by A. R. Shaw
McCann shook his head, trying to clear away the grogginess. “I was shot. Dalton was attacked by a bear, and Steven—Steven’s dead because of me.” His voice cracked, and he looked away from Graham.
“That’s not the way Sam and Dutch tell it,” Graham said.
“If I hadn’t . . . if I hadn’t thrown the rock at the bear, Steven wouldn’t have had to push me down. He’d be alive,” McCann said. He couldn’t hold back a sob.
“McCann,” Graham lowered his voice. “Sam said the bear only turned away from Dalton when you used the rock. They shot the damn thing several times without even getting his attention. Dalton would be dead had you not intervened.”
“Dalton made it?” McCann looked up at him with watery eyes.
“Yeah, he did, and it looks like you were right. The epinephrine saved his life, McCann. He nearly bled to death.”
McCann wiped away his tears and took a deep breath. “Okay. I must have passed out after that.” He shook his head, trying to make sense of it all.
“You did. When you guys showed up, we were all ready to do what was needed and we got Dalton into surgery right away. Unfortunately, Macy found you in the backseat with blood all over you. She’s pretty freaked out. She stayed with you until we took you into surgery too, then she disappeared.”
“Shit. Where is she?” McCann said, starting to move.
“It’s okay; I found her in the woods. She’s just scared,” Graham said.
McCann nodded, knowing that he must have been a horrific sight for Macy to see. Then he remembered with urgency why they should all be afraid.
“Wait. How long has it been? How long have I been here?”
“One night. It’s the next day,” Graham told him.
“Have you guys heard anything from the invaders?”
“Not yet. We’re monitoring all communications. We’ve moved everyone here to the prepper camp until we figure out what kind of threat they are. Safety in numbers.”
McCann nodded. “What about the horses?”
“They’re all here. Dutch and I took a truck over last night and packed up almost everything,” Graham said. “You’re good. Bullet went right through. You only needed a minor repair. Clarisse said that after she cleaned out the wound, she packed it with gauze. We’ll need to change that out every day, but it should heal up well on its own. You were lucky.”
“Okay, I need to see Macy. Can you send her to me?”
Graham shook his head. “She won’t come, McCann. I tried already. She needs some time; she thought you were dead.”
McCann got his first good look at Graham, who looked like death warmed over. “Have you even slept, Graham? You look awful.”
“I’ve been right here the whole time since you came out of surgery. I tell you, it would have killed me if you hadn’t made it,” Graham admitted.
“I’m fine, Graham. You’re not going to get rid of me that easily. How’s Rick taking Steven’s death?”
Graham looked out the plastic window of the tent and then down at the ground before he answered. “He buried him last night, by himself. He wouldn’t let anyone help. We’re going to have a ceremony for him later today. You know, I almost feel sorry for those bastards,” Graham said. The vengeful lowered tone of his voice reverberated in McCann’s spine, giving him chills, because Graham rarely showed hatred. He hadn’t thought the man was capable of feeling it, but now he knew differently.
“Scumbags,” McCann said. “And you know there are no words to describe how evil these jihad extremists are . . . what they’ve done.”
“Perhaps that’s it. They’re so low beyond humanity, no name for one of their kind should ever be uttered,” Graham said.
“Well, until we wipe them clean from the earth, we’ll have to refer to them as something. My father called them the Malefic Nation. It means people of harm and destruction.”
“I can’t think of a more fitting definition, for lack of anything better, and yet it’s still not low enough,” Graham said.
McCann slid his legs off the bed. “Can you hand me my pants?”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Graham asked.
McCann flashed a mischievous smile. “I need to clean up and then find Macy. She’s not getting away from me that easily.”
Graham chuckled and handed McCann a set of clothes. “I brought you some clean ones. We had to burn the others. You were soaked in your own blood, Dalton’s blood . . . and the bear’s, I think.”
McCann lifted the sheet and clamped it back down to his side. Then a sudden horror struck him. “Wait. No. Who cleaned me up?”
Graham shrugged. “I don’t know. I assume Clarisse did. She and Lucy did most of the medical work.”
“Awe, man!” McCann said when he looked under his sheet again and realized he was buck naked.
Chapter 30 Fixing Dalton
Clarisse slipped back into Dalton’s room. Lucy was bent over, picking up all the bloody towels and equipment they’d used and discarded while fixing him—the patching back together of what was salvageable with what was left over. It was now a matter of time, and guarding against infection. Dalton could still die on her. She knew the risks, and that’s why when she left the room to make sure McCann was coming out of anesthesia on time, she’d left as a surgeon. Now she was returning as—what, Dalton’s lover? It was more than that; she knew they both felt they were more than mere lovers, even though neither of them owned up to a vocal definition.
He lay there, helpless with monitors doing their work, flashing lights and beeping displays making all the right sounds.
“I think I got them all. I’ll go throw them on the fire pit,” Lucy said to her.
“Ah, thank you, Lucy. Go and disinfect again afterward, like I showed you, and then get yourself something to eat. Thank you for all your help today.” Clarisse managed a smile as Lucy brushed past her.
