The Blood That Binds by Madeline Sheehan
Logan
Cursing, I swung at the block of empty shelves, cursing again as my fist collided with solid wood. Shaking out my injured hand, I bit back a groan. My hands were a mess, my nails cracked, my fingers blistered, the skin on my palms rubbed raw after two long days of pulling Willow behind me in the kayak. Punching that shelf, splitting open the skin over my knuckles, had only succeeded in adding insult to injury.
I’d managed to drag Willow to Elkins Point, where I’d combed through every building, only to come up empty-handed every time. There was nothing here; the entire town had been picked clean of medicine, not even a box of bandages remained. There’d been very little to find along the way as well, with the exception of a small group of Creepers that had nearly gotten the drop on me. Recalling the one that had almost bitten Willow, I continued cursing. I was exhausted, in pain, and without a clue as to what I should do next.
Returning to the front of what had once been the town’s apothecary, I dropped down beside Willow, still secured in the kayak, and pressed my palm to her cheek. She was still in the thick of it, sleeping fitfully; the aspirin I’d been giving her only providing brief bouts of relief from her fever and chills. She still called out for Lucas, seeming to be completely unaware of what had happened only days ago. She wouldn’t eat; she drank very little, and her leg…
Jesus, her leg was a goddamn mess and getting worse.
As gently as I could, I unwrapped the sweat-soaked shirt from her calf, cringing at the sight of her swollen leg, still bewildered by how quickly it had gone from bad to worse. It only proved what I’d guessed all along—how precarious our situation had always been, and how unbelievably lucky we’d all been… up until recently.
Leaving Willow’s leg unbound, I sat back on my heels and dropped my face to my hands, wondering if I should attempt searching out the camp I assumed was nearby. But in what direction would I search first? I hadn’t come across a single map—not one single shred of fucking paper that might help me figure out where to look.
This was the end of the line—there was nothing more I could do. Willow would either get better on her own, or… an image of Lucas falling into that goddamn ravine came to mind. God only knew what had happened to him after that.
“No,” I growled, jumping up. She was all I had left in this miserable fucking world, and I wasn’t going to just sit here and watch her die.
After redressing Willow’s leg and slipping back into my gear, I gathered up the length of rope and dragged Willow inside the kayak out onto the street. The road curved left as we departed the main drag, the town quickly disappearing from view. Approaching a fork in the road, I made a split-second decision to venture right, a direction that took us through small clusters of homes among short stretches of wooded areas. Each neighborhood we traveled through I noted the distinct lack of street signs. It was subtle at first, only a few signs missing from their posts, and then it was on every corner, both post and sign gone.
They were smart, whoever they were. Leaving the town virtually untouched while strategically removing any information that might lead wayward travelers to their location. It was what I would do if I were them—if I had the good fortune of finding an entire town’s worth of resources and enough people to form a working community. At least, that’s what I was hoping they were—decent people with decent intentions and the materials needed to realize those intentions.
I continued down the road, the clusters of homes growing farther apart until there were no more neighborhoods to circle through. Until I’d run out of road and was left standing in front of a crumbling concrete road barrier and rusted sign that read: DEAD END. Beyond that, trees as far as I could see.
Panicking, I dropped the rope and turned in a circle. “I missed something,” I muttered. “I must have missed something…” Glancing at the setting sun, I knew there wouldn’t be enough time to head back to town before darkness fell. Looking at Willow, still sleeping in the kayak, blissfully unaware of the danger I had just put us in, I knew she didn’t have that kind of time either.
“Fuck,” I said, shaking my head. “Fuck.”
Running my hands through my messy hair, I stared at the DEAD END sign, my frustration turning quickly to anger.
“Fuck you,” I spat, pulling the gun from my tool belt. Aiming for the sign, I unloaded the entire clip. Once it was empty, I whipped the weapon as hard as I could, slinging it at that goddamn sign. It clanked hard against the metal post before falling out of sight.
Laughing through a sob, I sat down hard on the ground beside Willow. “I’m sorry,” I said hoarsely. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too. I really liked that sign.”
I jumped to my feet—a bit of black leather and a long blonde braid were visible between the trees, as was the double-barreled shotgun aimed at my face. Reflexively, my hand went to my crowbar.
“Now, don’t be doin’ anything stupid, son.” A new voice emerged from behind me, deep and definitely male. Never mind the blonde’s shotgun; I was outmanned. Letting the crowbar clatter to the ground, I put my hands in the air.
Meanwhile, the blonde had exited the trees, pausing on the side of the road. Twirling her shotgun like a baton, she said, “Stupider, you mean—’cause he’s already been doin’ stupid stuff, Davey-cakes. What do you call shootin’ up a sign and wastin’ valuable ammo? It ain’t exactly smart.”
The man behind me—Davey—snorted. “You got me there, Britta.”
Britta twirled her gun straight up into the air, catching it with one hand and then shoving it into the holster on her thigh. Her heavily lined eyes narrowed in my direction. “You got any more guns on ya, sugar?”
