“You can’t hide from me, little girl.”
“I’m not gonna do it.” I crawl to the side. “I’m not gonna say I hurt Caro.”
“You will.”
I look away, not wanting to watch as he removes his belt. I see River lying on the floor. His eyes are closed, his lip split. There’s a lump on his jaw. He’s curled around Caro protectively, and he’s still, so still. Is he dead, too?
Rage bubbles up inside me. Daddy killed my sister and maybe my brother. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him! Now, I’ll kill him.
With a screech, I launch at him. I hit him with every bit of strength I possess, but it’s not enough. He laughs and swings his fist at me.
The scene morphs, but this time, I’m not stuck in the past. The pain is gone. The fear is gone. I’m standing in an open field of light, surrounded by puffy white clouds. A sense of peace wraps around me, welcoming me. I breathe deeply, and oh, wow, the air is scented with spring rain and summer flowers, and it’s a heady combination.
I’m... I frown. I’m connected to some sort of power grid, a million different thoughts seeming to stream through my mind at once. Thoughts I can’t fathom. There is no beginning and no end. There was, there is and there always will be. Light triumphs over dark. The battle is already won, and yet, the final battle hasn’t even been waged. Present is one with the future, and the past is wiped away. I have a purpose, a destiny, but I’ve allowed petty emotion to block my way.
What is this place?
Kat appears in front of me, and she’s shaking her head, adamant. She’s no longer wearing the shirt and shorts I’ve seen her in every time she’s visited Frosty. Now a long white robe drapes her short frame.
“No,” she says, still shaking her head. “Your entrance is denied. It’s not yet your time.”
Yet. There’s that word again.
“Fight, Camilla. Fight.” She shoves me backward, and we actually connect. Her hands against my shoulders are solid. I fall backward, losing the connection to the grid, the endless stream of thoughts ceasing, the peace leaving me, the pain returning, until my mind goes blank once again.
The panic I experienced when I found Milla...it’s nothing compared to the panic I feel now. She’s so pale, so still. Blood is splattered over her face. It soaks her neck and chest, and the sight of it brings back my worst memories.
I watched Kat die. I won’t watch Milla do the same.
I’ve spent nearly a month with her. Every day. No exceptions. She’s there when I wake up and she’s there when I go to sleep. I’ve watched her interact with others and I’ve watched her fight zombies. She’s strong. Amazingly strong. But like everyone else, she’s fallible. Seeing her on the floor, cut open and bloody... Something inside me broke. The anger I’ve harbored toward her, maybe. Or what remains of my hate. All I felt was fear and desperation.
I haven’t shaken either one.
When I get Milla into bed, the four people with me—Cole, Ali, Bronx and River—light up and push dynamis into different parts of her body. Usually the pain of this rivals the pain of the wound, as bone, muscle and flesh weave back together, but Milla gives no reaction and my mouth goes dry.
She’s still breathing. That’s all the matters. Right?
“Our turn,” Reeve says, and we back off. She and Dan Weber—a fortysomething surgeon who used to work with her dad—examine the wound and check Milla’s vitals.
We opt not to take her to a hospital for several reasons. One, our fire is of more benefit to her than any medicine, whether it seems like it right now or not. Two, we can’t risk the cops being called, and Milla being questioned about what happened. Three, what will the doctors do when she heals faster than humanly possible? Test her? Submit her name for further study? Four, we can’t guard her the way I want her guarded anywhere but here.
“To borrow the word I’ve heard both of you use, dynamis has already repaired her larynx,” Reeve says, her relief palpable.
The surgeon, who is stitching Milla’s throat, nods his agreement. “It’s nothing short of miraculous.” When he ties off the last stitch, he looks to River. “Do you have the same blood type as your sister?”
“Yes.”
“Good, that’s good. Siblings often do.” Weber bustles around the room, gathering the supplies he needs. His hands are steady, his expression impassive.
Cole and Bronx carry a cushy chair into the room, and River sits. Weber sticks him with what looks to be an IV needle, but the tubes are then connected to a needle in Milla’s arm, and blood is poured straight into her veins.
“Take as much as she needs.” There are tears in River’s eyes.
I think there are tears in mine.
“I’ll take what’s safe for you,” Weber responds.
“No,” he snaps. “You’ll do what I tell you and take whatever’s necessary.”