Reversion

By Deirdre Gould

The City was gone. Neil should have reached it years before and once he stood on the crumbling debris of its concrete wall, he couldn't help but mourn the months he'd spent fruitlessly searching for his daughter instead. The City was gone. The Cure was gone. And Elijah was a hundred miles away, struggling to care for the eight Infected they'd found alone. His friend would never forgive him.

He began climbing over the rubble.
"Where are you going?" cried the leader of his group.
"I have to find some doses," he told her. "Just eight. I just need eight doses."
"Can't you read the sign? They're dead. There's no cure." She pointed to the messy spray painted warning that sprawled across the remaining wall. "There is no Cure," it read. "Never go inside. Shoot whatever comes out. Even your friends.”
"It's just graffiti. I need those doses. I know they're here."
"These people are dead. It's- I don't know what could kill this many. Poison? Infected? We have to get out of here, now, before whatever happened starts happening to us, too."
Neil stared down at the skeletal remains carpeting the ground inside the wall. "Whatever happened was years ago. These aren't fresh. I know there are doses in there somewhere. I just have to-" He took a step and stopped as he heard the click of a gun behind him.
"I'm sorry, Neil, I really am. But you go in and I'll wait for you. When you come back, I'll shoot you to protect the others."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deirdre Gould
• Release date: Sep 22, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005572211

Deirdre Gould

A severe addiction to Post-apocalyptic literature combined with a lifetime of a very rural existence, first in central Maine and now in northern Idaho naturally led to both of Deirdre's novels: The Jade Seed and After the Cure.Deirdre's education in anthropology and peace and conflict studies prompted the central idea for After the Cure: How do people live with each other after doing horrendous things to each other? How do societies put themselves together or continue to exist after terrible wars? What is day to day existence like when such violence exists within living memory? Though fiction can never come close to the reality of living with atrocity, it can help us ask important questions about our world and our treatment of each other.Since living in the woods makes it all too easy to imagine being one of the last people left in the world, After the Cure is only the first novel of several that will take place in a post-apocalyptic, "post-zombie" world.

Book preview

1

IT WAS THAT damned bucket. Elijah had known it was going, he’d reminded himself several times to scavenge another from the hardware store on his next trip. But, of course, he hadn’t made another trip. Didn’t dare to, not with Neil on his annual summer search. If Elijah got injured or killed there’d be no one to take care of the Infected. And now… Elijah clutched his thigh, trying to pull what remained of his pant leg in a tight band around the worst of the bites. Bright blood seeped through the denim and spilled over his fingers anyway. He leaned against the large woodstove and turned around to face the line of reinforced stalls. Got to make sure they’re all secured. No good leaving a door open. They’ll rip each other apart before I can get back here.

The stall doors were closed and latched. Six of the Infected were still asleep on their cots. The seventh was pacing in her stall, but groggy, only occasionally groaning. And the Infected at the far end was frenzied, bashing himself against the double layer of chicken wire that covered the upper half of his stall. Each impact made a dull rattling beat underneath his shrieks. A ring of Elijah’s blood was drying on the man’s lips and more had dribbled down his neck and chest. I didn’t even get him clean enough, Elijah thought. If the damned bucket had just made it another day. If Neil hadn’t been so fucking obstinate— Elijah shut that thought down. He knew why Neil had gone. Same as last year. Same as the past seven springs. We should all have gone to the City. Should have found a way.

A pounding pulse of pain enveloped Elijah’s leg, dragging his scattered thoughts back to the immediate emergency. His hands were wet. Too much blood. Got to get back to the cabin. Got to stop it. He risked a look down and was horrified at how dark his jean leg had grown with the blood. Not going to be able to stop it. I’ll pass out if I try. He forced himself up from the stove and tottered toward the door, bent over, still holding the worst of the wounds. I just have to get to the cabin. Worry about the rest once I get there.

Tuesdays were bath days. At least— Elijah thought it was Tuesday. The only thing that mattered was he got the Infected really clean at least once every seven days. It made him feel better to think of them as Tuesdays, to hang on to that particular element of his former life. Days of the week.

