I withdrew my hand from the chair. Slowly the tears fell down my face. Remembering mom when she had been happy, when dad had been still alive. Everything had been so simple and peaceful. Dad always knew what to do. He wouldn’t take anyone’s crap. Not without shoveling it back at them. I’ve never been successful at making them proud. I can’t even say I’ve been fully successful with keeping them alive.
I pushed myself away from the chair, filled with rage. I turned my flashlight off before I shrugged out of my backpack. I dropped onto the bed and within fifteen seconds I was out.
Chapter twelve… Secretly I’m a klutz
Vague shapes and colors, mostly red materialized around me. There was nothing comforting about them. The shapes were humanoid but were devoid of details. Angry voices buzzed like wasps in my head. Their buzzing filled me, making me want to scream. I tried to pick up my arms to swing them, but something was wrong. I couldn’t pick them up. I couldn’t move them at all. Nonononononono.
I woke up gasping for breath. The side of my face was plastered to the mattress. I tried to move my arms but they weren’t moving. I pulled and pulled, panic running rampant through me. Finally, I opened my eyes and the connection was made. I was lying on my own arms. “I’m the biggest idiot,” I murmured. I shifted myself so that I could pull my both my arms out from under me. They were both tingling and numb. Stiffly I pushed myself into a sitting position where I could shake my arms to get the blood flowing again. Within moments they started tingling painfully. I massaged them trying to get the pin pricks to go away. With every movement of my right arm my shoulder throbbed painfully. I ignored it, the pins and needles were what I’m concerned with. I couldn’t decide if they hurt more staying still or moving them.
While the pins and needles assaulted my arms, I studied the cuts. My arms were stained red with blood. Knowing how gross it was, I still did it. I summoned up any excess spit and spat it out on my arms. I rubbed them down and used my shirt to wipe off as much blood as possible. Slowly, gingerly, I ran my fingers over my skin. The cuts barely stung. They were almost closed already. They almost could pass as scratches you’d get from a cat, not a knife.
When I was basically a kid I’d broken my left arm. It took nearly two and a half weeks for it to fully heal. Mom was so flummoxed but dad, he’d been so happy for some reason. Based off that this was no surprise. I wish I was even faster but I’m not complaining. I turned my arms slowly in the dim light. They might scar but they might not. I don’t really care. Hanging on the back of the door was a full-length grimy mirror. It reflected me sitting on the bed, the boarded window behind me, where the light managed to filter through the cracks. I stood and approached the mirror. I had dirt smeared under my left eye, and along my forehead. There was blood splatter across my face, in various sizes. Under all the dirt somewhere I have freckles. I brushed at my skin needlessly. Nothing but a good bath will bring them out.
I pulled my shirt over my head, gasping as the fabric ran over my shoulder. I stared at it in the grimy mirror. It was nothing more than an ugly red hole. The skin around it was stretching, and it didn’t look as red as it should have. It was closing already. Maybe a few more days and it’ll be nothing more than a scar. I reached my other arm and felt along the back of my shoulder. There was another hole that matched the one in front. “I guess that’s what you call a clean shot,” I mumbled.
I bent over to pull my backpack off of the floor and set it in the chair. I fished a water bottle out of one of pockets. I sucked on it, pulling in as much water as I wanted. Sparing only enough to dampen my shirt, I turned it inside out and wiped myself off. A shower would be great. It would be the only way for me to feel truly clean again but this, this is going to have to do. There really isn’t any point in changing my pants. They’re black and they’ll just get dirty again. I pulled a clean shirt out and balled my dirty one up and threw it into a side pocket. I pulled my shirt over my head, pulling the sleeves securely down to my wrists. I don’t need them seeing my arms. Awkward questions that I can’t answer.
I ran my hand across the back of the chair one more time before leaving the room. In one step I was outside of the room that Dean was in. I twisted the handle and pushed the door open. My gut twisted at the sight of Dean lying motionless on the bed. I lowered myself onto the stool next to him. In here the only light was coming from a small window that was set high in the wall. It was small enough and high enough that no one bothered to board it up, plenty of light was able to flow through it. I watched his chest move up and down. Proving that he is still alive. Someone had hung an I.V. from the wall that stretched down to his arm. I didn’t have anything to help him and whatever Richard has he probably used and it wasn’t enough.
I brushed a finger across his cheek. It was cold with only a hint of warmth. I laid my hand against his bare forearm. It was cold too, only a hint of warmth that suggested that he was still alive. It could be the light but his face was white. No color in his face at all. I grasped his hand with my left hand and held it. I needed to find a way to help him. He can’t die. He can’t!
The door behind me opened. I dropped his hand and pulled my hand back into my stomach while I turned around to look. It was Richard. He stood in the doorway awkwardly. “He needs a blood transfusion. We closed his wounds but without the transfusion it’ll take longer for him to recover. And I don’t need to tell you that that’s a death sentence out here.”
