by Maira Dawn
We had been warned.
Dylan stopped and held Skye back. They both dropped into a crouch. Frantic to move, Skye breathlessly waited for direction. The Sick were coming. She and Dylan had to get out of there, or they were going to die.
Skye swallowed a scream as the thorny brush to their left thrashed. One of the sick pushed its way through the thick undergrowth. Thistles grabbed at its clothes and skin leaving blood-red welts before they let go. When he broke through, a second one followed.
Both were men. Both in the advanced stages of the disease. Their chests heaved with every breath, their fingers, lips and even their arms no longer a normal color. They were dark blue.
From the open fear on their faces, they seemed long past simple delirium and had entered into a stage of genuine terror. Their bulging wide eyes darted from here to there, seeing imagined shadows. Before they locked onto Dylan and Skye.
The leader dragged his leg as he walked. He turned and lumbered toward them. The other one followed. His muttering caused the red foam dripping from his mouth to fly out in front of him.
Skye’s heart raced. For a moment, she closed her eyes against what came toward her, but she needed to be tough. At least some of them were Sick and not only Infected. That would increase their chances of getting out of here.
Skye patted Dylan and pointed. He nodded that he saw them, then tipped his head to the right. Skye, following his gaze, could make out the bodies of two more.
Dylan examined the Sick and became more confident on seeing their lumbering gaits. Skye took assurance in that. The scream she restrained behind clamped lips lowered to silent frantic moans.
Any second now, Dylan would tell her to run. Skye rose slightly, her thighs burning from the position as she waited for his orders.
Skye felt Dylan's stomach tighten. He rose to his full height, breaking the connection between them.
"Run!" His voice rasped out the word. Skye darted one last questioning look to him. He nodded.
Given the go-ahead, Skye flew down the small dirt path they had come up. She threw a glance over her shoulder. Dylan stood tall, concentrating on his target.
The thawp of a bolt as it left the bow, and the scream that echoed through the forest when it hit its mark told Skye his aim hit true.
Skye ran. No one pursued her, the only sound was her own ragged breath.
She glanced back down the trail. They surrounded Dylan. She slowed for a second before speeding on.
Do what he said.
Another bolt, another shrill scream, another body hitting the ground.
He has this under control.
Skye’s heart sunk when the heavy thud of more than one body pounded against the dirt. Dylan yelled every curse known to man as he went down.
He's in trouble.
Behind her, Skye could see the thick undergrowth thrashing as Dylan fought. Her foot hit something, it skittered away.
She stopped a moment, listening. Low, angry grunts and the bash of a fist hitting skin came to her.
Skye's fingers traced the word etched in her bracelet. Strength.
Dylan gritted his teeth. This was a situation he’d hoped never to be in.
It ain't their fault. They're not in their right mind.
But he had no choice, not if he would get out of here. At least, he’d sent Skye running. If he didn’t make it, she would get word to Wade.
Dylan had never intentionally shot anyone before, but squeamish stomach or no, now wasn’t the time to back down. He aimed and let his arrow fly. Still, he could not bring himself to end them, no matter their miserable existence.
One bolt, then a second, into the legs of a man and woman. They fell to the ground and huddled there holding their injuries.
That left three. Dylan stared them down as he readied himself to take them on.
Dylan swung his bow. It collided with the head of the nearest man. The Sick dropped to the ground.
Dylan felt hot breath on the back of his neck and shoved an elbow up at the mouth it came from. A wild glance to his right and a push at that one held him off for a moment.
In an instant, they grabbed at him again. Dylan threw a couple of punches but together they overpowered him. The Sick men were alert enough Dylan detected a gleeful look in their eyes. Dylan turned from one to the other, backing up as he went.
With no time to load his bow, Dylan tried to swing it in the small space left to him but it was only an irritation to the men.
Dylan’s hand reached for his knife. This just became a brawl. Before Dylan wrapped his fingers around the grip, the last two jumped him.
