She eyed him as she unscrewed her bottle of antibiotics. “Would it be easier if you sat up a little more?”
Mumbling, he set the water bottle down, but it took him some effort to release his grip.
“Here, let me help.” She put the bottle to the side and slipped an arm under his shoulders. As he pressed his forearms down, she started to lift his back. Her arm was barely off the carpet before he let out a scream. The yell probably would have hurt even if his mouth weren’t so close to her ear.
“That—does not make it easier!” he choked. Failing to get a grip on the carpet, he clenched his fists hard enough for blood to seep under his fingernails as she set him back down.
“Okay, okay. Ssh. Ssh.” She kept a hand on his shoulder as she readied some antibiotics. “Sorry.” The apology didn’t keep him from quivering.
“I thought I was about to throw up,” he groaned, eyes clenched shut as he fought for breath. “That would have been uncomfortable. Of course, I already seem to have voided, so I can’t get much lower. Doing an excellent job of impressing you today, aren’t I?” Abandoning speech for the time being, he lay there gasping as she coaxed a few pills into his hand.
“Don’t worry.” Fiddling with his other hand, she placed the water bottle. “We can get you cleaned up later. I have a feeling you shouldn’t be moved much right now.”
With a short nod, he opened his eyes to watch the antibiotics go towards his mouth. His neck craned enough to make his head tremble as he took the pills. Patting him on the shoulder, she took the water bottle back before he could spill any more of it. He watched her before inhaling and shutting his eyes again.
“At least I wasn’t stabbed in the heart,” he muttered, starting to catch his breath. “But this doesn’t feel much less lethal.”
“You’ll be fine.” She used her glove to wipe some sweat off his forehead. He didn’t seem to notice she was shaking.
Making a mumbling noise, he turned his head to the side. “Is it—” his eyes flickered open, and he winced “—is it still the same day?”
She glanced at the window blinds that still admitted a little orange light. “Yeah. You weren’t out long, although I’m glad you stayed under for the whole operation.”
“That’s good, I suppose.” He exhaled. “The aftermath must have been even more painful than the stabbing if it knocked me out for that long.” Trailing off, he squinted at her for a moment before shaking his head and looking back at the wall.
Unable to help laughing, she sat up straighter. Upon getting an odd look from him, she quieted down. “Sorry. Can I do anything to make you more comfortable? It looks like we’ll be staying here for a while.”
Turning to gaze at the ceiling, he sighed. “I’m, uh, fine, thanks.” He looked back at her and hesitated. “Um, Charlotte?”
“Mmm-hmm?”
“Er—” He fidgeted but stopped before he could lay his wrists on his stomach. “You can—I mean, if—if the necessity arises where, uh, it’s taking too long for me to die, you can go ahead and leave. I, uh, I won’t hold it against you.” He looked down, raking his fingers through the carpet.
“Excuse me?” Sending her hair falling over her ears, she leaned over until she caught his eye. “I guess I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m not just going to abandon you.”
“And I appreciate that sentiment,” he said, averting his eyes, “but I know you have places to go and a brother to find. I’ve already held you back far too long. There’s no need for me to waste more of your time merely because I was too busy glaring at Hektor to actually keep an eye on him.”
She let out a short exhale. “What are you saying? Sure, I need to find Blake soon, and, yes, it’s taking longer than I’d like, but you’re not a waste of time. We haven’t exactly been frolicking through peaceful fields of flowers, but I enjoy every day I spend with you. You’re not some cartridge to toss aside once you stop shooting things, okay? Goodness.” Taking a deep breath, she folded her arms and shivered. “You’re not going to die, anyway, so I can wait a bit before I drag you to Hunt.”
Inhaling, he dug his nails into the base of the carpet. “You only say that because you can’t feel this.”
“No, I only say that because it’s true.” She wiped more sweat off his forehead and cringed at how quickly it accumulated again. Even if he was talking, he wasn’t in the best condition.
