Anna cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.”
Sue turned around, her cheeks flushed. “I apologise—”
“No, don’t worry. I understand. It’s not safe for us to be on our own. We’re just looking for a place where we can settle down and help out. And Bob is right, our bags are filled with tins and medicine, and we are prepared to share. In fact—”
“Anna!” Sarah’s voice was cold.
Anna turned around. Sarah was standing in the doorway, glaring at her. “What?”
“You’re always so quick to—”
Anna shook her head, interrupting Sarah with a wave of her hand. “Sue isn’t sure whether she can trust us. And that’s fair. Just like it’s fair that you’re not sure if we can trust them. But at some point, we have to take a leap of faith, and that’s what I’m doing.” Anna smiled at Bob. “Last week, you asked me whether it’s possible to spot evil and I said that I didn’t know. I still don’t know, but I’ve decided to trust my gut instincts.”
Sue gave her a small smile and said, “If you’re willing to trust us, I’m willing to trust you.”
Sarah pressed her lips into a thin line. Leaning against the doorway, she fiddled with her ear. “Fine. I’m in. We haven’t just brought food and medicine, we also have two guns.”
“How…?” Bob stuttered.
“It’s all part of the week we’ve had,” Anna said.
Bob turned his attention back to the cutting board and continued chopping tomatoes. “Please tell us about your week over a bowl of salad.”
Anna grinned. “Deal.”
16
Chris sat on a creaky wooden chair she’d pulled up to Adam’s bed. The acrid smell of vinegar hung in the air. Rocking back and forth, she waited, checking his temperature periodically with the back of her hand. His pulse was hammering away beneath her touch—faint but rapid. Far too rapid.
And it showed no signs of slowing down.
Emily had opened the window and pushed Adam’s bed as close to it as possible so the breeze would cool him down, but he was still burning up, his skin dry and hot.
Chris considered her options.
If the antibiotics—
Maggie’s face materialised in her mind, wagging a finger at her, dark eyes filled with reproach. Her grey hair stuck out in all directions, her liver-spotted skin pale as milk. I don’t want someone like you in my home.
“Oh really? What are you going to do about it?” Chris muttered out loud.
Emily flinched. “Excuse me?”
Blood rushed to Chris’ cheeks, and she cleared her throat. “Nothing. I’m just talking to myself.”
You’re dangerous.
Shut up! I’m trying to help, Chris shouted in her mind, but Maggie’s image remained, a stubborn glint in her eyes.
Taking a deep breath, Chris pinched the bridge of her nose and focused on the task at hand: keeping Adam alive.
Crow’s feet crinkled as Maggie furrowed her brows, her bloodless lips pressed into a thin line.
Monster.
The voices in her head blended together, and Chris squeezed her eyes shut. Leave me alone, she begged silently.
Why Maggie? Why not Mike? Or Liam?
Because you can’t pretend it was necessary to kill me, Maggie said.
Wrong, Chris thought. You were a threat to me.
Voices came from downstairs where Harry, Tom and James were discussing the necessary steps to keep the farm safe from intruders. Nobody was able to sleep, instead they were sharing ideas with each other. Every now and then Chris managed to make out a few words: a better fence, someone keeping watch at night, perhaps even throughout the day, letting both dogs sleep outside.
Emily had given the kitten to her two daughters and told them to take it back to their room, bottle-feed it warm milk every four hours, fuss over it and make sure it felt safe by building it a fort made of pillows and blankets while she sat with Adam.
She had her hands folded in her lap, her head bowed, mumbling prayers.
Chris stared at a razorblade as if her eyes could somehow turn it into a scalpel. Harry had given it to her before going back downstairs. It lay on a plate on the bedside table, next to a bottle of Vodka and a bottle of vinegar.
She reached out and pressed her palm against Adam’s forehead before moving it to his cheeks and chest. His temperature was still rising despite the open window and the vinegar-soaked socks.