“You aren’t compatible?” I asked.
He shook his head slowly. “No, neither is Rick.”
I sighed, of course this just had to happen. “What does he need then?”
Richard stepped into the room fully and stood next to me. “B neg. or O neg. but even if you were a match it’d still risky, because I swear you had blood all over you and it wasn’t just someone else’s. Before they drugged us, I could have sworn you’d gotten shot yesterday. You haven’t said anything though, so were you… shot?” He was looking at me with actual concern, again.
Subconsciously I rubbed my arms where the healing cuts were. “Its fine, don’t worry about it.” I’m O neg. but I lost a lot of my own blood yesterday. I shouldn’t be going around just giving it away. Maybe by the next day then yeah but right now no. I don’t know how quickly my body regenerates its blood supply so maybe not even by then. Instead I nodded to the I.V. “Did you set that up?”
“I did.”
I sat up straighter as Rick came to stand on the other side of me. He looked at Richard. “You said something about someone being shot?” He dropped a hand onto my shoulder.
Air left my lungs in a hiss and I stood up knocking the stool over to get his hand off of it. Rick stepped back and was looking at me in alarm. “Why didn’t you say anything yesterday?”
“You had more pressing concerns than a shoulder.” I sucked in my cheek to chew on to keep from hurling obscenities at him.
He looked me up and down. “What about your arms? Your arms were coated in blood, what happened to them? I wrapped them up. Let me see.”
“I’m fine. Just fine.” I spit the words out. Just a careless idiot. Dropping his hands on me like that.
From behind me, “Maybe you should let me or Rick look at your shoulder. Gunshot wounds get infected so easily.”
“I’m fine you guys. Just fine.” I wrapped an arm around my shoulder and left the room. I crossed back into the room I’d slept in before and dropped down onto the mattress. As soon as my back touched the wall Rick opened the door. He snapped it shut behind him. He squatted down in front of me. I rolled my eyes. “I’m fine. Seriously.”
He chuckled. “Sure, you are.”
Before I could react, one of his hands darted forward and grasped my wrist. He yanked it towards him and pulled my sleeve up past my wrist. Clumsily, I pulled my gun with my right hand and pointed it at his face. He stopped with his fingers just millimeters from my skin. “Don’t. Touch. Me.” I growled. I pulled my wrist out of his hand and casually switched the gun from my right
to my left hand. My shoulder wouldn’t let me keep my arm in front of me for long.
Dad warned me to never show off or brag about it. He warned me to never let people see it, even family. It was too dangerous for people to know about. Rick had seen but would he know what he was looking at?
His face tightened and a flush crept up his neck. “Are you threatening me? Because you of all people do not threaten me.” His voice was a low growl that made the hairs on my neck stand up.
“As long as you don’t touch me, I won’t threaten you.” I snarled.
“Are you going to shoot me? If you point a gun at someone you better be ready to kill.” He spread his arms wide. “If you kill me you’ll bring down every infected within five miles. And you’ll lose the only friendly for at least twenty. So, lower the gun or shoot me.”
Mixed emotions flowed. I wanted to shoot him. There was a part of me that really wanted to just shoot him. To watch the bullet go flying through his skull and watch his body fall to the ground. The rationale part of my brain was telling me to stop, to put my gun away. It was pleading, screaming with me to stop. Grimly I lowered my gun.
“Finally showing some sense.” He muttered.
I ignored his comment. Rick sat down on the ground with his back planted on the chair, his knees slightly bent in front of him. “How did your father, my brother die?”
I dropped his gaze. I knew this was coming. I’m still not ready. I clenched my hands into fists, even my right one which made my shoulder ache. “He was killed.”
Rick snorted. “That’s not nearly enough to go off. How was he killed? Who or what killed him? I’m his brother. I have every right to know what happened to him.” He leaned closer with his hands on his knees. “I deserve to know why my brother is dead.” He growled.
I picked at my jeans. They were covered in dirt and blood. Most of it wasn’t even mine. But did I really care? Not really but having to talk about my dad, I cared about that a lot. I didn’t want to see his face when he knew. When he finds out that it was my fault. I didn’t want to see it, see the blame and anger there like I see it on everyone else’s face. He wasn’t going to give this up. I sighed. “This guy. Years ago. The guy was pissed off at him, I don’t know. It was so odd. He wanted me alive but he didn’t care how dad died, as long as he died as painfully as possible. Basically, he told me to run, to leave him there and I did. Three days later when I went back to find him, I found his body. I’ve never forgiven myself for leaving him. I should have stayed by his side. Even then I was good with a pistol and I could have saved him.” I grabbed my knees with both hands and squeezed. I blinked back the tears, I was not going to cry, I was not.
Rick sat forward. “What did this guy look like?” His voice caught in his throat.
“I don’t really remember.” I mumbled. Inside my anger had deflated like a balloon. Everything deflated. He’s going to blame me. I know it. He’s going to ask me why didn’t I do something, or just twist it so it’s my fault. Just like everyone else.
