Juneau sits a few yards away, studying the atlas next to a fire over which a line of dead animals are strung on a spit. And this time, I don’t even care about the carnage. I’m so hungry I’d eat whatever it is raw. I test my legs, drawing them up to my chest and laugh from sheer joy when they actually work.
Juneau glances over at me, and then does a double take. “You’re awake . . . and you’re moving!” she exclaims, and leaving the fire, jogs over to me. “Do you think you can stand?”
“Only one way to find out,” I say, and taking her hand, let her haul me up to my feet.
“After only two and a half days of death-sleep and you’re standing!” she says, and then as I slump back to the ground remarks, “make that were standing.”
“My legs are on fire!” I gasp, rubbing my burning thighs.
“That’s normal,” she says smiling as she expertly kneads my stinging calf muscles. “You’ve got poor circulation from not moving for so long. You’ll be fine in a few minutes. Hungry?”
“I could eat a horse,” I say, and then glance cautiously at the mystery meat over the fire. “Um, I don’t mean that literally.”
Juneau looks back at the spit and laughs. “They’re doves. Enough for both of us. Well, if you’re hungry, then your death-sleep is definitely over. Welcome back to the world of the living.”
I look down and touch the bullet hole in my side. It’s already healed. All that’s left is an angry red scar. Juneau had abandoned her masseuse duties to tend the fire. “I sure am glad to be back. It’s thanks to you,” I say.
She picks up the spit, turns it, and positions it back over the flames. “You wouldn’t have actually gotten shot in the first place if you hadn’t met me,” she remarks, avoiding my gaze.
“That’s true,” I say, and she looks quickly up at me. “You’re a very dangerous person to be around, Juneau Newhaven. But do you see me running away?” I grin and wait for her to return my smile before changing the subject. I point to a brand-new crossbow lying on the ground next to the fire. “Did you just make that?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says proudly, and hands it to me so that I can admire it. “I started it while we were back in the Mojave. Finished it and strung it once we got here. These doves are its first kills.”
I nod, trying to block out the word “kill” and the image it brings to mind of Juneau as a kind of teenage warrior.
“Do you like it?” she asks.
“It’s awesome,” I say, turning it over to inspect her handiwork: The wood is finely carved and a shard of mirror carefully inset in one side of the bow.
“Good. Because it’s yours. Mine’s in the tent.”
My jaw drops. “You made me a crossbow?” I ask.
She smiles. “Yes. Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to hunt for food. But since everyone we’ve come up against so far has been armed, I figure we might as well even the odds. Target practice starts tomorrow.”
I still don’t know what to say. I hate weapons. I really do. But this seems different. Juneau made it herself. For me. I run my fingers across the surface of the wood. It’s perfectly smooth. “It’s beautiful,” I say.
For the first time since I’ve known her, Juneau actually blushes. But before I can point out this historic moment, she grabs something from inside her pack and tosses it to me.
“Got this for you, too. Picked it up at the gas station this morning.” She looks at my chest appreciatively and grins. “Not that I mind you walking around half naked. But I don’t want you to be cold.”
I hold it up: a black Arizona Cardinals T-shirt. “I didn’t know you were a football fan!” I say, grinning, and throw it over my head.
“I’ve never seen a football game,” she admits. “But it was the design with the smallest letters. There were no plain ones. I can’t imagine paying money to wear an advertisement for someone.”
“It’s not that weird, once you’ve gotten used to it,” I say, wondering how long it’ll take Juneau to get used to the modern world . . . if she’ll ever take things like this for granted like I do. And, I have to admit, I sincerely hope she won’t.
I push myself up once again, and this time succeed in standing. I pigeon-march in a circle past the truck, behind the tent, and back to the fire. Then I jump up and down a bit, and it feels so great to be able to move that I run a few laps around the clearing before flopping down next to Juneau.
“I’m back from the grave,” I proclaim. Stretching my arms straight out in front of me, I groan, “It’s alive!”
“And that would be a reference to . . . ,” Juneau asks, amused.
“It’s what Dr. Frankenstein yells when his monster walks,” I say, dropping my arms in disappointment. “Haven’t you ever seen it?”