She still had to tell Dalton’s boys. Rick’s family had them for now, and she’d asked to break the news to them herself when she was able, but the task weighed on her conscience.
“Damn you, Dalton,” she whispered. It was more in anger that she cared so deeply for him and knew it would kill her if he died. He’d made her care for him; he’d made her vulnerable. He stampeded into her heart and took over somehow when she wasn’t guarding it. She wasn’t even sure of when it had happened.
One small step after another, she found herself at his bedside, running her fingertips over the green wool army blanket along the form of his legs. She had barely been able to repair the artery in his left shoulder. She figured he must have tried holding back the bear with that arm, because he sustained what looked like several abhorrently deep fang bites and ripping wounds.
Clarisse clasped her mouth to contain a loud cry that was threatening to escape her as she imagined what he’d been through; the tears already rolled unbridled.
His right hand . . . she knew what had happened there. The skin covering his knuckles was pared down to the white bone. He had fought for his life with that fist; she had no doubt.
“Dalton . . .” Clarisse curled the fingers of her own right hand and ran the softer skin lightly across his bare chest, where some of the bear’s sharp claws had left deep marks. “Don’t leave me, damn you,” she whispered. It was the only sign of weakness she’d ever uttered, and even then only at a whisper. Suddenly, imagining life without Dalton tore her down. And then Rick rounded the corner.
“How’s he doin’?”
She wiped away the evidence quickly before she looked up at him. “Um, better—according to the machines, anyway; he should be waking up anytime now.”
“I’ll wait here with him if you want to go tell the boys,” said Rick. “They don’t know what’s going on.”
She turned to Rick and was about to respond when she noticed his bloodshot eyes and the drawn expression of utter shock.
“Rick, I’m so sorry about Steven,” she said, touching his forearm in comfort.
Rick shook hi
s head in disbelief. “I just can’t believe it still. This can’t be real. I buried him myself, and I still can believe he’s gone,” he said, choking on the last word.
“Why don’t you go take some time, Rick?”
“No. No, I’m fine. You need me here. I’d rather you tell the boys than me having to break the news to them. I can’t, Clarisse. I just can’t tell them right now. They should hear it from you, anyway.”
She nodded and opened her arms wide to hug Rick, something she had never offered before.
He looked at her strangely and then shook his head again while he embraced her.
“We’ll get through this, too, Rick. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right? That’s what my mother always used to say; though I never believed her,” Clarisse said, patting him on the back.
He pulled away to face her. “That’s not helping, but nice try.”
She teared up again, and pinched the bridge of her nose under her glasses to try to stem the flow. Rick moved to the chair next to Dalton.
“So, call you if any alarms go off, right?” Rick asked, waving his hands at the various monitors that clicked and beeped.
“Yes. Call me if he wakes up, too. I won’t be long.”
Chapter 31 Riding High
Lucy tossed the last of the blood-soaked towels onto the burn pit. She parsed them out, a few at a time to keep from smothering the flames. Sam had warned her not to put too much on at once so that the fire didn’t produce too much smoke and draw attention to the preppers’ camp. She gazed through the flames and wiped her brow with the back of her hand; she was in a trance, with people coming and going in muted colors in her peripheral vision.
It was good to work and to keep busy helping others. Lucy wanted nothing more than hard work to help the others and as little personal interaction as possible to keep herself from remembering things.
Then, through the blur, she noticed something odd as a horse moved backward. She blinked and tried to make sense of the scene.
McCann, who had just been in the infirmary on a gurney, was attempting to mount his horse—with one arm in a sling. She stood back from the fire to get a better look at his feeble attempts. He pulled the line back into position with his right hand and clasped the mount while holding the lead line. Then he put his left boot into the stirrup and seemed to sway, losing his balance. The horse looked confused and took a step sideways, screwing up McCann’s plan altogether.
“Dammit,” McCann said with subtle impatience.
Lucy looked from side to side in hopes someone would come along and stop him from his own foolishness, but at that moment no one was anywhere in sight. She picked up her basket and walked reluctantly toward him as he tried again to mount the horse with the use of only his right arm, again failing miserably.
Coming up behind McCann, she asked, “Should you be doing that?”
He turned around to see who was talking to him, and then answered, “I’ve got something to do.”
“You just woke from surgery. Does Clarisse even know you’re out here?”
McCann gave up for a second and turned to Lucy with a huff. “Hey, can you please do me a big favor and hold the line?” He held out the rope for her to take.
She looked down at the rope and shook her head. “No. I’ll get in trouble. You’re not supposed to be riding. I don’t think you’re even supposed to be walking.”
“It’s okay, really. You won’t get in any trouble. Here, take it,” he said, thrusting the rope out to her again.
Lucy still didn’t take it. “Look. Can I go and get whatever it is you need?”
He looked at her, frustrated. “No. You can’t. Please just hold the line so he’ll stay in position. I won’t tell anyone you helped me, I promise.”
Lucy looked around her again, and when she turned toward him, she jumped back automatically after seeing he held the line too close to her. She gasped and dropped the basket she had held, now enclosing herself in her arms, fighting her own inner demons.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” McCann repeated twice, holding up his right hand. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She pulled back the long strands of red hair that had fallen into Lucy’s face.