Skye squinted down the trail, struggling to make out what was going on behind her as she rubbed the ankle she had bumped. She glanced down to see the same small log she had fallen over earlier laying on the path.
It’s long enough to be a weapon.
She picked the branch up.
Do as he says.
And weighed it in her hand.
He’s trying to protect me. I get that. And yes, he has skills I don’t have, but I can bash someone over the head. At least hard enough to stop them.
Dylan’s throaty, ever-increasingly loud curses reached her ears, and Skye shuddered at what she was talking herself into doing.
I have to. There’s only me here to help him.
She straightened as an unexplored aspect of her nature became clear to her.
I leave no one behind. Not like this. Her grip on the log tightened. If we live, he can be mad at me!
Skye ran straight back to Dylan.
The first two Sick Dylan had taken down, rolled on the forest floor, each with a bolt in their legs. They were more ill than the rest and didn’t have the wherewithal to know what to do.
One woman lay unconscious on the ground.
Dylan fought like a wildcat with the last two. After taking Dylan down, the two Sick enjoyed pummeling him, neither cared where their fists landed. They seemed to just take joy in the feel of their fists slamming against his body. Each time Dylan made a move toward his knife, another punch would fly at him causing him to turn or curl to protect himself.
One of the Sick men tired of the game, and instead came at Dylan with an open, dripping mouth. Disgust flared in Dylan as he rolled away from him only have his claw-like hands drag him back.
His attackers’ jaw moved from side to side as if anticipating the bite. Red saliva hung from his lips. His breath smelled putrid, like rotten carcasses.
Dylan’s strong arms strained to keep the man at bay. Muscles, tendons and veins outlined against Dylan’s skin as he fought against the Sick man intending to rip into his flesh.
He was losing the battle. A punch to the side of Dylan’s head had left him dazed. Teeth snapped by his ear, and he jerked.
Dylan shook his head. His vision cleared, and he spotted Skye holding her branch. No!
Another snap, another punch to his gut. Dylan glanced at Skye as she geared herself up for her attack. She held her lip between her teeth but released it as she inhaled deeply preparing herself.
Whether he liked it or not, Skye headed his way. Relief for himself went through him as he fended off a punch with one hand and the snapping Sick with the other. His stomach swirled in apprehension for her. But she was clear of any attack, so he prepared for hers.
Dylan pushed the man trying to gnaw on him as far away from himself as possible and nodded to Skye. That one should be her target. The diseased man wailed in frustration and redoubled his efforts to get to Dylan, and Dylan’s arm strained to hold him at bay.
He grabbed Dylan's arm in both hands and lowered his jaw. Skye hurried to stand over him and raised the thick branch high over her head. She brought it down with enough force to knock him out.
When the man slumped to the ground, Dylan pushed out from under him. He grabbed the punching man's head and joyfully thumped it on the ground.
"Enough already!" Dylan said with a kick at the sick man’s side.
After a quick sc
an of the area to make sure they were safe, Dylan let out a long sigh.
Twelve
Over
Skye gave Dylan a once-over as he hauled himself up and shook himself. He studied her as she stood on the other side of the fallen body, her arms wrapped around herself.
“You okay?”
Skye nodded. "I am. Are you?"
Dylan patted himself. “Yeah, I think I am.” He blew out a long breath. “Too close.”
Skye dropped her arms and spun her bracelets. "Look, I know what you’re going to say. That I didn't listen, but I did. I listened to you, and I ran. I listened and realized they were not coming for me." She frowned up at his stern face. "I listened to you go down. And I listened to myself to go back for you. I helped you!"
“There's that.” Dylan looked down and kicked at the trail. “I can’t be mad at you for saving my hide.”
One of the Sick moaned. Dylan walked over to it and grabbed hold of the bolt, pulling it out of his leg. Skye grimaced and shivered, but the sound didn't seem to bother Dylan one bit. She turned away when he pulled on a second arrow.
