had been lifted, flung himself with a vicious snarl at the woman. She, too, had fallen, but she was trying to sit up and lift the crossbow with one hand while the other clutched at her wound. Sam sank his teeth into that arm, and the bite was probably what caused Jeanie to miss, but it was so close the arrow tugged at the sleeve of Carly’s T-shirt. Carly fired at Jeanie again when Sam darted back, and the top of the woman’s head disappeared in an explosion of blood. She fell back, twitching.
Carly trembled from head to toe as she walked over to the man. Always make sure, Justin had told her. Double tap. Remember that.
She stood over the blond man. He was trying to crawl under the wagon, babbling incoherently, and she turned her face away as she pulled the trigger twice. His body jumped and then fell still.
She spun away from him and ran to Justin. She knelt beside him, uncaring that his blood soaked through the knees of her pants. “Justin?”
He didn’t respond. His face was white and waxy.
With a trembling hand, Carly pressed her fingers to the side of his neck. She felt a pulse and nearly collapsed with relief. He was alive. Thank God. He was alive.
“Justin?” she whispered. “What do I do?”
Sam sniffed at Justin and whined. He looked up at Carly imploringly.
Carly looked up and around, as if the answer would suggest itself. She could feel panic clawing at the edges of her mind, but she couldn’t give into it. Not if she wanted to save Justin. She took two deep breaths and forced herself to think.
First, she needed to get him to safety. Away from that place, anyway. She dashed over to the wagon and shifted things around until she had a space large enough for him to lie down, though his legs would dangle over the end a bit. Carly hauled Justin upright and saw that the arrow went all the way through him. Heaving, groaning, and straining, she managed to get him up into the wagon, lying on his side. It reminded her, horribly, of putting her father in the bed after she’d killed him.
Carly left her own bike where it lay on the pavement, climbed onto Justin’s, and pushed hard against the pedals to get the bike going. She hadn’t realized what a load Justin had been hauling.
“You’re strong,” she told him. “That’s why you’re going to make it.”
Carly pedaled hard and fast. She turned down the first side road she came to and pedaled even harder. She didn’t know what she was looking for until she found the house. It was burned-out, with a long driveway leading to it. A perfect hiding place since no one would come to loot it. Carly turned down the gravel path, wincing with every bump and hole she hit. She was glad Justin was unconscious. She pulled around the back of the house and climbed off the bike. Justin hadn’t moved from where she’d laid him.
“Okay,” she said. She took another couple deep breaths and tried to force herself to think calmly, clearly. It was tempting to give into tears, to slip into panic, but she knew she couldn’t do that. “You can panic later,” she told herself.
Carly knew she needed to pull the arrow out. If there’d been a hospital anywhere nearby, she would have left it in place for the professionals to remove, but there was no one to help them. She hesitated on the edge of indecision for a moment, concerned it might be holding a blood vessel closed and pulling it out would cause him to bleed internally. It had happened to a boy she’d gone to school with who’d been in an accident at his summer construction job. When his panicked coworkers pulled out the jagged piece of wood that had been stabbed through his leg, he’d bled out before they could get him to a hospital. But Carly had no choice.
She set up a quick campsite, laying out their sleeping bags and covering them with a thick canvas tarp. She gathered firewood from the wood pile behind the house and lit it using his Zippo and one of the emergency fuel-soaked tinder blocks. She put a pot of water on to boil, though she couldn’t have said why she thought she needed it.
Carefully, Carly lifted Justin from the wagon, and dragged him toward the bed she’d made, her arms clasped around his upper chest under his arms. God, he’s so heavy . . .
Seeing how she struggled and strained, Sam took the cuff of Justin’s jeans between his teeth and carried one of Justin’s legs. “Thanks!” Carly said with a grunt. Sam gave a small wag of his tail in acknowledgement, though his eyes were troubled.