“Go ahead and drink the rest of my water, okay?” She put the near-empty bottle next to him again. “With the well, we don’t have to worry about our supply so much.”
He frowned at the bottle and then at her, and she sighed.
“Yes, it’s mine, but I can go without a drink for a few minutes. Go ahead, and I’ll refill it for me once you’re done.”
With that, he finally took another draft, and she backed away to figure out where his bottle had ended up.
~*~
“Is that better?” Charlotte asked, pulling her hands away from the couch’s cushions.
Putting his head back on the armrest, Arthur tried to take a deep breath without letting the air hitch in his throat. “Give me another minute to recover, and I’ll tell you.”
“Sure.” She stepped back and scuffed her heel on one of the bloodstains in the carpet.
Blinking, he turned to face her. “Wait, that may have sounded a bit rude—”
She shook her head. “You’re fine. With the agony and all, I’ll cut you a little slack.”
“Thanks.” With a shuddering exhale, he let his eyes close.
Dalton leaned against the back of the sofa as he looked down at Arthur. “Sorry. I should have set you on the couch to begin with.”
Arthur waved a hand in dismissal, but it flopped to his side as if not getting consistent orders from his nervous system. “You had other things worrying you. I hardly could have considered the carpet uncomfortable with the wound bothering me, anyway.” His jaws gaped open, and he let out a breathy yawn. “Although perhaps I’ll be able to sleep here.”
Nodding, Charlotte brushed some of his bangs away from his face. Wondering why she was doing that, she put her hand back down. “We’ll try to keep the noise level down.” She glanced at Dalton, who made a motion to zip his mouth shut.
“Thanks,” Arthur muttered, allowing his head to loll to the side.
~*~
Three days later, the power dimmed and went out, leaving no one but Arthur shivering.
Exhaling, Charlotte lay a wet rag across his forehead and listened to the rain drum against the roof. Under normal circumstances, the overlapping pitters and patters would be relaxing, but now she just had a smaller chance of hearing infecteds approach.
“Are you sure about the liquid diet thing?” she started, watching Dalton as he idly stirred a bubbling pot.
He exhaled, waving some steam away from his face. “Not entirely, to be honest. I just know it’s easier on his digestive system. With his intestines injured, solid food would cause some trouble.”
“But he does need enough strength to fight this off.” She looked back down at Arthur. His face was still pale, the muscles of his brow and jaw strained. Could he feel some of the pain in his sleep?
Dalton’s sigh was barely audible over the rain. “That’s true. If his condition continues to go downhill, I may try giving him solid food. But if you know what you’re talking about—”
“No. We’ll stick with your plan. I—I definitely don’t know any more than you.”
“Okay.” Dalton threw a handful of something into the pot. “I’ll look for more bouillon cubes later; for now I’m just making tea—”
“Did you say tea?” Arthur exclaimed, snapping into a seated position before realizing what a terrible idea that was. Falling back down immediately, he clamped a hand over his mouth and was able to stifle his screams to a manageable level. Charlotte scuttled to his side, pressing his shoulders down so he couldn’t flinch and make the pain worse.
“Aw, crap, sorry!” Dalton started, abandoning the pot to c
heck on Arthur. “It’s just chrysanthemum tea, but—you okay?”
After a minute more of calming down, Arthur slid his hand away from his mouth and glared red-eyed at the ceiling. “Why on earth would you call it ‘tea’ if there’s no tea in it?”
“Because I love torturing you.”
Arthur grumbled, shivering. “I hate you.”
“Why yes, you’re welcome, for me saving your life and all.”
Arthur waved a hand at him and sighed.
Charlotte put the wet rag back on Arthur’s forehead. She let herself smile now that the rigidity was slipping from his shoulders. “You’re too British for your own good, Arthur.”
“I know,” he moaned, shutting his eyes.