With the used bolts in his hand, Dylan waved her up the path. “Come on, we have to go. They’re waking up.”
"No, we have to help them... don't we?" Skye moved to walk to the nearest one, and Dylan put a hand on her arm to stop her.
"It's dangerous to be that close to them."
"But we're immune," Skye said.
"You sure about that?"
Skye hesitated, "I'm not 100% sure. I don't know that anyone is."
"And if we're immune to the airborne part, are we immune to a bite or the spit?"
Skye shook her head at the leaf-covered ground and shrugged.
Dylan took a step toward Skye. “Come on. You ain't gonna be able to help them and keep the boy safe. Even if we're immune, maybe we could carry it back to him."
Skye winced as she peered down at the man she had hit over the head. Tears welled in her eyes as she remembered the last person who had needed her help. She had walked away from her.
Skye gestured to the Sick that scattered the ground. “What about them? I'm not... I don't know what we're supposed to do here. But just... leave them? I don't know.”
Dylan rubbed at his scruffy jaw. “I’ve been callin the Doc to send someone out to gather them up, but he hasn't been answering lately.”
“Yes,” Skye said, “he’s gone to Fenton. What about Bill from Riley's? The funeral home? He may be aware someone. I heard him on the radio just before I left my house.”
"Sure." Dylan looked over the damage they'd done. "Til then they'll be okay. Ain't too worse for wear, a coupla headaches and a coupla holes. They'll do all right."
Another moan and Dylan put his hand to Skye's shoulder giving it a slight push. Skye gave them one last lingering glance, still unsure about this decision, but what else could they do?
The path to the truck seemed so much shorter now their lives were no longer in danger, and Skye grinned in relief for a moment as she settled herself inside the vehicle. But as they drove down the road, the adrenaline and emotions over what she and Dylan were forced to do became to show. Skye’s hands shook so much the only way to slow them was to clasp them together.
Dylan’s eyes were on the road and his hands gripped the wheel. He glanced at Skye. “Your running skills are impressive.”
Skye gave him a little smile. "Thank you. I'm sure it had something to do with sheer terror." She raised her trembling hands to study them.
"It'll pass," Dylan said as a twitch shook him. He wasn’t as shaken as her, but his occasional jerk showed the run-in had affected him too. Dylan might be tough, but he wasn’t so hardened that the chaos of this new world and the decisions it demanded he make left him unaffected.
He glanced over at her and ran a hand over his chin. “I can tell that was hard for you.”
Skye hung her head and nodded.
“It should be, for both of us. I hope we never get used to all that.” Dylan glanced at her again. “That’s why I wanted you up that trail.”
Skye opened her mouth to protest.
“Look, Skye, I'm real glad you took care of that guy. But most times,” Dylan frowned, “most times, I'll need you to be where I tell you to be. I can’t fight and search for you. I need to trust you to do that.”
Skye reached out and touched his forearm. “You can trust me. You can trust me to have your back.” Her voice was firm. “I can help. I understand what you are saying, there needs to be a leader, but I need to be able to use some judgment."
Dylan looked out the window and back at her again. “You have no judgment to use.” Skye didn't answer as she turned away from him. "It's just you don't have the know-how to be out here with all this goin on. I shouldn't've brought you.”
“Then where would you be right now?” Skye asked.
Dylan huffed out a sigh and shrugged a shoulder.
Unsure of his response, Skye’s first words were tentative. "Your right. Teach me. Show me how, so I can be of help. This is the world now. I need your knowledge. I need it for me, and I need it for Jesse."
Dylan’s eyes opened wider, then narrowed. “Okay. Ain’t gonna be easy though.”
“I didn’t figure it would be.” Skye shot him a little smile and laid her head back against the seat, taking a few slow, deep breaths to steady herself, then she looked over at Dylan. “Did you get any of their saliva or blood on you? They didn't bite you, right?”
“No, don't think so. Couldn’t have gotten through my jeans or boots.” Dylan looked over his arms. “Arms look good.”