The first year, he and Neil had managed baths every other day. But there’d been only one Infected to care for at first. Then, when Elijah and Neil had found the others, everything had to change. In the winter, when Neil was home, they still managed to clean all eight more often. When he was on his own, Elijah had to rely on sedatives to do it without injury.

The sedatives were running out. He’d hunted down every sleeping pill in a ten-mile radius. Pharmacies, doctor’s offices, people’s medicine cabinets, it didn’t matter. He hadn’t seen a box or bottle since last summer. And the few he had left were cheap and probably expiring. That’s likely how he’d ended up like this.

I’m going to have to figure something else out, he told himself, stumbling over a gopher hole in the field outside the horse barn. He let go of his leg to catch his fall and felt the wound immediately gush. If I don’t bleed out in this field first. He clapped his hands around his leg again and let a shaky whimper burst out through his teeth. He thought about staying right there, lying in the field for a few minutes until he felt a little better. I’m not going to feel better. Only worse. I’ve done this before. And no one’s going to come find me. Come on, get up, he urged himself. It took several seconds and a few more dizzying gushes of the wound to get himself upright again. He kept expecting the deep throbbing ache of the bite to fade just a little. It didn’t. Get home, he urged himself.

The failing sedatives still would have lasted as long as he needed, had everything else not gone wrong. The woman he called Cassie had an infection in a scratch she’d made on her face. He hadn’t noticed until after he’d started feeding them. So he’d had to set up a way to disinfect and treat it. So stupid, he told himself, weaving unsteadily toward the road, Why didn’t we ever put a larger emergency kit in the barn? Could have treated myself right there. The answer to that was simple. Once they got the Infected into their stalls, there wasn’t much risk of serious injury any longer. At least, not to the Infected. Scratches and occasional bites to their hands if they managed to get the enormous mitts off, but nothing worse than that. And as for bites to Elijah and Neil— well, it hadn’t been this serious the few times it had happened. The small medical kit in the barn had worked to this point, so he’d just considered it good enough. There was always some other urgent task that needed doing.

He’d taken longer to clean Cassie’s scratch during her bath, but he still should have had enough time to get through the baths. Eight was too many bodies to clean with one tub of water, especially people who’d been living the way the Infected did. He always emptied and refilled the tub at least twice. The final refill was when one of the damned buckets had snapped. Cracked right near the bottom and the water gushed out. It had taken twice as long to fill the large metal tub. About fifteen minutes too long for Isaac.

He’d thrashed awake as soon as the cold water had touched his skin. Elijah had been holding him up and wasn’t expecting Isaac to wake so suddenly. The man was large and his flailing had toppled Elijah. Isaac slid off the small bathing stool and flopped into the water with a massive splash. He wasn’t down long enough for Elijah to right himself or grab him back out of the water. Isaac leaped out of the metal tub with a guttural growl and lunged at Elijah, driving him back into the chicken wire of another stall.

Though the sedative had not worked completely, it must have slowed Isaac’s response time somewhat or Elijah’s throat would have been ripped open by the time his back hit the wire wall with a rattle. Elijah managed to get his arms up to defend himself before that could happen. Isaac had strained against Elijah’s outstretched hands, trying to reach his face, neck, chest, anything. It apparently didn’t occur to Isaac to bite Elijah’s hands instead.

They struggled against the chicken wire for several seconds. The realization that he was going to lose any contest of strength with Isaac finally ate through the panic in Elijah’s brain and he whipped sideways, letting his arms collapse. Isaac stumbled forward, hurling into the side of the stall. Elijah darted behind him and yanked on his legs. He winced as the naked man crashed to the dirt ground and banged his head.

Sorry, Isaac, he said, knowing the man didn’t understand. He pulled Isaac’s legs, dragging him back toward the open stall where he belonged. Get him another dose this afternoon. After I know he’s fully recovered. We’ll try ag—

Isaac’s legs jerked out of his grip and Elijah swung around, bracing for a lunge. Instead, Isaac twisted forward onto his knees and grabbed Elijah’s right leg, biting his thigh before Elijah could pull his leg away.

The first bite didn’t make it through his jeans, and Elijah managed to shove Isaac off for an instant, but the damned bucket lay on its side behind him.