Carly laid Justin on his side as gently as she could and brought a tool kit and a first aid kit over to her makeshift hospital area. She set up the medical supplies she thought she’d need. In the tool kit, she found a pair of heavy-duty wire cutters and splashed rubbing alcohol over the blades. She took a deep breath and cut off the head of the arrow. Then, before she could change her mind, she yanked out the shaft.
Justin cried out in pain and thrashed for a moment before slipping, mercifully, back into unconsciousness. Blood gushed from both sides of the wound and Carly pressed thick wads of sterile gauze padding over them. Push hard. Push hard to stop the bleeding.
It was a difficult task. Justin’s body was wide enough to prevent Carly from being able to lock her elbows. She had to use the strength in her arms to push, and after hauling him into and out of the wagon, that strength was almost spent. But she pushed. She pushed hard, drawing energy from a determination she didn’t know she had. She wasn’t going to give up. She wasn’t going to lose him. She didn’t know how much time she spent pushing, changing out soaked gauze for fresh, but it was dark when the bleeding finally slowed to a trickle and she became aware enough of her surroundings to notice.
Carly poured peroxide over both sides of the wound, slathered it with antibacterial cream, and taped a fresh gauze pad over both sides. She left him lying on his side so she could monitor the entry and the exit of the wound to make sure he didn’t start bleeding again.
She wondered if it was a dangerous sign that he was still unconscious. She wished she knew if she should try to wake him up, or if sleep was what his body needed to heal.
Carly tried to think of what the arrow might have hit, but anatomy had never been her strong suit; pictures of the human innards had always disturbed her, even if they were just drawings. It wasn’t the heart; she knew that, at least. A lung, perhaps? He seemed to be breathing all right, and there was no blood coming out of his mouth or nose.
Carly hugged her knees to her chest. What was she supposed to do now? The gauze pad had a spot of blood on it, but it didn’t seem to be getting larger. She stared at that spot for so long she lost track of time until Sam nudged her. She came back to reality with a startled blink. The fire had burned down to orange embers, and the pot of water she’d put on had boiled dry. She wrapped her hand in a cloth and lifted the pot aside before tossing on a few pieces of wood.
Shadowfax stood behind them at the corner of the house, watching the driveway like a sentinel. She made soft rumbling noises and shuffled her feet occasionally, but stood there, alert and watching, and her head swiveled toward every noise.
Carly sat down beside Justin again. She picked up one of his limp hands and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Justin? Justin, if you can hear me, please wake up soon. I—I’m scared. I’m scared, and I don’t know what else to do for you.”
Sam crawled up beside Carly and laid his head on her thigh. He gave a soft whine and looked in Justin’s direction, then back at Carly questioningly.
“I don’t know. I guess we just have to wait.”
Sam got to his feet and went over to bump Justin’s head with his nose. When that wasn’t successful, he settled down beside him and placed his head on Justin’s stomach.
All night she waited. Justin never moved. Only the rise and fall of his chest reassured her he was still alive. Dawn came, and the birds began to sing in the trees—an incongruously cheerful sound. Carly put more wood on the fire.
Justin twitched. She held her breath. He twitched again.
“Justin?”
He went still.
She closed her eyes.
Throughout the day, the scene repea
ted frequently. Justin would twitch or mutter, and Carly would think he was waking, but then he’d sink back into silence. He moaned once, and her excitement rose, but he never opened his eyes, never responded to her. Carly saw beads of sweat on his temples and laid a hand on his forehead. Oh, no . . .
He was burning up.
She pressed her hands over her mouth, her mind momentarily blanked with panic. He had a fever. The Infection! He has the Infection! Had his wound compromised his immune system?
Don’t be an idiot, she chided herself. He doesn’t have the Infection. It’s his injury.
Were his wounds infected? Carly pulled away the gauze pads and peered at the holes. They were red. But aren’t all wounds red? She poured peroxide over them again and reapplied the antibacterial cream before covering them with clean pads.
What if the infection was down inside, where the peroxide didn’t reach?
Oh, God, what do I do?