He didn’t say anything. I didn’t dare raise my head to look at him. I didn’t want to see the accusations. Rick surprised me by putting a hand on my shoulder. I lifted my head and saw that he was looking at me very intently. “You followed his orders. He knew what was going to happen. He knew what they would have done to you. Monstrous things. He saved your life by giving his own. He wouldn’t want you to dwell on what could have happened.” He patted my back gingerly. I sat there stunned at his words. That was not the reaction I had expected. There was no blame or anger, at least not that I could see. But how could I just move on? Could I even do that?
“I have something that you could appreciate.” Rick muttered. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a yellowed envelope, gently he opened it and pulled out a photo. He stared at it a moment before handing it to me, face down. I gently pulled it out of his hand and flipped it over. I gasped and couldn’t help but stare. There was my mom, dad and even Rick. They were standing in front of a house. My mom’s belly was swollen, her shirt strained across it. There were no kids, so it must be me she’s pregnant with.
Rick cleared his throat. “Your momma was getting ready to pop with you. You dad and I had just finished remodeling that whole house, getting it ready for you. Man, I miss him. But I am glad that I got to meet you again. You look like both of them, but you definitely have your father’s attitude.”
He held out his hand for the picture and reluctantly I handed it back over. He put it back in the envelope, he then put it back in the glove box. I stared greedily at it. I didn’t have any pictures of dad and right here, in front of me is one. I wish it was mine.
“Now come on. Get up. I have a better place where I can treat Dean better.”
“Better than here?”
“Yeah more supplies.” He hopped to his feet and left the room.
Was I imagining it or was there a skip to his walk that wasn’t there earlier?
Chapter thirteen… Time for offense I suppose
We were back in the car. Dean had woken up when Richard and Rick had moved him. I wasn’t tall enough to keep him as stable as possible. He’d still woken up and had groaned. The groans were terrible. They came from deep in his chest and they came bubbling out of his mouth. Other than the groans he didn’t say anything. I glanced over my shoulder, he was set up in the backseat about as comfortable as he was going to get. In the daylight his skin was white. No color in his face, unless the black-blue circles around his eyes counted as color. His skin was cool, not cold but not warm either.
I twisted back to look out the windshield. I was in the front with Rick again. My pistol was warm in my hand. I didn’t dare put it away, at least not until we had left this area. I didn’t trust it. The buildings seemed to loom over us, their broken windows were like dark souls staring down. Souls that were ready to suck us up at a moment’s notice. Beside me Rick was driving almost completely at ease. He didn’t look tense at all, at least until you looked at his hands. His knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel.
I ran a hand through the fur of one of the dogs. It was the one with dark brown and black fur. Absentmindedly I scratched his ears and stroked his head. He had a calming effect on me, just being able to run my fingers through his soft fur and not being expected to hold up a conversation with him. Dogs are so accepting. I could definitely use more of them in my life.
“What are their names? And where did you find them?”
He grunted. “What?”
“What are their names? And where did you find them?” I repeated.
He looked down at the dog in-between him and I. “Rum and Coke, the one who is an attention hog is Rum back there is Coke.”
Rick glanced at Rum again who was now laying in my lap but who had rolled over for me to scratch his stomach. “I uh, I found them. They were pups. Eyes weren’t even open. Mother an’ litter mates nowhere to be found. Took ‘em as mine. Infected don’t give a damn about animals, they only like people and I’m not a fan of people either.”
“Ahh.” There wasn’t much more to say to that. Although I never really gave much thought to whether animals were on the food chain or not.
Rum was sitting next to me while Coke was sitting on his other side, next to Rick. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and bury my face into his fur, but I needed both hands free just in case. Between us three and Rick, the remaining raiders in the city and the infected we were vastly outnumbered. Rick drove slowly, winding in and out of dead cars. He flexed his fingers on his right hand before placing it back onto the steering wheel.
“Where’s your supplies at?” I asked.
“Well,” he drummed his fingers. “I don’t exactly have them, but I know where they are.”
I shifted in my seat to stare directly at Rick. “What do you mean you don’t have them?” I couldn’t keep the anger out of my voice.
“Exactly what I said. To be completely honest, they were never mine in the first place. Not that they are really t
heirs either.” In answer to my face he went on. “Normally I wouldn’t bother but these guys that have them are part of the same group that terrorized you three. But these supplies are old military grade. Everything you could need. Help fix Dean right up.” He glanced over at me grinning.
I sighed before turning back to stare out the window. Raindrops splattered against the windshield. Dead leaves swirled in the wind, running across the road like rodents. Behind us two infected followed. Their bodies running ungainly across the cracked pavement.
“We don’t have to but they-“
“Richard should at least stay behind with Dean.” I interrupted. “What’s the layout of their camp look like?”
I turned to see Rick’s teeth gleaming.
Dead Paper Birds Page 17