He’d dropped it there in disgust when it gushed, thinking it was out of the way. He stepped back into it and toppled, banging his head on the side of the metal tub as he went down.

Another burst of pain erupted from his thigh, this time a dull ripping sound came with it, mingling with the muffled growls of Isaac. Elijah tried to twist away, his back caught for a second on the rounded side of the broken bucket before it cracked with his movement and the plastic shattered, dropping him to the ground. Shards of bucket poked him and stuck in the fabric of his shirt. He wouldn’t notice until much later.

He screamed as Isaac twisted his head, trying to pull a chunk from Elijah’s thigh. Elijah kicked out, but Isaac didn’t let go and it only made the flare of agony in his leg grow stronger.

Elijah shoved at Isaac’s head, trying to reach his teeth, force them open. He managed to reach Isaac’s nose before the bite ground even tighter into his muscle. Elijah pinched Isaac’s nose, but could still feel the heat of Isaac’s breath blowing past his skin. Elijah stuck his fingers into Isaac’s nostrils, desperately trying to get him to let go. He could hear Isaac gurgling and blowing bubbles against his leg. Blood? Or saliva?

It felt like several minutes before Isaac’s teeth finally loosened and he pulled away with a liquid, choking gasp. The wound hurt even worse when he let go and Elijah struggled to stay conscious. He got his good leg up underneath him before Isaac grabbed him again, but no farther. They fell into the dirt again.

Please, Elijah begged, trying to push Isaac’s face farther from his neck, Please don’t make me kill you. Please. He twisted, trying to roll. Isaac was too focused on trying to bite to fight back and they rolled easily. Elijah had to stop to hit Isaac’s face aside before he could bite again, but only for an instant. He groaned and hefted the man over him to the other side, aiming for the open stall.

Elijah managed three full rolls before Isaac finally scrambled free and went for Elijah’s bleeding leg again. They were at the doorway to the stall. Elijah was dizzy from both the wound and the adrenaline but didn’t waste time trying to pry Isaac loose. He dragged them both across the straw-strewn floor of the stall with his arms alone. Isaac managed to tear off a sizable piece of flesh from Elijah’s leg and sat suddenly up.

Elijah screamed at the sharp flood of pain. Isaac chewed the piece of fabric and skin between his teeth. Elijah crawled as quickly as he could and then launched himself out of the stall. He turned and tried to slam the door closed. Isaac was already there, and his hand got caught between the wall and the latch. He snarled and howled as the gate bounced back. Elijah shoved him back and smashed the gate closed.

He didn’t remember much for a little after that. He stared up at the wooden beams of the roof a few minutes later and realized he’d fainted. That was when he’d pulled himself slowly up and limped to the woodstove.

That had to be at least twenty minutes ago. He’d finally made it to the side of the road, but the heat and the pain kept him lightheaded. He staggered onto the gravel, just trying to make it into the shade of the overhanging trees before he could collapse.

Don’t pass out, he warned himself, I’ll die. Nobody will even know. Got to get back to the cabin. At least Hazel-Lea will find me in a few days then. He dug his fingers into the wound to stop the fuzzy thread of consciousness from unwinding completely. The fresh pain focused him for a few minutes. Just a quarter-mile. There’s water in the jug by the door. I can do this. Have to do this. No one else will care for them. Poor Isaac. His hand— did I break his hand?

He made it to the neighbor’s mailbox. He could see the drive to the cabin, but there was just no more. Too much heat, too much blood. He saw the large, bobbing silver blossom of Queen Anne’s lace just below the box as he fell. Gravel bit into his cheek. He heard the soft clang of bells. Hazel-Lea, he thought. Hazel! he called, not sure if she was even with the sheep. Hazel-Lea! He lost consciousness.

2

THE BELLS WERE ringing again. Much closer than before. Bells are important. Why are the bells important? Elijah wondered. His leg throbbed and the pain reminded him where he was. Hazel-lea’s sheep. That’s why they’re important. Maybe she’s close. Hazel-Lea! he called, finally opening his eyes again.

