“Knocked the wind right out of me,” Gideon muttered, not looking at the wound.
I crawled over to my backpack a few yards away, then brought it back to Gideon; I rummaged through it, bringing out the tweezers.
“I was knocked out last time you did this; is it going to hurt?”
“Probably.” I placed one hand around the wound, molding the skin so that I could peer in and see the bullet.
“God, that does hurt.”
“Weren’t you already in pain?” I asked.
“You’re now pouring orange juice into the wound.”
“Not yet, but that’s next.”
“What?!”
“I don’t have any of the medication we need to avoid infection, and using some orange juice in the wound will help. Unfortunately, if there is any dangerous bacteria, it’s probably already gotten in your bloodstream, and the orange juice wouldn’t do any good. But using it will definitely not hurt anything, anyway.” I plucked the bullet out, tossing it away before standing and pulling an orange from a nearby tree.
“Got any pain meds in your bag?”
“No. Pain medication is way too popular; I haven’t seen any in a couple years.” Without asking, I pulled his knife from his pocket and sliced into the orange; I handed a slice to him. “Something to take your mind off the pain?”
“Yeah, right,” he mumbled, sticking the fruit into his mouth.
Without another word, I squeezed a wedge over his wound.
“Yow!” he cried, instinctively pulling away from me.
“Too late,” I told him. “All that’s left to do now is wrap the wound.” I grabbed a piece of spare fabric that remained from the shirts he’d made us months ago, then forcefully grabbed his arm; I twisted the cloth around his injury, then tied it tightly. “There.”
Gideon tossed away the orange rind, leaning back on the tree. He stared off into the leaves, then turned his eyes to the wrapped wound. “Chances of infection?” he asked quietly.
“Thirty percent, I’d say.” It was nice to think about the numbers, to think about the facts, rather than panicking over whether Gideon was going to get a fever and die from it.
“And you don’t have any more of that medicine you gave me in September?”
“No. That’s gone.” He knew that.
“Just checking.”
We sat there in silence; I watched his face, and he busied himself with not looking at me.
Finally, he took a deep breath and smiled at me. “Well, what should we do while we wait to see whether I’m going to die?”
“Well, I taught you the game ‘checkers’ a couple weeks ago. . .” This involved a lot of drawing in the loose California dirt that surrounded us.
“Sure, let’s do that.” He was trying to make his voice sound casual and upbeat, but I didn’t miss the anxiety under the surface.
What would I do? What if he did die? I would finally, emphatically, be alone, just as I had dreaded the first day we’d met. My parents were gone, and Gideon would be gone, and I would be alone.
How would I live without him?
These thoughts made each of the moments that followed almost unbearably painful. I started paying more attention to the little habits he had – the way he shoved his short curls off his forehead at intervals, the way he chewed on his lip as he thought. Then there was the way he met my eyes, as if he were reading my soul like an open book. There was the way his hand would lightly slide against mine as they intersected on our makeshift game board. There was the way his lips parted when he stared at my throat – this he did only when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.
All of this, all of him – how could I lose it? I couldn’t bear the thought of him being gone.
Time ticked by; I didn’t have the energy to go find a bear on my own, so we ate a few oranges together, then fell asleep side by side.
The next morning, I made a trip to the well, bringing back a bucket of water for Gideon to drink and rinse his face. He’d attempted to convince me that he could come with, that it was just his shoulder and not his legs that had been hurt; I’d been firm when I told him he needed his rest.
When I returned, Gideon smiled up at me before pointing at the bear that had wandered in; he’d shot it.
“Perfect,” I replied, returning his grin. “Now I don’t have to go find one on my own.”
I cooked a good chunk of the meat – the rest we set aside. It was a shame, but it wouldn’t last as long in the growing heat. We’d probably eat as much as possible before then, and just eat oranges for a while after that, rotating between the two so as not to be wasteful of the bear meat.
I sat beside Gideon as we ate, his leg knocking against mine in a rhythm. I looked at him often, even though he was always a mess when he ate – consequence of not owning a fork. I couldn’t help but look at him anyway, because I could sense that he wasn’t feeling quite like his normal self, and I definitely noticed the way his appetite wasn’t as large as usual.
He smiled when he was through. “Thanks, Candace,” he said, though he didn’t meet my eye as he handed me back what was remaining of his portion – a portion he regularly doubled.
I didn’t reply, setting his leftovers aside with the rest of the bear.
As the day progressed, I noticed the way he seemed more sluggish; his thought process wasn’t quite up to speed.
“Are you thinking about nothing?” I asked, watching his closed eyes.
“No. I’m thinking about you. It’s a little harder for me to think about nothing these days; you’re always in my head.”
“So you haven’t thought about nothing all winter?”
He blinked his eyes open to stare up at the tree canopy, looking confused. He mouthed, “Winter,” as if it was taking him longer to understand what I meant. “Are you sure it’s winter? It’s so warm.”
I frowned. “It’s spring now, and we’re in California, so of course it’s warm.”