“What are you waiting for?” Emily asked.
Chris smiled sadly. A miracle.
The room was illuminated by candles, the flames flickering in the cool breeze coming in through the open window. It was quiet outside. It had been a hot day, and the air was still warm. A sheep bleated somewhere in the distance and Spike gave a short bark in reply.
“I’m still hoping the antibiotics will start working,” Chris replied. “I can’t cut him open. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You know more than us.”
Adam twitched, then spasmed violently. Emily reached out and held his head until he stilled. She brushed strands of damp hair from his flushed face.
Her eyes pleading with Chris, she whispered, “He’s burning up. He’s dying.”
Chris stood and pulled the duvet back, exposing his stomach. She mixed alcohol with vinegar in a glass and dipped a cloth into the solution before disinfecting Adam’s stomach with a trembling hand. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t hold it steady. Not ideal, considering she was about to use a razorblade to cut him open.
There was only one possible outcome, no matter what she did.
Adam would die.
And they would blame her either way.
It was as if death somehow followed her.
“Is there a leather belt somewhere?” Chris asked. “For Adam to bite into. This’ll hurt.”
Emily grimaced. “Can’t you give him something?”
“I’m cutting him open. No painkiller is strong enough to dull that pain.”
Emily said another quiet prayer, then rummaged through the drawers behind her until she found a belt. She clutched it tightly, stared at it as if reconsidering, then placed it against Adam’s lips. “Bite on this, honey. Chris is going to take out your appendix now.”
Chris is going to kill you now. Chris dismissed the voices in her head and thought of Lester instead. Poor, sweet Lester. The man who had always believed in her no matter what she did.
If he were still alive, he’d be standing next to Adam’s bed, encouraging her. You can do this, he’d say, and he’d believe it—believe in her.
Why did you have to leave me? Chris gripped the razorblade and pressed it against Adam’s belly when Tom poked his head into the room.
“Can I help?” he asked. “Harry and James are out walking the perimeter of the farm with Spike.”
Chris looked up and was met with Tom’s adoring gaze. That is my mum. She saves lives. A wave of love washed over her, and she smiled. She considered asking Tom to hold a torch, but she didn’t want to traumatise him further, didn’t want him to see another person die.
Besides, light wouldn’t help her. Nothing would help her. This was futile.
“No, thank you.”
“Would you mind checking in on the girls and the kitten?” Emily asked. “Adam will be upset when he wakes up and finds out they forgot to feed it.”
Tom nodded and closed the door behind him. If…if he wakes up, Chris silently corrected, waiting for Emily to turn her attention back to Adam.
“I need your help. You’ll have to hold him still. With both your hands on his shoulders, I need you to push him into the mattress. Whatever happens, don’t let him sit up.”
“We could tie him to the bed,” Emily proposed.
“That’s a good idea.” Chris sat back down while Emily left the room in search of a length of rope.
Nobody will ever love you, her brother’s voice piped up. The chaos in her mind was growing too loud, and Chris squeezed
her eyes shut, willing her ghosts to vanish.
I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I only—
Maggie cackled, her hair wild, reaching for her. Liar!
I didn’t. I’d never—
“Chris?” Adam mumbled, reaching for her hand.
She let him take it. “Yes?”
“I don’t feel—”
He convulsed again, his head jerking, and Chris held him down until the seizure passed. Stroking his damp hair, she sighed. “I’m sorry, Adam. I really am.”
Behind her, the door opened, and Emily came back inside, carrying the requested rope. Together they tied Adam to the bed. Taking her place next to Adam’s head, Emily set her jaw and readied herself to hold him down. “Let’s do this.”
Chris poured alcohol into a small bowl and soaked her hands, disinfecting them as well as she could. Blood rushed through her ears, all other sounds disappearing.
The room wasn’t sterile. The blade wasn’t sterile. Chris wasn’t sterile. She’d tied her hair together, but her clothes—
She couldn’t dwell on that now. She had to focus.