Calm down, you’ll scare the sheep. Already going to have to chase half the flock through the woods when I get done with you. Hazel-Lea’s voice floated up from somewhere near his feet. He was lying on his back. The sun glittered through the leaves of the tree overhead. He wasn’t too hot anymore. Cold. I shouldn’t be cold. Cold is bad. Cold means I lost too much blood.

You’ve got to help me get to the cabin. I have to stop the bleeding.

"I know. I’m trying." Her voice wavered.

His leg jerked. It probably should have hurt. It probably does. Everything hurts. Can’t pick out the source anymore.

God damn it, Hazel-Lea swore. Where did you even find a biter? Haven’t seen one in four years, Elijah. And you manage to get yourself mauled while Neil’s not here to help.

I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to cause you trouble.

Don’t be silly. Can’t help it, can you? Not saying it’s your fault, you just have the devil’s own timing that’s all. Here, hold this. She handed him her hatchet and he caught a glimpse of the panic in her face.

I don’t—

Look, this is taking twice as long because I have to keep looking over my shoulder to make sure I’m not about to be someone’s lunch. I know you can’t go chasing after the biter now, but if it shows up, you can at least chuck that at it so I have a chance.

No, Hazel-Lea, it’s not loo— it’s not going to bite you. I— took care of it.

Oh. She took the hatchet back. That’s all right then. She worked quietly for a few minutes. One of the sheep plodded past, wandering into the treeline. Okay, she said at last. Stopped for now. We’ll get you back to the cabin and then we’ll have to clean it. Think you’re going to need more than a few strips of my old shirt to keep it closed though.

I’ll take care of it once we get there.

Hazel-Lea’s face appeared over him. She looked skeptical. I know you know the basics, none of us would have made it if we didn’t. But this isn’t first-aid. This looks— more complicated. You get some kind of doctor training when I wasn’t looking?

Something like that, Elijah sighed. Nothing fancy. Don’t get excited. And it’s not going to do either of us any good if I can’t get back to the cabin.

A calloused hand pressed against his forehead. How long have you been lying out here? You’re too hot. If you try to get up, even if I help you, you might pass out again. The hand moved away and then passed under his neck, lifting his head. Here, have some water. Then I’ll go look for a— I dunno. Tarp or a wheelbarrow or something to drag you home in. She raised a dented thermos cup to his mouth and he took it from her.

I just got bit in the leg. I’m not paralyzed, Hazel-Lea.

I know. But I think you also banged your head pretty good. You’ve got an egg.

That sounded ungrateful. I’m sorry. Thank you for the help. I’d probably have bled out here if you hadn’t been near enough to hear me.

She lowered his head gently. None of that, now. I think the Werners had a wheelbarrow. I’ll be right back. Drink some more water. She pushed the thermos into his hand and then disappeared. The sheep bells got a little fainter as the sheep followed her down the neighbor’s driveway. Elijah stared up at the shifting leaves.

I have to tell her. Neil’s not here. Someone has to go feed them and I’m not going to be able to do it for a while. He groped his leg, feeling the torn strips of fabric Hazel-Lea had tied tightly around it. They were already damp. Maybe I’m not going to be able to do it at all. Jesus, Hazel-Lea, please hurry.

He knew if he told her about the Infected in the barn, she was going to ask why they’d kept them. She was going to ask how long they’d kept them, too. Unless Elijah told her the truth, he had no good answers to those questions. I should have gone with Neil, he thought again. We should have taken them back. But they’d found no good way to do it. No more gas, even if they could figure out a vehicle that would keep the Infected separated from each other for the trip. Not to mention the supplies they’d need along the way. They’d talked about bringing the Cure here, instead. Hiding it from Hazel-Lea just as they’d hid the Infected. But it meant persuading the City to give up the doses or stealing them. Neil’s not going to be able to talk to the right people. It should have been me who went. Should have tried again. I’d have been ready this time. But he’d been scared. It was a lot of distance to cover alone and it had gone so wrong the first time he’d tried. Should have gone anyway. Now Hazel-Lea’s going to know. Or all eight of them are going to suffer before I can get back out there. Not to mention keeping up with the garden and laying by wood for the fall… His mind drifted into a haze of pain and anxiety.