I swallowed. “No, I’m just—”
My words cut off as I was grabbed from behind and a thick arm encircled my neck, tight enough to reduce my air flow but not cut it off. I struggled at first, gripping the arm at my neck, only to freeze the moment I felt the hard press of a gun to my ribs. Releasing the arm, I lowered my hands, holding my palms out.
“Smart,” Davey murmured, tightening his hold.
Britta rushed forward and began patting me down. “Good gravy, he’s got more blades on him than Edward Scissorhands,” she said, pulling out the strap of knives I kept tucked into each of my boots. “And all these tools—you into some kinky construction shit, Eddie?” Laughing, Britta divested me of my tool belt, adding it to the growing pile of weapons she’d already taken off me.
“Listen,” I said, gasping between words. “My-my—” I gestured in Willow’s direction. “She’s sick… she needs… doctor… antibiotics… please.”
They both ignored me—Britta remained busy sorting through my tool belt while Davey roughly pulled my pack from my back and tossed it to Britta. Britta dug briefly through the bag before setting it aside and glancing curiously up at me. “Don’t exactly have a whole lotta gear on ya, do ya—y’all got a camp nearby?”
“No,” I wheezed. “Lost… gear…”
Rising, Britta folded her arms over her chest and cocked her head to one side. Clicking her tongue to the roof of her mouth, she murmured, “Davey, you keep Eddie here in check—I’m gonna search the girl.”
“Don’t… fucking touch… her,” I said, my fight renewed. Davey instantly tightened his hold, cutting off my air and forcibly turning me away from Willow. I kicked out, my legs hitting nothing.
“Calm the fuck down,” Davey growled. “Actin’ like a fool ain’t gonna help your girl.”
My blood thundered through my ears as I fought for both air and calm. The moment I stopped struggling, Davey’s grip on my neck loosened, leaving me sagging in his hold, gasping for breath.
“Oh, she’s real bad, alright—got an infected leg!” Britta called out.
“Bitten?” Davey asked.
“Not that I can see. Looks like a cut of some sort. Blood poisonin’, maybe. Eddie here wasn’t lyin’—she’s gotta see Doc, and fast.”
My racing heart stuttered. They had a doctor?
“You think takin’ them to camp is wise?” Davey asked. “We don’t know jack shit about ‘em.”
“I know this girl’s gonna die if we don’t. Fact is, she’ll likely still die even if we do.”
A moment later, I heard the sound of the kayak being dragged across the concrete.
My elbow found purchase in Davey’s gut, my boot in his shin. Grunting in pain, he faltered, losing his grip on me. I grabbed his arm, twisted it as I ducked beneath it, and roughly yanked it behind his back.
“Drop the gun,” I demanded, pressing on his arm. Hissing in pain, Davey’s firearm clattered to the concrete. “I go where she goes!” I called out to Britta.
Britta paused at the edge of the woods, tossing me a cursory glance over her shoulder. “Then you better stop your flirtin’ with Davey and hurry the fuck up.” Disappearing behind the trees, her voice echoed throughout the dead end. “Ain’t nobody gettin’ in after sundown.”
“She’s tellin’ the truth,” Davey growled. “You wanna be with your girl, we need to move. Once we’re outta sunlight, we’re outta luck. House rules. No exceptions.”
I considered his words, every passing second taking Willow farther from me. Finally, with no other options, I released Davey with a hard shove. Spinning around, he looked from me to his gun, but made no move toward either. Face to face with him, I recognized him as the paramilitary guy who’d been driving the Jeep in Elkins Point. Up close, he was a great deal older than I’d initially thought—with salt and pepper hair, a matching beard, and deep lines etched into his suntanned skin.
My gaze shot to the trees Britta had disappeared behind. “Are you going to shoot me?” I asked.
“Remains to be seen,” he said. “You gonna do as you’re told?”
“Remains to be seen,” I retorted.
Snorting, he shook his head at me and gestured toward the woods. “Either way, we best get a move on.”
Taking a deep breath, I nodded in agreement. Whatever happened next, whoever these people were, I was out of options and Willow was out of time.
The walk through the woods was more of a trek through a dimly lit maze; the forest here was thick, far denser and darker than it had been by the farmhouse. There were no pathways, no notable landmarks, nothing but a handful of game trails that led nowhere.
We’d been walking only ten minutes or so when I realized that Davey had no intention of allowing me to catch up to Britta and Willow. His pace was deliberately slow as he led me in wide zigzagging patterns, either to throw off my sense of direction, or for some more nefarious reason.
Eventually the forest began to thin, opening into a dirt and gravel parking lot, lined with old streetlights and concrete parking bumpers. There was a definite road here, too—a well-worn dirt roadway newly imprinted with numerous tire tracks. Staring down the empty road, I wondered if it led to the highway.
“You comin’ or what?” Davey stood at the far end of the lot, impatiently tapping his fingers on the stock of his gun.
The path descended a steep hill, branching out in several directions at the bottom. Davey directed me to the right, back into the rapidly darkening forest. Eventually the path began to widen, the forest opening into another lot. Beyond the lot, a ten-foot-high wall stood, made from a compilation of various slabs of wood, in a hundred different colors. The mishmash of colors and textures gave it an overall shoddy appearance, like that of an old quilt faded with age. A small guardhouse loomed behind the wall, towering a good six feet above the wall; two people stood inside, each of them holding a long-range rifle.