“Oh, right. Right, right, right. What was your question?”
I placed a hand against his forehead, then drew it back at the brilliant heat that emanated from it. My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach; my eyes stung.
“Gideon, we need to find you some medicine.” I began to stand.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m getting you some medicine,” I replied, enunciating each word so that maybe he’d understand a little better.
“No, Candace.” He reached out a hand to grab my wrist. “Don’t go anywhere. It’d take you too long to find anything, and I want you here with me.”
I met his brown eyes, shocked at the pleading they expressed. I looked away and swallowed. Then I slowly lowered myself back down beside him.
“I want you here with me, too,” I murmured into his arm. I held back the tears; there would be plenty of time for those later.
~ * ~
The dawn was just barely reaching the treetops when heat woke me up. I was too hot. Why was I too hot?
The pieces came together as I blinked my eyes open; the heat wasn’t me, it was Gideon.
I lifted my head to look at him, and didn’t bother feeling his forehead again. I took him by the uninjured shoulder and shook. “Gideon?”
He didn’t stir.
Chapter 18
“Gideon!” I could tell that my voice sounded panicked, but the part of me that cared was already disconnected. I gripped his hand, sorting through the fear and worry that surged through my chest, sorting through all the possible things I could do at this point. My focus came to one fact.
If we had never returned to the grove, if we had stayed at the border, Gideon would never have been shot. Why hadn’t I said yes to Mexico while I’d had the chance? If we hadn’t made it across that fence, if we hadn’t gotten through the building, would we have been worse off than we are now? No. Gideon was dying, and I was still alive – nothing could be worse than that.
Where was his shooter? I wanted to strangle the life out of him. I wan
ted to take every ounce of happiness he’d ever experienced, and burn it until it was ash.
Too late. That man was long gone by now, and I had never been any good at tracking.
I didn’t think about the irony of me wanting to kill the person who was causing the death of the man who’d killed my parents. I only thought about killing the person who was causing the death of the man I loved.
What were my options now? What could I do?
Option one: I could stay here with Gideon. I could wrap around him and wait until his last minutes ticked away.
Option two: I could leave him here. I could go find the medicine I had wanted to find yesterday.
But what were the chances I’d find anything in time? I could search for months, years, and still not find the right medication to take the infection away. It was hopeless.
But the idea of staying with Gideon until he was completely gone was just as hopeless. His mind was already gone; he wouldn’t know the difference if I stayed with him.
I wanted to stay with him, but I also wanted to feel as if I were accomplishing something. I wanted to feel like I was doing everything I could to save him.
Even if there was truly nothing to do.
If I wanted to look for medicine, where would I start?
The answer came immediately: the commune, the one at which we had stopped to ask directions to the orange grove.
I had no reason to believe it was still in working order, to believe everyone in it hadn’t killed each other yet, but I had nowhere else to start. I had no other clues as to where I might find people, and the commune might offer a large group of people.
What were the chances that any of them would have the medicine I needed, though?
I couldn’t think about that right now; I gathered my things, combined them with Gideon’s things, kissed him on the forehead, and marched out of the grove.
As I hit the dusty street, I broke into a run. Thoughts and images whipped through my mind as I ran. The walk from the commune to the grove had previously taken us the good part of the day, but, running, I thought I could get there in a matter of a few hours.
I was out of shape. I knew that; I hadn’t done any decent long-distance running since the day I’d run after Gideon, the day he’d killed my parents. That didn’t matter to me, though. I would get to that commune as quickly as possible. Gideon didn’t have long, and the commune was my only hope – I wouldn’t let it go to waste.
Was it really just two days ago that we’d returned to the grove from the border? We had been so happy together, and I’d felt so safe with him, in the grove.
I’d let myself develop a false sense of security there, with him. I’d let myself get sucked into an illusion, even as Gideon constantly reminded me of the danger we were still in, of the danger our children would be in if we risked having them while living in the U.S. In this world, everything could be taken away from me in an instant. How could I have forgotten that, after how my parents were so easily pulled from me?
As I ran, I knew that I’d do anything to be able to hop the border to Mexico with Gideon. I’d do anything for him, even if it meant just a few more days of his smiles, of his gorgeous eyes, of his arms wrapped around me, of his kisses.
Too late. It was almost definitely too late. Gideon would die, and I would be alone in this horrid world.
Maybe Gideon was right all along. Maybe love really was nothing but weakness. Not because he hadn’t made me stronger while I was with him, but because, when he was gone, I’d be weaker than I’d begun. How could I go on without him?
The hours trickled by; the exit for the commune came, and I took it. Then I was at the house, gun held carefully in my hand as the guards came into view.
They were still here; the commune was still alive and running, and, with it, my only chance to save Gideon’s life.
I didn’t stop at the gate like we’d done last time we were here; I marched right in, even as the guards’ guns trained on me. I came within two yards of them and they still hadn’t fired.
They were different men from the ones guarding the doors before, but that wasn’t surprising. Nothing in particular caught my attention about their features, just the way their eyes were latched onto me.