Eventually, the sheep bells returned and Hazel-Lea with them. You think you can sit up if I help? she asked. Elijah pushed himself up. There was a metal yard cart next to him. Elijah was doubtful he’d fit onto it. Could have sworn there was a barrow over there, but all I could find was this silly little thing that Clara kept for trucking weeds out of her flowerbeds. Still, it’s got wheels, right? asked Hazel-Lea. She was obviously still panicking. Elijah smiled at her to reassure her.

It’ll work, Hazel-Lea, don’t worry. Just got to get up into it is all.

She crouched beside him and got an arm under his. You say when.

Okay. He braced himself. Just got to get the good leg underneath me. On three.

She nodded.

One. Two. Three.

She lifted and he struggled to help her. They made it to a leaning stand. He was woozy and drooped against her.

Whoa, just breathe a minute. Just breathe, she told him. He took in a few long breaths. He looked over when he heard her sniffling and saw she was crying.

Hey, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.

Yeah, she agreed, but he could tell she didn’t mean it.

Let’s just get back to the cabin. You’ll see.

She helped him hobble toward the cart and lowered him in. His legs hung out beside the handle, though he was sitting up. Don’t think you’re going to be able to pull me, he admitted.

She wiped her eyes with the back of one bloody hand. Yes, I will. If I can move a pregnant sheep, I can pull you. She grabbed the handle and pulled against it. It took a few hard tugs but once the cart was moving, it seemed to be easier.

Thank you, he said.

Not back at the cabin yet.

"It doesn’t matter. Even if this is as far as we get, thank you."

Don’t die, Elijah. He could hear the crying in her voice, though she was turned away from him, towing the cart toward the cabin’s driveway. Don’t leave me alone here again. The sheep bells rang wildly as the lead sheep trotted behind them and a scattered chorus of bleats echoed from the tree line.

It’s going to be okay, he told Hazel-Lea, though he wasn’t so sure. She didn’t answer, just pulled harder on the cart. It rattled over the ruts in the driveway and then swished through the long grass of the yard.

You left the fence gate open.

He glanced over at the gate. Yeah. I was— I needed to carry some water for a project. I thought I’d be right back.

Going to get you up the steps, but I need to get that gate closed or the sheep will get in. Trample half the garden before I’m able to get back out here. She looked back at him. Normally, I’d— you’re more important than the garden but—

He shook his head. If those crops get trampled we’re all going to suffer. I swear I thought I’d be gone ten minutes. I should have closed it.

She tried to ease them to a stop, but the cart still bumped against the porch. Sorry, she said.

Don’t think a little jarring makes much difference at this point.

Does it hurt? Or is it numb? she asked, getting her arms underneath him again.

Hurts. Everything hurts. He sucked in a deep breath and held it as she hauled him upright. They shuffled slowly up the steps, pausing between each one. She put him on the sagging couch and promised to return, running to shut the garden gate before the sheep could get in. Elijah lay on the dusty cushions wishing Neil were there, just for the day. Neil had at least done some sutures in the hospital, Elijah knew. He wasn’t sure if Hazel-Lea was going to be able to help. And he wasn’t so sure he was going to stay conscious long enough to finish it on his own. She was back before he had a chance to panic.

Where’s your kit? she asked, flying through the living room, picking up half-finished projects and a deck of cards Elijah had left on the table as if the medical kit would be somewhere beneath them.

Hazel-Lea, wait.

No time to wait. We need to get that wound dressed—

Take a breath. I need you to stay calm because I’m scared stiff. Okay?

That halted her. Okay, she said, but her expression was still one of raw terror.

First we have to clean our hands.

She looked down at her own which were streaked with Elijah’s blood. Right. Of course.

Should be some water in the jug by the door. If not, you’ll have to get some from the well. But the bucket— Shit. The bucket’s not here. Dropped it when all this happened.

I’ll find something.

She brought him the jug, setting it beside the couch. There’s some, not enough to clean us and the wound.

Still some in your thermos.

Oh, yes! Right. She unclipped it from its strap over her shoulder. Should I get more?