Carly forced herself to think. They had antibiotics in the wagon. She knew that. She went over and pulled the tarp aside and began to shuffle through the boxes. She didn’t recognize many of the names, but one stood out to her. Amoxicillin. She’d had a friend who took it for her frequent ear infections. Carly opened the box and took out one of the bottles inside. She turned the bottle in her hand and almost wept with relief when she saw it had instructions for the usual dosage on the side. One tablet every twelve hours.
But what if Justin was allergic? Some people had deadly reactions to antibiotics, but Carly couldn’t remember which ones, or what symptoms indicated an allergy. Still, she had to try. He was burning up. She could only hope he would have thought to tell her if he was allergic to anything.
Carly opened the bottle and pulled out the cotton wadding inside. She shook one of the red and yellow capsules into her hand before she realized she had a new problem. How was she going to an unconscious man to take a pill?
She opened Justin’s mouth and dropped it inside then pushed his jaw closed. After a moment, she opened it back up and saw the pill stuck to his tongue in the same place she’d put it. There was a bottle of water sitting on the end of the wagon. She opened it and poured some into his mouth, hoping he’d swallow automatically. Justin started coughing and Carly turned his head so the water would run out of his mouth.
Carly lifted his head onto her thigh and stuffed the soggy pill as far back into his throat as she could, then tilted his head back to dribble in a little water, a tiny bit at a time. She saw Justin swallow once, and considered it a victory. The pill was inside him.
Twelve hours. Carly had to wait twelve hours. It seemed like an eternity. She decided to keep herself busy. She erected the tent and then dragged the tarp he lay upon off the sleeping bags, which she put in their proper places inside the tent. She then dragged him inside the tent to rest in comfort. She arranged him on his side before she went back out to the fire, where she burned the bloody tarp and the blood-soaked bandages. She didn’t know if there were bears or other dangerous predators in North Dakota, but it was better to be on the safe side.
Twelve hours. How would she know when it was time? Carly looked up at the sun. It was only a couple of hours past dawn. Maybe eight or nine o’clock. So, about sunset should be right, she figured. As long as she gave him his pills at the same time every day, it should work, even if it was an hour or two sooner or later. At least she hoped it wasn’t necessary to be exact.
The hell of it was that she didn’t know. Carly could be making it worse with her incompetent nursing.
She sat and stared at the fire. What would she do if Justin died? Carly hadn’t let herself even consider the possibility, but it was a very stark and horrid reality. He could die. She closed her eyes. The pain that thought inspired was so intense she knew his actual death would destroy her. She’d want to lie down and die herself, but who would take care of Shadowfax and Sam? She let herself cry a little, just to ease some of the hard, hot knot of tension in her chest, but then she wiped her face and got back to work. She had to do everything she could to save him.
Carly had listened to Justin’s survival lessons well. She headed downhill, following the contours of the land to its lowest point, and sure enough, she found a small creek where she filled a bucket and headed back to the camp.
She went into the tent and stripped his clothes, cutting off what she couldn’t remove easily. “You know, you might actually be turned on by this if you were conscious,” Carly told him with a teasing note in her voice. She sang when she ran out of things to say. She hoped Justin could hear her, hoped the sound of her voice soothed him.
She poured rubbing alcohol into the creek water to kill the germs, but she was still careful to keep it away from his wound when she placed water-soaked towels over his overheated body. It was what she and her father had done to try to lower her mother’s fever. Carly couldn’t tell if it was helping or not. He began to shiver, even though his skin was hot to the touch.
“Carly,” Justin said.
Her eyes flew to his face. “Justin?”
But Justin was not awake. He was muttering in his sleep, and she couldn’t make out the rest of what he was saying. Carly rinsed out the cloth she had laid on his head and put it back. His hair was soaked with sweat.
At some point, she must have dozed off, and she jerked out of sleep when Justin shouted her name. She sat up, confused for a long, awful moment before reality came back to her. It was dark. She’d missed his antibiotic dosage. She scrambled out of the tent and went to get the bottle.
“Carly! Carly! Carleeeeee!”
