Chapter 8: 8

After changing into a clean tank top, I approach Lora. She's organizing a crate of bandages, untangling them and rolling them back up into neat parcels before tucking in rows in the box. She glances up when I arrive, face harrowed with exhaustion. She dips her head toward the pop-up tent several feet away.

"Your friend's in there."

"Again?"

"No, he just never left. He's been in there all night." She folds up a length of gauze, hands working methodically, working out of an attempt to distract herself rather than necessity. "I brought him something to eat earlier. If he's stepped out of that tent once since we brought his brother in, I haven't seen it."

"Thanks for that. His brother, is he...?"

She finally looks me in the eye, dropping a tightly wound bandage on top of her growing pile. "It doesn't look good, Teddy. He's running a fever and he won't wake up."

It feels like the aftereffect of a punch to the stomach—a dull, hollow ache. "He's still out?"

"He lost a lot of blood. I'm... amazed he survived the night. I did what I could, but..." her gaze drops and she pushes her fingertips against her closed eyes. She isn't used to this anymore—she's a good medic, but it's been years since something like this happened. I put a hand on her shoulder.

"You did what you could. I'll tell Noah."

She nods, managing a watery smile. "Thanks."

I duck into the tent, preparing myself for whatever I'm about to see.

Noah has his brother pulled halfway onto his lap, arms wrapped around his shoulders. He doesn't look up when I slip inside, letting the flap rustle shut behind me. James' skin has taken on a sickly yellow tint, cheeks and eyes sunken. When I get nearer, I start to hear his breaths—each one shallow and rattling, chest shivering with effort. He's limp in Noah's grasp, completely unresponsive. Lora's changed him into a clean white shirt, but blood has already seeped through the new bandages, blossoming crimson.

I crouch next to Noah and reach for his shoulder.

"Hey, bud."

He doesn't look at me, cheeks flushed and slashed across by long-dried tear stains. I know I shouldn't pressure him, but seeing him like this makes my heart quiver in my ribcage with concern.

"You doing okay?"

His nod is barely noticeable. I shift, pulling my legs underneath me and sitting on the blanketed floor next to him. I want to tell him that James will be okay, but the words stick in my throat, refusing to push past the lump that's grown there. I can't lie to him.

"Is he going to die?" Noah asks at last, so softly I'm not sure I hear him right at first. I open my mouth, words dying off on my lips as I struggle to answer.

"...It doesn't look good."

His chin trembles. He moves his hand, knuckles shaking and pale, and places it on James' forehead, gently using his thumb to brush away his tangled hair. I grab his hand, pulling it away from his brother's clammy skin, and take it between both of my own, squeezing until I can feel his pulse throbbing in his wrist.

"But Lora's doing everything she can. Okay? You're going to be alright."

Because I can't promise him that James is going to be.

Noah is quiet for an unbearably long time, letting James' wheezing breaths fill the tent. He makes no move to remove his hand from mine, so I hold it between us, stroking my thumb over his knuckles. I don't know when or how I got so attached to this teenager, but at this point, even though it hurts to see him like this, I know I can't leave.

"They did this to him," he says at last, voice soft.

"What?"

"I said—" he raises his voice. "They did this to him. And they're just going to get away with it." His shoulders tremble. In the bright sunlight that diffuses through the canvas tent wall, his expression hardens for a moment, brows drawing together before it crumples again, a tear sliding down his cheek. He pulls his hand away from mine roughly, swiping it across his face.

It feels like I've been stabbed in the chest. "I—I know," I whisper, voice nearly giving out. "I'm sorry."

Now is not the time to tell him that I can't let it go, either. That part of me itches for a fight, that in my dreams now I fight flesh-and-blood humans instead of mutated. I can't. It isn't the time, he's just in pain and looking for an outlet—

"I was thinking of going there," I say.

Fuck.

He finally looks at me, tangles of dark hair hanging over his glassy eyes. "Going where?"

"The... the bridge. Where they live. It would be a pretty long way to walk, I just thought... I don't know. I have to do something. I'm gonna talk to Colton and Winona about it."

He hesitates, then nods. His expression has closed off, walls coming down behind his eyes. "I like that idea."