He looked at her. Will it help you take a deep breath and think for a second?

Y-yes, she admitted.

There’s a stockpot under the sink. Good enough for now.

Ok. Ok, I’ll be right back.

He caught her fingers as she stood up. It’s going to be all right, Hazel-Lea. No matter what. You understand?

She shook her head and started to cry again, but ran out to the kitchen before he could stop her.

3

IT WAS HOT and sticky in the cabin’s living room. Hazel-Lea had opened all the windows, but the occasional breeze did almost nothing to pull the heat from the woodstove. There was no help for it. The water had to be boiled. A bite wound needed to be disinfected. Even if Elijah did know exactly where the Infected had been for the past several years.

He was surprised that Hazel-Lea hadn’t questioned him at all, only followed his hurried instructions and made the saline solution. That wasn’t like her at all. It worried him. He wiped his face and then swore under his breath and cleaned his hands again. She plonked the steaming pot of water beside him on the coffee table. What now? she asked.

Has to cool. Should be a roll of duct tape in the toolbox. Kitchen counter, I think.

Duct tape? What do you need duct tape for?

Keeping the wound tight. I’ve got to stop the bleeding.

I thought you were going to stitch it. Are you out of thread? I can run back to the house and—

He shook his head. Can’t stitch a bite from an Infected. If any bacteria are in there it’ll fester. Then I might lose the leg. Or worse. Gotta put those boiled bandages in there a few hours and hold it closed until it clots. Then I’ve got to open it up again and keep cleaning it.

Jesus. There’s got to be a better way.

"Sure. If you’ve got a fully functioning hospital and staff. But right now, we’ve got us and some duct tape. If you go get the duct tape."

She flushed. Sorry, she murmured, accidentally bumping her knee on the coffee table in her rush to get to the kitchen. The saline sloshed a little splattering onto the table and she winced and apologized again. He shook his head.

No, Hazel-Lea, I’m sorry. I know you’re just as worried as I am. The pain is— it’s making things difficult. I’ll try to be kinder.

Let me get you something.

After. I need what’s left of my concentration to do this.

She went to find the duct tape.

There’d been bites before, of course. Bad ones. The one on his belly ought to have killed him. The burst of pain from the old injury was still bright in his brain, the reek of the skin as it rotted and leaked infected fluid until his body healed. But that wasn’t all that remained clear in his memory.

There was the intense satisfaction as he’d ripped himself free of the other man’s mouth and the turgid pull of the man’s skin between his teeth. The salty flood of bitter blood on his tongue. The way the spatter of fluid almost seemed to glow against the ice on the street where they’d found each other. And the rage. Always the rage. There had been no fear, not then. That came later. Years later. The man who’d attacked him was long dead. They all were, each Infected who’d taken a hunk of skin from him. His belly, his cheek, his arms. More than a dozen that he could pick out. Probably more, but his mind mercifully blurred the rest into a haze of pain and adrenaline and motion. They were all dead. And he’d survived. But now, now he could feel fear. Now he knew what the bite meant. He knew how to anticipate. He had something to lose. There was no more rage to shield himself with.

He made Hazel-Lea slice his jeans open from hip to heel so he could get a look at the wound. The edges of the smaller bites had clotted and for an instant, before he completely lifted the rag from his leg, he thought maybe it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. But there was a bloody crater in his inner thigh where Isaac had removed a chunk. It gushed as soon as the pressure eased, and Elijah knew he wasn’t going to have much time before he lost consciousness. I’m not really sure how to close that, he realized. The Cure Camp, as rudimentary as it was, had been better supplied than the cabin. And there were sterile spaces. He’d assisted in enough crude and rushed surgeries that he knew what to do, but he wasn’t certain he’d be able to do it.

He was in real trouble. He had no choice. Listen, Hazel-Lea, he started reaching for the end of the coffee table where she’d set what limited supplies they had. I have to tell you something. You aren’t going to like it.

She was still cutting open the ankle of his jeans and glanced up. It’ll keep, she told him.

It won’t. In case—

No! Stop that. You said it was going to be okay.

