The Blood That Binds by Madeline Sheehan

 

Logan

Peering over my shoulder, I found Willow several yards behind me, struggling to keep any sort of pace. Shoulders slumped, head bent, she was visibly limping. Sick or not, she had definitely done something to her leg, though I wasn’t about to ask what. We hadn’t spoken since she’d been begging me to hit her.

I’d wanted to hit her—I’d wanted to hit her from the moment she’d told me what happened, and every moment since, right up until the moment she’d squared off with me and demanded I do just that. Suddenly all that rage I’d felt did a tire-squealing U-turn and rushed back my way. Every slap, every shove, I deserved them all. Because I knew, deep down, whose fault this really was.

I’d known they wouldn’t listen to me—they never fucking did. I’d known they’d go on acting like the world was their playground instead of the bloodthirsty cesspool it really was. I’d known and yet I’d left them on their own anyway.

It took me a moment to realize my eyes were burning, not from sweat but from tears, and that my chest was on fire; I couldn’t seem to take a full breath. Staggering to a stop, I stood in the center of the deep ravine, the sun blazing on the back of my neck, barely breathing, trying to force dry the tears blurring my vision.

I hadn’t cried yet, and sure as fuck wasn’t going to cry now—not with an entire town of Creepers on my tail, and definitely not in front of Willow. Only the tears didn’t seem to care what I wanted—they were coming with or without my permission.

Lucas was gone.

There was no way he’d survived that fall; and even if he had, he wouldn’t have survived the Creepers waiting below. Without any sign of him, dead or alive, I was forced to finally admit the painful truth I’d been ignoring for days now—my little brother had been devoured, or he’d become one of the devourers. Either way, Lucas was gone.

I couldn’t believe it, but I knew I had to accept it or risk losing my mind entirely. Not that I was claiming any sort of sanity to begin with; I just knew that if I kept going like this—not sleeping, not eating, just desperately searching without even a hint of a trail—that it wouldn’t be long before this world swallowed me up too.

With a frustrated growl, I started walking again, forcing myself through a bout of grief so stifling it felt as if I were wading through quicksand. With each step forward, my breaths eventually came easier, my steps quicker. Once I had myself under some semblance of control, I glanced back at Willow, blinking in surprise when I didn’t immediately spot her. Shading my eyes, finding her sprawled on the ground, my surprise turned quickly to dread.

Running, I skidded to a sliding stop beside her. Untangling her from her pack, I rolled her onto her back, pushing her braids from her face. “Willow! Willow, wake up!”

I could see now that she was still breathing, but it was ragged and dry, and heat was rolling off her skin in hot, heavy waves. Her color was way off—too dark around her eyes, wan over her cheeks and around her mouth.

“Willow?” I lightly slapped her cheeks, trying to rouse her.

Her eyelids fluttered. Her dry lips parted. “I feel sick,” she whispered.

“Yeah, I can see that. Is it your stomach—like the flu or something?”

I could count on one hand the number of times each of us had been sick over the years, every one of those times having occurred very early on. Since, we’d only suffered the occasional headache or stomach upset due to either dehydration or expired food products.

Her eyelids fluttered again. “I… don’t… know,” she rasped with visible effort. “Everything… hurts… but… my leg… bad… ”

I scooted down, tugging up the tattered and torn hem of her cargo pants, just barely touching her when she cried out, jerking her leg. Ripping open her pant leg, I sucked in a hard breath. Her entire calf was dark and swollen, covered with angry-looking blisters.

“You didn’t clean your wound, Willow,” I ground out, though I doubted she’d heard me—her eyes were closed, her features twisted with pain.

Sitting back on my heels, I scrubbed a sweaty hand down my face. There wasn’t time for this. It would have been hard enough getting out of here back when we were two abled bodies. The cliff walls were steep, nearly straight up and down surfaces that even a professional climber would struggle with. With Willow incapacitated, I didn’t have a fucking clue what to do.

“We should have never come down here,” I bit out. I’d initially told her as much, worried that we might not find a way out, but she’d begged and pleaded and—

“And now here we fucking are,” I finished angrily.

I thought about leaving her—about getting up and walking away and never looking back. I didn’t know where I’d go or what I would do, because what did any of that matter anymore? The only thing that had ever mattered to me, or to Willow, was gone now.

Lucas was gone.

And yet, even as I entertained the idea of walking away, I was already shrugging out of my pack and dumping my things on the ground. I did the same with Willow’s belongings, sorting only the bare necessities from each, repacking them quickly into mine.

“Willow, we can’t stay here. Willow, come on, wake up!” I gave her cheeks another slap. Groaning, her eyes fluttered again.

“I’m going to pick you up, okay? Ready?” Hooking my hands under her arms, I hauled her upright. “Put your weight on me… stay off your leg… yeah, just like that.”

After some painful maneuvering on Willow’s part, I had her firmly tucked into my side, my arm wrapped tightly around her waist, holding her up.

“They’re… coming,” she whispered. “You hear it… the hum…”

I paused, listening. Foremost, I heard Willow’s labored breaths; past that, I could make out the trickle of the stream, the caw of a bird, and… yeah, there it was… the not-so-distant buzzing of an approaching horde.

“Go,” she said, her breath crackling with the effort it took for her to speak. “I won’t blame you. Just leave me and go.” Struggling to keep her eyes open, sweat was streaking down her forehead and cheeks in steady streams.

“Shut up,” I gritted, shrugging her up higher.

Try as we might to make significant gains, it wasn’t long before the sounds of the dead had amplified, signaling that the horde was nearly upon us. Willow was barely walking now; her feet dragging as I pulled her along, my fingers slipping on her sweat-slickened skin.

“Come on,” I grunted, summoning all my strength. But it was no good; Willow was little more than deadweight. Behind us, the hum had become a roar; the horde was close enough to smell, the sick scent of their festering bodies permeating the sweltering air.

Laying Willow on the ground, her features gone slack, I hurried to rid myself of my pack, taking only a long length of bungee cord. Tying the rope around Willow’s middle, I secured a tight knot at her waist and hoisted her up onto my shoulder. It took a few stumbling tries to manipulate her listless body into a piggyback position; once she was situated on my back, I tied the rope around my middle, using the last bit of it to bind her hands together around my neck, ensuring that she couldn’t fall. Glancing at the discarded pack, at what remained of everything we’d painstakingly accumulated over the years, I cursed Willow for forcing us to leave it all behind.

And then I took off running.