“I’m here to trade; I need to get in and talk to everyone to see if they have what I need.”
“What are you here to trade?” one man asked, eyes raking my body.
“Anything,” I immediately replied. I patted my backpack. “I have several options, but there’s something in particular I need.”
“There’s something I need, too,” the second man said suggestively, taking a small step toward me.
That felt like a threat, and I trained my gun on him. “If you touch me, I’ll shoot you.”
The first man took advantage of my attention being on the other, and he darted forward, grabbing my gun from me. He seized my wrist with his free hand, twisting it behind my back.
“Try that again,” he suggested, then shoved me toward the other man.
I stumbled over my feet, my legs heavy and sore from the running, and the second man caught me.
“Such soft skin,” he murmured, his fingers raking my flesh.
“Let go,” I ordered.
“Why should I? Are you going to make me?”
His friend guffawed as I struggled against him.
“Boys, let her go,” said a voice from the doorway.
My eyes snapped toward the voice only to find myself looking into the face of him – the man whom Gideon had so feared the last time we’d been here. The sunken eyes, the skinny but strong limbs, the jet-black hair, and the overwhelming, piercingly blue eyes.
He didn’t have a gun raised. He didn’t have anything, and yet my captor released me, shoving me toward my savior, Gideon’s abuser; the first man stuck my gun in my back pocket for me, cocky as he was.
I broke eye contact with Gideon’s abuser and shoved past him, even as his mouth opened to say something to me. I didn’t care if he’d just kept me from being raped; I already hated him and didn’t owe him one syllable.
As I entered the house, my eyes sealed on a woman, her belly just starting to swell with pregnancy. Her eyes were soft as they landed on me, and, because of that, I made a beeline for her.
“I need medicine,” I said, and listed the names of the medications. “Do you have any? Or do you know anyone who does?”
“Sorry, no,” she said, shaking her head. “Of course, that information would be kept close if someone did, so you’d have to ask everyone. Are you here to trade?”
“Yes, I’ll trade anything possible for that medicine.”
She nodded. “Tell the others that; there might be someone.”
“Thanks.” I walked away from her, taking in the house interior for the first time as I did so. We were in an entryway, staircase leading up, and several rooms branching off at the main level. A cluster of people congregated in the room to the left, and so I went there, the words ready on my lips.
“I need medicine,” I repeated. “I’ll trade anything I’ve got for it. Jewelry,” I lifted my sleeve to show them the blue and silver bracelet. “Other types of medicine. Anything.” I told them what I needed, but they all shook their head and directed me to where I might find someone else – upstairs, or in the kitchen, or in the basement.
I nodded, hurrying to find that one mythical person, the owner of the medication. I went to each corner of the house – asking everyone I saw, offering everything I possessed – with no results.
I could feel Gideon’s time ticking away as I neared the entryway, wondering if I could slip past the guards, or whether I should just shoot them both and run for it – run back to Gideon, so I could wrap around him for the last few hours of his life.
The voice again. “I have what you need.”
I gritted my teeth, knowing he stood right behind me. I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want to look at him. But I would do anything if he really did have what I nee
ded.
I turned to face him, meeting his eyes. “You have the medicine,” I verified.
He nodded. “And I hear you’re willing to trade ‘anything’ for it. Is that correct?”
I grimaced, knowing how that word might be interpreted by him. “Correct.”
“May I ask why you need it?”
I stared deeply into his eyes and didn’t see an ounce of his soul; it was like staring at a wall. “He’s dying,” I murmured.
“Gideon,” he clarified.
“Yes. He needs that medicine or he’s not going to survive. He only has a few more hours, I think.”
“Just long enough for you to get back to him and give him the medicine.”
“Yes.” I could feel time ticking away. “Why did you stop those men before?”
“I didn’t want them to hurt you,” he replied simply.
This bewildered me. “Why wouldn’t you want them to hurt me?”
“Because I want to be the one to hurt you.” I stared uncomprehendingly at him. “I assume you know the history Gideon and I have, correct?”
“Yes,” I hissed.
He nodded. “Gideon hurt me so much when he left me. I knew he was never interested in what I did to him, but I still took care of him. I treated him well, even if it wasn’t his ideal circumstances.”
“That’s why he didn’t kill you,” I told him.
He blinked. “I’d wondered if he wanted to. But I cared too much about him to do anything about it. Then, one day, he was gone, and I was alone again.”
I started comprehending the way this man saw what he’d done to Gideon – he’d seen it as a true relationship, even though he’d had the upper hand the entire time. Gideon hadn’t left him because Gideon had been too weak to be on his own, and the man had taken advantage of that – and yet he’d also been in love with him.
My stomach churned at the thought.
“You don’t want him to die, do you?” I asked, my tone matter-of-fact.
“No. But I also don’t want him to live, not with you. And I’ve developed a certain hatred for you over the last several months – ever since I realized he loved you.” He had only ever seen me and Gideon together, through that open window, but it must have been enough.
Humanity Page 18