“It’s . . . It’s okay. I’m fine,” Lucy said, trying to convince herself that she was, in fact, all right.
“No, I’m sorry. That was foolish of me. Honestly, no one is going to harm you here. You don’t need to be scared. I’m just in a hurry.”
Lucy put on a slight smile, knowing that McCann was only trying to make her feel better. “Okay, just hurry. I don’t want to be on Clarisse’s bad side.”
“You and me both,” he mumbled. He handed her the line, keeping his own hand far away from hers.
“Do I hold it taut if he bucks?”
McCann smirked. “He won’t buck. He’s just not used to me without a left arm to use.”
“See, even he knows you’re not supposed to be doing this,” Lucy said. She took another look around to make sure the coast was clear while McCann got into position to take another stab at it, failing miserably once more. He staggered before he caught his balance this time.
“Hey, aren’t you on Vicodin?” she asked.
“Is that what you guys gave me? Dammit, I’ve got to find her. Hang on, one more try.” He kicked over a nearby feed bucket with his boot and scooted it into position.
Lucy laughed at McCann’s determination. He got close to the horse and put his left foot on top of the bucket in preparation to launch himself up and onto the saddle. With his left arm in a sling, she figured that—despite the Vicodin—this had to hurt like hell.
Before she could warn him, McCann launched himself again and landed with his torso across the saddle, but without quite getting his right knee high enough to gain traction. Instead he hung there.
At that moment, Sam came out of the stable, and Lucy shrunk, knowing she was now in big trouble. Sam stopped his stride and looked at the two of them, assessing the situation; Lucy holding the rope and McCann across the mare, ass up, with a surprised look on his face.
“He’s . . . trying to get on the . . . the horse,” Lucy stuttered. “I tried to stop him, but he won’t listen to me, and he’s high on Vicodin.”
“Sam. Sam, I gotta find her,” McCann said as a means of explaining his side of the story.
Lucy watched as Sam took in the scene and seemed to make a judgment on the predicament before him. He walked within five feet of the young man and the horse, then pushed McCann’s right knee up so that he could get into the saddle. Then he took the reins from Lucy and handed them up to McCann once he was upright in the saddle.
“She’s in the woods by the stream. I never saw you,” Sam said and walked off without another word.
Lucy only stared.
“This”—McCann slurred, motioning his right hand in a circle—“did not happen.”
Lucy watched him ride away toward the river. “I hope he doesn’t fall and break his neck,” she said under her breath, again looking to see if there were any witnesses. Then she hurried back to the infirmary.
Chapter 32 A Predicament
Clarisse passed Lucy in the hallway but avoided making eye contact.
“Make sure you get dinner, Lucy. I’ll see you back at our tent later tonight. I’ll probably stay with Dalton for a while. Will you be okay alone?”
“Yes, Clarisse, of course; I’ll sit with Addy and Sam at dinner like last time. Please let me know if there’s anything more I can do.”
“You’ve been a great help already. I thank God you were here. We were already running pretty thin before this happened.”
“Again, don’t hesitate let me know if there is anything else I can do,” Lucy reiterated.
“Well, just say hi to Addy for me. I feel like I haven’t seen her in days.”
“I will. Bye!”
Clarisse started to walk away, but remembered something and turned. “Oh, Lucy. Have you seen McCann? I need to talk to
him about stepping in for Steven, since he has some medical knowledge, but when I checked his room he’d already left.”
“Uh . . . nope,” Lucy answered sheepishly.
Clarisse thought Lucy looked nervous, but dismissed it as part of Lucy getting over her trauma and meeting so many new people. “No big deal. If you see him, please send him to me. Thank you.”
“I will,” Lucy said, scurrying off with her head down.
Clarisse walked on and took a deep breath as she exited the infirmary tent into the evening air. The light was only just beginning to subside, and she loved that the sunlight of day stretched longer and longer this time of year. She could smell something coming from the mess tent and thought it might be a casserole. The scent smelled comforting, and these days they needed all the comfort they could get.
As Clarisse passed through the main yard, she saw Mark and Marcy up on the guard stand alongside another guard from the prepper camp. It was great to have Graham’s camp here among them; at least she wouldn’t have to worry about them being out there on their own. That, and she could keep a better eye on Tala, who did not have much longer to go before the birth.
They just needed to remain quiet and undetected as much as possible in order to get by. Clarisse hoped they would all be able to stay in their camp for now, but she knew that Graham, Reuben, and Rick were planning a contingency to bug out at a moment’s notice. The idea of leaving wasn’t so comforting, especially when the leader of the group was in the infirmary and they had children and a pregnant woman to consider, but this was life now, and they had to do whatever it took to survive.
Despite the almost cheerful evening walk to Rick’s family’s tent, each step brought on a foreboding sense of dread. On one hand, Clarisse could tell the boys a bear had attacked their father and he sustained many injuries and he could die still; that was the truth. On the other, she could tell the boys their father was in surgery due to bear attack injuries and he was recovering nicely. She still hadn’t made a decision, and she was only five steps from their tent door.