22
The stab wound was closing up, but Arthur’s fever only continued to rise. Hektor’s supply of food was dwindling. Since the hunter was incapacitated and the farmer was out of guinea pigs, Charlotte took it upon herself to find something. Telling the boys to be careful, she checked the peephole at the front door. A pair of infecteds stood just outside, groping at the doorknob. Slamming the door open, she knocked them back against the wall and shot them down while they were stunned. With a glance back at the sleeping Arthur, she shut the door quietly behind her. Past the gravel road that sideswiped the backyard, a sparse forest speckled the otherwise bare ground. Surely something worth eating lived there.
A squirrel fled to safety before she had quite registered what it was. Her shot at a bird hit a few feathers, but the game continued its escape with no noticeable difference in flight. A minute of searching the undergrowth yielded a smattering of edible grasshoppers. She gathered a good two handfuls, although she wasn’t eager to pop them in her mouth just yet. Beyond that, the muddy expanse seemed lifeless.
She considered getting some meat from the most recently dead monsters, but that idea only took a second to dismiss. Not her field, not tasty, and not safe. She started to wish she hadn’t left all the meat preparations to the professionals, but wishing didn’t get her any steak.
With nothing but the grasshoppers, she decided to head back before she got too sunburnt. Passing a few infected corpses as well as the ditch that still held most of Hektor, she held her breath and stepped back inside the house. Shutting the door behind her before any more heat could seep inside, she let her eyes adjust to the light.
“Oh, you came back.”
Blinking, she turned towards Arthur. “What?”
“I said, ‘Oh, you came back.’” With a yawn, he turned his head to watch the unmoving ceiling shadows.
“I heard that.” Frowning, she stepped up next to him to check his forehead. How she expected his exact temperature to explain his words she wasn’t sure. “Of course I came back. Do you really think I’m going to leave you both behind without even giving you notice?”
“No,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “I don’t know. Anyway, I’d like you to know my offer still stands if you would like to do that. Especially now that it’s glaringly obvious I’m going to die.” His eyelids fluttered open. “Speaking of which, have I told you I love you yet? That seems like something I should throw out there before I’m gone.”
“Ar—” She took the rag off his forehead before wringing it out and dipping it in his water bucket. Exhaling, she marched back and lay the cool cloth back down. He sighed but said nothing.
“Although”— his voice modulated— “I suppose that’s not a particularly stunning deathbed revelation. Oh, well.”
“What are you talking about?” Her clipped tone surprised her. “Don’t act like you’re circling the drain—you’re still breathing, aren’t you?”
“Of course. That’s how I’m getting out my final confessions and everything.” He shut his eyes again. His lids were sunken into his face enough to look bruised in the shadow.
“Stop talking like that!” Swaying on her feet, she turned towards Dalton, who sat on a folding chair in front of the television. “Should we—should we start giving him more antibiotics or something?” She put the back of her wrist against Arthur’s cheek and pulled away before she could burn herself.
“Save it,” Arthur muttered, shuddering. “You could put them to better use later. Just leave. Just”—he looked at her, his eyes wild and narrowed— “leave already! Why do you need to watch me die? What good’ll it do you? Go,” he finished weakly, eyes slipping shut again.
She sucked in a breath before looking back at Dalton, who had already retrieved more pills. Handing them off to her, he watched his roommate frown at the medicine.
“Didn’t I just say—?”
She forced Arthur to hold his water bottle by wrapping her hand around his, her grip tense to the point of trembling. “You need these. Take them.”
“Oh.” The rabid look in his eyes flickered out. His brows lowered, but he reached for the pills, anyway. “Okay,” he mumbled.
Trying not to think about how easy it was to convince him, she helped him get the antibiotics down and forced him to keep holding the bottle.
“I’m not thirsty.” His half-closed eyes weren’t quite focused on the water.
She turned his chin towards her with two fingers and waited for him to meet her gaze. “Yes,” she said in a low, calm voice, “you are.”
Bewildered, he watched her for a minute before shakily lifting the water bottle to his lips and taking a drink. Deciding that was victory enough, she averted her eyes from his drained face and emptied her own water bottle.