"And, hey, if you—if you wanna come with—" I grab his hand again and squeeze it. "You know. I'll wait. Until... until James is better. And I'll use that time to teach you to shoot that gun of yours properly. I know you have to be here with him right now."

He manages a weak smile. "Thanks, Teddy."

I smile back, wishing I could make it look genuine. But I know there's no going back now, on this plan that's been swirling around in fragments in my head since the attack. And now I've verbalized it. Made it real.

And if there's one thing I know, it's that Ama is going to be pissed.

—

At least one person around here seems to be doing slightly better. Colton rests, injured leg propped up, an old, yellowed book from before the war resting on his lap. He looks up when I arrive, boots sounding on the asphalt. I have Winona and Ama in tow, shooting each other a confused glance when they think I'm not looking.

He lets out a deep sigh and slides a bookmark between the pages of his paperback. "What is it, Teddy?"

"I want you to let me take out a group."

"Now? We barely have the supplies and people to take care of ourselves. We can't be sending out patrols. Now is not the time to be worried about expanding."

"No—this isn't that, this time. I want—" I swallow, glancing at Ama, who draws her dark brows together quizzically. "I want to attack the people on the bridge."

I hear Winona start protesting the moment the words fall from my lips.

"Now, Teddy—"

"No, just listen!" I interrupt. "We have to hit them first, before they can attack us again. We need to show them we can't be pushed around."

"We already did. They retreated." Winona's voice is firm and unyielding.

"Yeah, but they'll just regroup and try again when they're prepared again. The fence repairs are in progress, we could have the people to pull it off in under a week."

Ama speaks this time, reaching for my arm. "Teddy, revenge won't help."

"It's—it's not revenge, it's strategy," I argue. "We have to cripple them. Fight back."

"We did fight back. When they attacked."

I pull my arm away from her grip, shooting her a disgusted glare. Her eyes widen, and regret immediately corrodes the inside of my mouth. I force myself to turn to Colton, practically pleading at this point.

"Please, Colton. I thought you of all people would understand."

He looks down at his novel, then brushes the palm of his hand against the aging cover before he looks at me. The skin around his eyes is creased with age, small scars cutting nicks through his weathered features.

"I do understand, Teddy. I want to hurt them as much as you do. But the fact of the matter is that it's stupid—you'd be going in blind to an unfamiliar place. And even if we could send out three quarters of our people who can fight, you'd still be outnumbered, and you wouldn't even have familiar turf on your side. These people trust Winona, Ama, and I, so we're not going to recklessly throw their lives away just to push back at them."

The sting of betrayal is red-hot. First Winona and Ama, and now the person who I thought would see eye to eye with me. The red haze has clouded my vision again.

"Fine," I spit, hands clenched at my sides. "Why don't we just sit here and rot until the mutated finally overrun us? Why fucking bother to take back what's ours, or even defend it?"

I feel Ama's touch, feather-light, on my arm. In a seething rage, I slap her hand away, then whirl to jab a finger at Colton. "All because you three are too fucking cowardly to do anything with some risk to it. It's like you've forgotten who we are—what we're capable of."

"Teddy," Ama starts.

"Don't fucking bother, Ama. I know. You can do no wrong, and these poor assholes who attacked us are people too, so why don't we all hold hands and have a group therapy session and maybe—"

"Teddy!"

Her voice is so sharp and cold it stops me in my tracks. I drop my hands to my sides, startled out of my crimson-tinged haze. Evidently, Winona and Colton are just as surprised—they stare at Ama, eyes wide. She draws back her shoulders and lifts her chin, looking me square in the eye. When she speaks again, her tone is icy, with no give or room for persuasion to it.

And that's when I know that I can't sweet talk my way back into her good graces this time.

"Why don't you go calm down?"

Fuck.

I back up a step, turning to Winona or Colton for support. They both duck their heads, taking on the embarrassment of friends caught in a lovers' quarrel.

It feels like I've been slapped.

"I..."

What is there to say?

I look back at Ama, searching for any softness in her eyes, in the harsh set of her jaw. She stares me down, arms folded across her chest.

I swallow past the lump in my throat, cheeks and ears burning with rage and shame, and do the only thing left for me to do—I hurry out, away from the situation.