It is. But I’m still not going to be able to hike out to where I need to for a few weeks. Which means—

Then whatever you’ve got to say can wait until after.

You asked me where I found an Infected, he continued, knowing it did no good to argue with her. He poured a trickle of saline from a measuring cup, trying to make it easier to see. The liquid was still uncomfortably warm and he sucked in a pained breath. Gonna have to ask her for help with this too. I didn’t fi—

Look, if you went back up to that overrun clinic, I don’t want to hear about it. If you or Neil have an addiction, that’s your bus—

"I didn’t find one, Hazel-Lea. Well, not like you’re thinking anyway. I’ve— we’ve been keeping them." He reached for the soggy bandages they’d boiled and she stood up, the scissors in her hand half-forgotten.

Keeping them?

In that horse stable up the road, he added quickly and then tried not to groan as he swiped at the ragged edges of his skin. They need food. Water. I’ve fed them today. And bathed them. That’s how this— He hissed in pain and had to stop for a moment.

Hazel-Lea knelt next to him, taking the bloody bandage from him and wiping away the blood and dust from the road. He gripped his thigh, clawing his fingers as if he could keep the pain at bay that way. She concentrated on his thigh and he couldn’t see her face, but her silence made him uneasy. After several seconds, she said, I know why you’re doing it, Elijah. I know. Miguel— it was hard to let him go. But this isn’t good for them either.

He sucked a breath through his clenched teeth as she poured more saline into the crevice. You don’t— look, please just take care of them until I can do it again. Or Neil can, he said, gasping at the harsh stabbing sting that the saline left. Growing enough food, we aren’t going to starve.

You keep saying ‘them’. How many are there? she asked.

Eight.

Jesus.

Gotta stuff those bandages in, he told her. I’ll do it.

You’re all gray. You’re gonna pass out.

Not yet. He grabbed the boiled bandages from their pot and squeezed the water from them. This is going to hurt, he told himself. He took a deep breath and pressed them into the wound, groaning. His thigh felt like a hot spike of lightning and he felt the world sliding out from under him. Hazel-Lea’s hands pressed against the bandages as he let go.

Told you that you were going to pass out, he heard her grumbling. "Let me help. You want me to help the Infected but you won’t let me help you. Gonna be in a hell of a lot more trouble if you die."

They’re people too, he managed.

Shut up about the fucking biters! she shouted. Just shut up. Tell me how to fix your leg. You want me to feed your pets then you better live. You hear me?

Okay, okay, he agreed. The sounds of the room were fading in and out like a heartbeat, loud and then muffled. He wasn’t going to be conscious for long. He put his hands back over Hazel-Lea’s. The added pressure seemed to clear his head for a few seconds. I’ve got this. Grab the duct tape. Got to hold the skin closed around the bandages.

She let go to find the tape. How do I? Just wrap it?

He nodded.

Shouldn’t I add a bandage or something to keep it from sticking to your skin?

No. Got to hold it closed but not seal it off. Just do it quick. Three times around. Not close together.

She didn’t wait any longer. The sound of the tape being unwound was the last he remembered. His hands moved clumsily out of the way and then that was all.

Hazel-Lea shook him awake. It was growing dark. Gotta drink something. I think your bleeding’s stopping but you’re going to need to replace it, she muttered, pushing something against his mouth.

She was sweaty and disheveled. She still looked alarmed. What’s the matter? he asked, pushing the bottle away from his face and wriggling his back up the couch arm. Sheep get into the garden?

No. Nothing’s wrong, except your leg. Drink some water. Come on.

He accepted the bottle. It’ll be ok, he told her.

Yeah. Yeah, she said pacing. Her knees bumped the coffee table again and she ignored it. If I slaughter that yearling tomorrow I can make some bone broth—

You don’t need to kill the sheep.

Better it than you. Going to need the iron—

Sit down. Take a breath.

She dropped down onto the coffee table as if she’d just collapsed. "Don’t die."

He reached for her hand. I think the worst is over. Passed out mostly from the pain. I don’t think I lost as much blood as I was scared I would. I’d be cold now if I did. If you hadn’t been near though… Thank you, Hazel-Lea.

"Jesus, I wish