“I’m right here,” she assured him, crawling back inside. “I’m right here, Justin. Right here.” She fished a pill out of the bottle and tried to put it in his mouth, but he tossed his head in his delirium.
“Carly!”
“Here, Justin. I’m here.” She pinched his jaw open and shoved the pill into his throat. “Here, drink this, honey.” Carly poured a small dribble of water in his mouth. Justin sucked at it eagerly, so she tipped in more, bringing the bottle to his lips.
Carly took the bottle away after Justin drank almost all of it. She didn’t want him to get sick from having too much at once. She refreshed all of his cool towels and put some wood on the dying fire. Shadowfax still stood guard in her spot by the corner of the house and she greeted Carly with a soft nicker. Carly went over to her, and Shadowfax lowered her head to rest over Carly’s shoulder and hooked her foreleg around Carly’s waist as she had done after the attack in Carcross—the equine version of a hug that gave comfort as intended. “Thank you, Shadowfax,” Carly said, and laid her forehead against the horse’s neck. “After this is over, I’m giving you a sugar cube the size of a Volkswagen.”
Sam was curled up by the fire. His tail thumped in the dust when she walked over to him and gave his ruff a scratch. He arched against her hand and his back leg jerked in time. She chuckled, but her laughter died when she realized she hadn’t fed him all day. Feeling ashamed, she gave him a can of wet food on top of his dry food, which he seemed to enjoy, if practically inhaling it was any indication.
Carly crawled back into the tent. Justin was still muttering, and she could make out some of the words.
“. . . save you . . . can’t stay . . . No, Carly, don’t!”
“Justin, I’m right here. Right here beside you.” Carly took one of Justin’s hands in hers. His skin burned with fever. “Can you feel me? Please, Justin, wake up. Please, wake up.” Her voice cracked on the last word. She hung her head and struggled not to cry. It was a battle she lost. She lay down beside him and sobbed like a baby while he twitched, muttered, and called her name.
In the morning, Sam brought Carly a rabbit. He dropped it at her feet when she crawled out of the tent. His tail wagged eagerly, and she petted him. “Thanks, Sam. Good boy. But I’m not hungry.”
Sam picked up the limp body and dropped it again, closer to her bare toes. He nudged it toward her with his nose.
“All right, Sam. I’ll e
at it.” Maybe if she cooked it, he would feel satisfied. Carly gave Justin his morning dose of medication. It might have been just her hopeful imagination, but he did feel a bit cooler. Hope could sometimes be a terrible thing.
Carly took Justin’s knife off of his belt. She gutted and skinned the rabbit, not even having the energy to be grossed out by what she was doing, and put it on a spit over the fire to cook while she went in and refreshed Justin’s towels.
The smell of cooking meat caused her stomach to clench in hunger. As soon as it was done, Carly decided to eat a little of it and wound up devouring the whole thing. Sam seemed mighty proud of himself when she gave him the bones to chew while she set about re-wetting Justin’s towels again. She laid the last over Justin’s forehead and hair.
“Carly, love you,” he muttered. “Love you.”
She froze. Did he mean that, or was it just part of his fevered ramblings?
And that’s when Carly realized she loved him, too, and it might be too late for him to ever know.
“Carly?”
“Right here, Justin,” Carly mumbled automatically. She had woken at dawn to give him his pill and refresh his cool towels, and then she had fallen back asleep, exhausted. She’d lost track of how many days had passed. Time had ceased to matter, except for when the sunrise and sunset told her it was pill time.
“Carly, are you all right?”
She bolted upright, instantly awake. “Justin?”
“Yeah.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “God, I feel like shit.”
“You got shot,” she said. Tears spilled out of her eyes and ran freely down her cheeks. “You’re awake. Oh, thank God, you’re awake.”
Justin gave her an odd look. “How long was I out?”
“Days and days,” Carly replied. “I don’t know. A long time.”
He tried to sit up and groaned. She put a hand on his shoulder. “Please, don’t try to get up.”