Or Adam would die.
Adam will die either way.
Chris dunked the razorblade into the vinegar and alcohol mixture, then made the incision. Adrenaline coursed through her veins. Her hands tingled, and she bit her lip in concentration, cutting through the layer of fatty tissue beneath the skin.
Sweat trickled down the sides of her head and she paused, wiping it off with her forearm before it could fall onto Adam’s belly. Blood was running from the wound, covering the razorblade, reminding her of the cricket bat she’d used to—
She swallowed, visualising the anatomy of a stomach, and a lump formed at the back of her throat as she cut deeper, opening Adam’s abdomen.
A muffled scream tore through the room, the muscles in Adam’s neck bulging.
Emily’s whispers grew louder, more intense.
Blood continued flowing from the wound, and Chris slid a hand inside. She hesitated, not knowing what exactly she was looking for.
Who was she kidding?
She had no idea whatsoever what she was looking for.
Adam convulsed, and she pulled back, afraid of nicking an important blood vessel.
Another seizure. Emily held him down firmly, pushing him into the mattress as they waited for it to pass—it was the third seizure he’d had in the last two hours.
This time he didn’t still.
The seconds were ticking by in slow motion. The back of his head hit the pillow violently.
“Why isn’t it stopping?” Emily asked, arms trembling.
Chris put the razorblade down and held his legs still as they flailed despite the rope tying him to the bed. Blood was pumped from his wound with every spasm. She looked up at his face. Foam covered the corners of his mouth, his eyes looking straight at her.
“He’s never been this bad.”
Chris didn’t know what to do. “Just hold him as tightly as you can.”
A sudden tremble ran through Adam’s body and he moaned before he suddenly slackened.
Was he bleeding internally? Had she cut through an important blood vessel? Or were his organs shutting down because of the fever?
Emily panted, releasing her grip on Adam as he went limp. Her ponytail had come untied and strands of hair stuck to her forehead.
Chris’ breath caught in her throat as Emily looked at her, eyes filled with sorrow.
She’d told them she didn’t know what she was doing. She should have refused. She should have said that she couldn’t—wouldn’t—do it.
But it was too late now.
If she’d said no to cutting him open, they would have remembered her as the nurse who had done nothing while Adam had been dying.
Already, his skin felt cooler. Chris fought back the tide of nausea, her eyes settling on Adam’s face. There was a roaring in her ears as she realised that he’d stopped looking at her.
Had stopped looking at anything.
“I can’t find his pulse.” Emily’s hands were shaking as she frantically moved them along his wrist.
Chris shoved her aside, pressed two fingers against his neck. Her own pulse thundered in her ears.
Nothing.
“I’m so sorry,” Chris cried, frantically searching for a heartbeat, but there was none. “I’m so sorry.”
Adam was dead.
Chris sank into the chair behind her. This was it. They’d ask her to leave. Within two days of her arrival, two people had died.
Soon, Charlotte would be back and—
“Chris? Is he…” Emily’s voice cracked.
Chris nodded grimly. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated, wiping her mouth.
It was over. She had failed.
It was as if death somehow followed her.
Monster.
The commotion had alerted the others. Footsteps hurtled up the stairs, the door burst open, and the rest of the family entered the room.
Voices filled the air as they spread out around Adam’s bed.
Tom had found them a shelter. A roof over their heads. She was a nurse. A valuable addition to any group of survivors. And she had failed.
First at the pharmacy. Now with Adam.
Harry gently closed Adam’s eyes.
Chris didn’t bother getting up. There was nothing to explain. She closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable.
She’d told them she was no surgeon.
But they wouldn’t care. They’d throw her out, and she had nowhere to go. No friends left.
Her heart stuttered, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Hands were touching her, and she flinched, but the hands were followed by soothing whispers and kind words. Someone patted her shoulder.
“Mum?”
“Please don’t be angry at me, Tom.”