If it weren’t for the flush clinging to his cheekbones, he would look dead. Dull eyes, hollowed cheeks, blood-drained skin. His open eyes and working mouth didn’t bring any more comfort, nor did the inconsistency of his words hint that he was improving.
Yet even when he couldn’t make sense of his own thoughts, he would do anything she told him to. Stripped of all the prickly armor, even of all the stammering affections, he was still devoted to her. Down to the point of attempting to help her with every misguided babble. Meanwhile, she was just going to watch him shrivel up and die without reciprocating one ounce of endearment—
But he wasn’t going to die. Not like this. Not because of one stupid little stab wound she could have prevented if she had listened to him. No way.
“Arthur,” she started, her voice breaking. Clearing her throat hastily, she continued, “This is all over if you give up on yourself. But you are not going to do that. Okay?” She took a deep breath. “Do you hear me, Arthur? You are going to turn this around and fight for your life every second. A-and you are not going to die on me. And I—” she caught some water threatening to spill out of her eyes “—and I’m going out for some target practice.”
She hurried for the door but stopped before both feet were outside. “And I’m coming back, too, okay, Arthur?” she called. Shutting the door, she tried to keep her breathing under control. “And you’ll still be there waiting for me. And—and I’m going to stop talking to myself now.”
Swallowing, she stepped back onto the road, hoping that blowing off a few monsters’ heads might help clear hers.
~*~
The breeze still came in baking blasts, but clouds provided shade, and it would have taken quite a bit more heat to chase Charlotte away from her shooting. Leaving a trail of bodies wasn’t her most urgent mission, but it helped to pave the way.
Getting a good drink of water, she surveyed the area before sitting on a rusty bench to change magazines.
So. What was going on right now? Arthur… was not doing particularly well. There was a chance he would pull through fine, but there was also a chance he would die. And that scared her.
But there was nothing wrong with being scared. She was allowed to worry, especially if it was about him. He was like an old friend by now, and it was always upsetting for a good friend to pass on, especially so young. And strong. And kind. And so, so caring towards her. And…
And what on earth was so wrong with him that she wouldn’t even consider returning his affections?
Exhaling, she got back to her feet and skulked back towards the gravel road.
She wasn’t required to fall in love with him just because he was after her. Even if he would run himself ragged every day for her. Even if he’d throw away his life to speed up her journey a little bit. All of that didn’t oblige her to feel anything beyond the deepest gratitude.
But why didn’t she? She had been through her share of boyfriends, so she didn’t exactly consider herself an ice queen impossible to win over. And she knew she thought Arthur was cute. Maybe he wasn’t the hottest man on the planet, but he was good-looking enough and, more importantly, good on the inside. He wasn’t afraid to take care of some dirty business when he had to, but, if he were that tender-hearted, he wouldn’t have made it this far. She wasn’t sure if she had an exact checklist of things she wanted in a boyfriend, but he seemed qualified when she thought about it.
So, why nothing? Why was she just seeing him as an awesome traveling companion?
It hit her about the same time her next bullet hit an infected.
Traveling. It was all about the traveling. Her goal for the next who-knows-how-long was to find her brother, and she would let nothing drag her off that path. She would let nothing become more important.
Was that why Arthur was so eager to send her away? “Obviously you care much more about the destination you may never reach than the man right in front of you, so go already. Just let me die here—as long as you find your brother, it doesn’t matter to you, does it? Sorry to have been such an inconvenience.”
He was not an inconvenience! He was—
She was putting stupid words in his mouth, so no reason to overreact. He didn’t think that about her. Right? Maybe? Should he have? Of course she loved Blake dearly, and finding him was a goal she’d never throw away, but she wasn’t outright obsessed, right? She still cared about the people by her side now. She had already stayed in one place for days for Arthur, and not because he could shoot down food and infecteds for her.
Along the Winding Road Page 17
