—
We raced back to the campsite. Wrong was an understatement. I fell to my knees next to Rose, where she lay on the tent floor in a puddle of sweat. Everything around her looked strange. Eerie. It was the sunlight, I realized. It filtered through the worn beige nylon to cast Rose’s skin with a golden glow. But where she’d always been bright, vibrant, lit from within, she was now pale and panting and shivering all at once. I put my hand to her forehead. Felt the fever roaring inside of her.
Tomás bumped up beside me. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Rose,” I whispered. “Can you hear me?”
Her teeth chattered and she wheezed with each breath, but nodded. I wrapped her shoulders in as many blankets as I could find. Avery crouched on the other side of her and held her close, whispered in her ear, while I switched on the lantern and ducked down low to inspect her injuries.
Pushing her shirt up, I winced at the sight of her skin. Not only were the bug bites everywhere, but they’d grown bloodied from her scratching and it seemed hives had risen up in solidarity; she was covered in blotchy wheals. I let my fingers stroke her skin before pulling back the tape and gauze to inspect the entry wound. My throat felt thick, but the wound looked fine. Clean, at least, and my mind rattled with thoughts of hantavirus or Zika or plague or even some horrific unknown disease that was transmitted primarily through bedbugs.
Next I rolled her forward so that I could see her back, easing the tape and gauze off slowly. Tomás pushed in closer, then groaned. Put a hand to his mouth. Crouched beside him, I didn’t make a sound, but I knew how he felt because I could see what he saw and smell what he smelled. Not only was the area on Rose’s lower back hot and pus filled, it reeked of horror, like meat left in the sun. The wound had grown, spreading into a wet gaping circle edged by black-crusted skin. Worst of all, things were moving in her flesh, filling my mind with images of fly-strike—blowfly swarms that gathered to lay eggs in the wounds of sick animals, allowing their maggots to feast and grow on what was unlikely to survive.
What it looked like, more than anything, was death.
46.
I DIDN’T LET myself panic. I couldn’t. Tomás was already falling apart, slipping into a shuddering mess. Rose had been fine earlier, he told us, with tears pouring down his face. Yes, she’d been tired and foggy and not wanting to eat. But she’d had water and hadn’t said anything about feeling this sick. And then he’d found her like that less than an hour later.
Terror bubbled inside me. Part of me wanted to snap at Tomás, to tell him that while he shouldn’t take responsibility for what had happened to Archie, he and Shelby sure as hell should feel bad about putting that dirty T-shirt on Rose’s wound when she’d first been shot. But it wouldn’t have been fair to say that. It also wouldn’t have helped.
Avery took charge, spurring us into action. She ordered me to boil water and sterilize tweezers and find a towel so that she could try and drain the wound.
“Damp heat can pull the infection to the surface,” she explained. “It’s worth a try.”
“What are the tweezers for?”
“Don’t ask,” she said. “What about medication? Do we have more? She’s in a lot of pain.”
“I have Tylenol 3. It should help her fever.”
“How much can she take?”
“No more than two. You can’t . . . you can’t overload on Tylenol. It’s toxic.”
“I don’t think we can worry about that right now,” Avery said.
I nodded. Told her where to get the pills.
Then we did those things. We boiled the water. We cleaned her wound. We gave her more pills. The sun rose higher in the sky and we were desperate and scared, but there was nothing to do but wait for the others to return or for help to arrive. So we waited.
And we waited.
—
Rose alternated between sleeping and moaning in pain. Tomás, Avery, and I took turns sitting with her, but our uselessness soon grew unbearable. So did the thought of failure.
“We don’t know where the hell they are,” Tomás said, referring to Shelby and Clay. “We don’t even know if they got back to the cars. What if they took a different route and got lost? Or if they’re injured somewhere?”
“What do you want to do?” I asked him.
“I want to get help. She needs a hospital.”
“So then let’s walk out,” Avery said. “We’ll go the long way to Junction City. The snow’s mostly gone. It won’t take more than three hours if we hurry.”
“But we can’t all go. We can’t leave her.”
“I’ll stay,” I said.
Tomás looked at me. “You sure?”
“Yeah. My shoulder’s too screwed up. You’ll be faster without me.”
He nodded, growing restless now that there was a plan. I got the map out and showed them exactly where they’d be going. It was a straight line once they got past Papoose Lake. They just needed to head due south, connecting up with the Canyon Creek Trail and keeping the ridge of mountains to their right. I helped them pack clean water and salt pills and gave them the last of the food.
Tomás ducked into the tent to kiss Rose good-bye and returned with his eyes brimming with tears. Avery hugged me hard.
“We’ll be back soon,” she said. “It’ll be okay.”
“Thank you,” I told her.
Then they were gone. Opting to let the fire burn out rather than tend it, I crawled into the tent to stay with Rose. I lay beside her. I stroked her hair. Held a wet towel to her burning cheeks.
I wouldn’t leave her, I promised myself.
Not until she was safe.
Not until we were saved.
47.
ROSE WOKE EVENTUALLY.
“Ben,” she said weakly.
“Shhh.” I felt her forehead. It was as hot as ever. “You’re okay.”
“What’s wrong with me?”
“The gunshot. It’s infected. Maybe gangrenous. It’s making you sick.”
She began panting again. “That’s bad, isn’t it? Like, really bad.”
“It’ll be okay. Help is coming.”
“What help?”
“The storm’s over. It’s sunny. Everyone’s walking out. Someone’ll be here soon. I promise. A doctor. Real help.”
“Everyone?”
“But me.”
“Why didn’t you go with them?” she asked.
“I couldn’t leave you, Rose. I won’t. I’ll be right here.”
She nodded. Her eyes fluttered closed. I watched her sleep.
—
She began twitching, her shoulders and legs. I panicked, thinking she was having a seizure, and tried holding her down with my good arm. Rose thrashed against me, then twitched again, quicker this time, and she made a gurgling sound, deep in her throat.
“Rose!” I hissed. “Rose, wake up!”
“Gah,” she said, before turning her head, throwing one arm across her face.
“Rose!”