“I’m not.” She felt his welcoming arms pulling her into a hug and sobbed. The pain in her neck and shoulders eased as he held her close.
“We’re sorry Chris. We shouldn’t have asked…” Harry’s voice trailed off. “We had to—we had to try.”
It slowly sunk in that they weren’t angry at her—weren’t angry that a young man had died in her care.
That she’d failed.
It didn’t make sense to her. They’d offered her a roof over her head because she was a nurse. Why would they want her to stay if she couldn’t—
“Thank you.” Emily’s voice was thick with tears. “Thank you for trying. I wouldn’t have been able to bear the thought of looking into Charlotte’s eyes and…” She sobbed, wiping her eyes with a tissue.
“We knew you weren’t a doctor,” Harry said. “We didn’t suddenly expect you’d magically turn into one. Please don’t blame yourself.” He patted Tom’s shoulder and gestured for him to help Chris to her feet. “Take your mum back to the cottage. She needs to rest.”
“What about Adam?” Chris whispered.
Harry pulled up a chair. “I’ll sit with him.”
“Can I stay?” James asked. He stood by the door, wiping his face with his sleeve. He raked his fingers through tousled ginger hair and sniffled.
Harry nodded grimly. “Of course.”
Chris stared at them in wonder. Was this how a family took care of each other? She’d expected crying and shouting. Accusations flying through the room.
Instead, Harry kissed the top of Emily’s head and she buried her face in his chest.
“Come on, Mum,” Tom said, helping her stand.
Now that the adrenaline was slowly wearing off, she remembered her own wounds. Crusted blood lined her nostrils, and every breath hurt. She winced and followed Tom out of the room and down the stairs, one hand gingerly tracing the deep cut throbbing in her cheek.
She stopped in the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. Sipping it slowly, she looked at Tom. He smiled at her, his eyes free of even any hint of accusation.
“I’m sorry. I know I promised—”
“This
isn’t what I meant when I said—” He frowned and scratched his temple. “Don’t you understand why I begged you to hunker down?”
Chris nodded and finished her water. “I do.”
Tom opened the door, then offered her his arm. Outside, the cool breeze felt soothing against her burning skin. She limped along the path, resting her weight on Tom.
Once they were inside the cottage, she sat down on the bottom bunk and exhaled. This was their pocket of safety. Nobody could harm them here.
Tom closed the door behind them and turned to her. “I have to talk to you. It’s about James. He wants to—”
“Can it wait until tomorrow?” Chris asked, and he nodded.
She was so exhausted that she fell asleep almost immediately, but Maggie’s accusing stare loomed at the edges of her consciousness. Chris kept dodging her jabbing index finger, running the other way, but no matter where she went, Maggie was always one step ahead, waiting for her, filling Chris’ dreams with her weather-beaten face.
Chris woke up disorientated and confused. She wiped her mouth and grimaced. Her chapped lips had split, stinging as she wet them. She was parched. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, the events of the previous night slowly coming back to her.
The door burst open.
“Mum!”
Tom sounded frantic, and Chris shot up from the bed, fighting through the fog clouding her brain. Her headache still hadn’t gone, but it was less intense than before. “What’s wrong?”
He closed the door and approached the bunk bed. “Tony and Charlotte just got back. He’s asking to see you.”
Chris blinked. His eyes were wide with panic, and a deep, cold fear filled her at the sight.
Humid air hit her face, then something cold and wet was pressed against her cheek. Chris recoiled, but it was only Chestnut who had followed Tom into the room. She shoved the dog’s head to the side, scrambled out from under her blankets and slid into her trainers. “Where is he?”
“Outside with Charlotte.”
Adam’s mother.
Chris swallowed, her stomach suddenly in knots. She’d allowed herself to relax, but now Charlotte was back. This was it. She’d let Adam die. Had cut him open and let him bleed out while he was seizing.
Darkness Ahead of Us | Book 2 | Darkness Falling Page 15
