At these words, Ash began to cough uncontrollably, and blood splattered down his front and all over my arms. “Ash?” I said, my voice rising. “Ash!”
“Get him in the house,” Bert said again more firmly. Ash began to shake violently in my arms and I pulled back, afraid to touch him. “He’s going into shock; we need to hurry.” He got out of the car and came to the passenger side, scooping Ash into his arms as if he weighed nothing more than a rag doll. He hurried in the house.
I took a couple deep breaths, feeling the heat of blood on my fingertips. Then I let myself out of the truck, slamming the door behind me, and followed them into the house.
Bert had him set up in a bedroom. There was a ridiculous amount of medical supplies there, way more than seemed necessary for a normal, everyday house. “My wife, she was a doctor,” he said, bent over Ash. There was foam at the corner on his mouth and his eyes had rolled back, showing only the whites. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, holding myself together, trying to stop the shaking that I seemed to have no control ever.
“Is he going to be okay?” I whispered.
He glanced over his shoulder at me, as if realizing I was still there. “You need to leave the room.”
I lurched forward, reaching for Ash. “No…no, I can’t leave him.”
“Miss Zoey,” he said, “he will not get any better if I can’t concentrate on him, completely. I can’t do that if you are still in the room.”
“But…I just…” I looked over his shoulder at Ash.
“Please.”
Ash’s chest was bare and blood was pooled, sticky and dark, all over his chest. I could tell he was still breathing but for how much longer?
“Zoey.”
I nodded absently, backing out of the room, my eyes on Ash until the door was shut in my face. I pressed my palms against the wood of the door, still wishing I could be in there. I turned away from the door, ready to explore my new surroundings, if only to get my mind off of what was going on inside that room.
There were three more bedrooms, all of them on the small side, except the master bedroom, which was slightly bigger. They all seemed to be unoccupied by anyone. They lacked any personal touches, no photographs, no posters on the wall, nothing. The rooms almost looked like hotel rooms. One bedroom had a bookshelf but even the comfort of books felt far away from me.
I made my way through the hallway, back toward the front of the house, running my hand along the cool surface of the wall. There was a small sitting room, complete with an outdated TV and a computer that looked like it might take the entire electrical capacity of the house to turn on. I went to the kitchen, simply furnished with a refrigerator, a small table with four chairs, and a couple other appliances. I crossed the tile floor and opened the door. There were several jugs in there: water, milk, something that looked like it might be apple juice and orange juice. I reached for the water jug and searched the cabinets for a glass, pouring the water to the very top. I took a shaky sip and sat down at the table, ready to wait.
The only light coming into the small kitchen was the dim glow of the moon. There was a switch to the overhead light, but I couldn’t bring myself to stand up to turn I ton. I drank my water slowly, ignoring the grumbling of my stomach as I waited. I stared at the tile on the floor, trying to make pictures out of the random gray swirls.
My mind drifted as I thought about Ash, and all the times that I had spent with him in the past nine months or so: dancing with him at the concert, ordering Chinese food in and watching Buffy, trekking through the woods, kissing him on my mother’s kitchen counter.
I jumped at the sudden sound of soft footsteps. I looked up just in time to see Bert enter the room. He flipped the switch, throwing the both of us into brightness. I flinched, lifting my hand to block the light. I stood up. “Is he okay? Is he…”
He sighed, crossing the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of water. “He’s going to be okay.”
I felt the surge of relief flow through me like an electrical current. I was paralyzed by it, unable to think of anything else. He was okay. Ash was okay. I needed to see him. I put one foot in front of the other, like learning to walk for the first time.
“He needs rest,” came Bert’s deep, resonating voice. I had never met anyone with a voice like that, so deep that it almost didn’t seem real. “Let him be.”
“I want to see him,” I said firmly, stopped in my tracks.
“He needs rest,” he repeated. “He’s asleep, and he needs to be alone. Give him that. Please, I ask only this of you.”
I turned around, away from the hallway, to face him. “I have no idea who are you or where you came from. You’re asking me only this, but why would I believe you? You just saved us, but why?”
He sighed again, sliding into a chair. He looked tired, worn out. The wrinkles that I had noticed earlier stood out even more, and he winced, stretching out his left leg gingerly. “Sit down.”