Both rifles were pointed at me.
Davey whistled and the wall jerked, revealing a rolling gateway. As the gate continued to roll slowly open, a man and woman were unveiled.
The woman I recognized as the short-haired motorcyclist I’d seen during my initial trip to Elkins Point, but the man I hadn’t seen before. For all intents and purposes, he seemed like an average man, of average build, with average features; however, his dark eyes told a very different story—a distinctly not-average story.
“Hello,” the woman said brusquely, clasping her hands together. “I’m sure you’re wondering about your companion, so let me first assure you that she’s with our doctor who’s been instructed to do whatever she can to help her.”
I opened my mouth, only to close it when the woman held up her finger. “You, however, are an entirely different matter,” she continued, her tone distinctly hardening. “This is our place. The people here are our people, and we take their safety very, very seriously.”
Much like the man’s, the woman’s looks were similarly deceiving. She looked to be in her mid to late thirties and was on the smaller side, with dainty, pert features. At first glance, she appeared diminutive, almost shy even. Her skin was fair, dotted with freckles, her hair short and moderately styled, and she dressed plainly in dark, solid colors. You didn’t really see her type anymore, the sort of person you wouldn’t ever pick out of a crowd, that you’d never mark as exceptional in any way. Those people hadn’t survived very long.
It was ultimately her eyes that gave her away and hinted at who she really was. Golden brown in color, they were, at first glance, sad eyes… maybe even a little angry, too. But the longer I looked at her, the longer she looked at me, the harder her gaze grew until I was looking into the steely-eyed stare of a woman who’d definitely seen some shit. A woman who knew full well what a threat looked like… and I fit her description.
“First things first,” she said. “I want to know how many more of you there are and where your camp is.”
I shook my head. “There’s just us—I mean, there were three of us… but now it’s just us.”
One of her dark brows peaked. “And why is that?”
Scrubbing my hand over my face, I sighed. “I’d left them at the farmhouse to scout ahead and they were fucking around in the woods and…” I trailed off while I fought for composure. “… and now it’s just the two of us,” I finished through my teeth.
“So you’re telling me that it’s just been the three of you surviving out there?” she asked, disbelief tinging her words. “This entire time, just the three of you?”
“Yes.”
Glancing at the man beside her, a silent exchange occurred between them. “Suppose we choose to believe you,” the woman said slowly. “Would you care to share how you found us?”
“I didn’t.” I jerked my chin in Davey’s direction. “You found me.”
“You can’t expect me to believe it was just a happy coincidence that you ended up on our dead end.”
I struggled for calm. The rational side of me understood their need for safety protocols, but the irrational side of me was desperate to get inside that wall, desperate to get to Willow. The sun had already set, night was upon us and I couldn’t let that gate close with me stuck on the wrong side of it.
“I saw you in town,” I practically snarled, no longer able to mask my growing anger. “And I figured you had a camp nearby but I didn’t have any plans on coming to look for you until Willow got sick. So, yeah, I was looking for you, but I didn’t know where you were, only that you were here somewhere.”
“So it was you who made the mess at Carole’s.”
My chest tightened, frustration squeezing all the air from my lungs. “Does it fucking matter?”
“Watch your fuckin’ mouth, son,” Davey growled, stepping toward me.
My glare swung in his direction. “Fuck you—I’m not your son.”
“It does matter,” the woman said evenly. “I need to know where your head is. It’s all relevant.”
For a moment, I only stared at her. “You want to know where my head is?” I finally said, laughing bitterly. “Lady, my little brother is dead and Willow is… I don’t even know what Willow is because you’ve got her in there while I’m stuck out here with you asking me where my fucking head is! It’s been just the three of us for God only knows how long and… and if she dies too… Jesus Christ, this whole fucking thing is all my fault… ” My words died off in anguish.
Davey was practically on top of me now, his weapon clutched in his hands, ready and willing to use it if given the go-ahead. I barely spared him a glance. He was merely the muscle; it was the other two, the not quite so average man and woman that posed a much greater threat.
“And I get it,” I continued through my teeth. “I really do. You don’t know if you can trust me, but you’ve got to believe me—I don’t give a shit about this place, and what you have or don’t have—all I care about is Willow.”
The woman’s head tilted; her eyes bored into mine. “And what if we can’t help Willow—what happens then?”
Every fiber of my being roared in protest at the mere suggestion. “Then I’ll leave.” I managed to spit out. My next two words didn’t come easily; I felt as if my tongue were wading through quicksand. “… without her.”
No one spoke. Not the woman or the man beside her. Not Davey, who was still staring daggers in my peripheral. Not the two guards in the tower with their rifles still trained on me, or the handful of people who’d gathered at the gates.
Then the woman’s clasped hands broke apart and her rigid posture relaxed. She was a quiet, unassuming woman once again. Inclining her head, she said, “Follow me.”