Skye averted her eyes and held back a chuckle. Yes, they do.
Dylan looked down the top of his t-shirt, then raised the bottom up over his chest and ran his hand over his abs. “All good.”
Skye’s eyes widened. Two long lines of old scaring ran down the side of his body from his upper back down to the top of his abs. Something bad had happened to Dylan when he was a child.
"I better check your back." Skye tucked her legs up on the seat of the truck and steadied herself in the moving car by holding his headrest. She pulled out the neck of his shirt and peered down his back. It was laced with burn and strap scars.
Skye’s heart ached. Dylan had been beaten badly in his life. Though a couple of the scars were newer, most were a decade or two old. She'd noticed the cigarette burns on his and Wade's arms before. Those were nothing next to this.
Skye tried to stick to the business at hand. ”None there. Let me check lower."
Dylan moved forward hugging the steering wheel as she pulled up his shirt from the bottom. Her fingers brushed against his hot, bruised skin. He flinched and glanced her way.
Skye’s throat ached as she looked at one of the worst abuse cases she had ever seen. So many scars, even knife wounds. Did his step-father stab him? What kind of man does any of this to a child? No, not a man. That is no man at all. What do you even call a person like that?
Skye's jaw clenched in raging anger. "Bruising is starting, but no bites. You are good."
Settling back in her seat, Skye tried to be inconspicuous as she wiped a stray tear from her eye and ignore the troubled glance Dylan sent her way.
Dylan hardly noticed his scars anymore until something like this came along. He didn’t like that Skye had seen them, but Dylan appreciated that she hadn’t gotten all emotional about it. A little tear was nothing next to some of the extreme outbursts he’d heard when people saw the scars that covered him.
Still, he didn’t like the sadness on the woman’s face. “It’s all right, Skye.”
Skye turned to him, anger now mixing with the heartbreak, though her tone was soft. “No, Dylan, it’s not. A child’s home should feel like a sanctuary, be safe, not what you had. To endure a childhood like that, it must have been misery.”
Dylan grunted as a twinge moved in his chest, an emotion he rarely allowed himself to consider. A wish he could’ve had the happy, secure boyhood others had.
He quickly shut the thought down—wishing never did any good.
But Skye was right, and Dylan acknowledged her words with a small nod. "Well, it is what it is."
Skye looked down at the truck floor, then at him. "I'm sorry you went through that."
"You ain't got nothin to be apologizing over." Not wanting to discuss the subject further, Dylan changed it. "So, what's up with the Sick biting?"
Skye blinked a couple times. “I’d forgotten most people aren’t aware of what this disease is. The biting comes from the rabies side of the virus. Rabies rewires the brain. People, animals, its the same. It's a smart virus and needs to transfer by blood or saliva so it makes the Infected want to bite.”
"This thing is rabies? Uh. Makes sense, now ya say that."
Skye explained her visit to the Fenton Hospital then said, “AgFlu is in other countries too. The disease is rabies mixed with the 1918 flu epidemic, the worst flu of all time, highly deadly on its own. The Disease Control estimated about 70% of the earth's population would get the illness. As we are aware few survive the AgFlu.”
Dylan scoffed. "More'n that are dying. How exactly did these two get combined?"
"That, no one owned up too. The doctor's friend theorized that the AgFlu was part of germ warfare but wasn't sure if the sickness was the US's, and got loose by mistake, or if another country sent the virus over here."
Staring out the front windshield, Dylan said, "Either way, we’re screwed."
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
Skye sat back against her seat. Then jumped and yelped.
“What? What’s wrong?” Quick as lightening, Dylan reached across the seat and pulled her to him as he slowed the truck.
Skye sat forward and pulled her shirt up from the bottom. “Please, get it off! There’s a bug on me since before they came after us. It’s still stinging me!”
Dylan saw the problem and pulled a bee from her back and flicked the insect out the window, then drew the stinger out and rubbed the spot. “How’s that?”