“She’s probably hungry,” Daphne says, then she looks at me. “Have you eaten yet today, sweetie?”
I wave my good hand at her. “Yes, stop.” She rolls her eyes, but then I see them scouring the ground, looking for proof—a can or wrapper, which she won’t find because I haven’t eaten. With the pain, honestly, I’m just not hungry.
Niki stops walking in circles and nods in the direction of the mall. “Looks like they found something.”
I turn to see a few people walking with boxes and plastic totes. Including Jamie, Cara, and Rocky Horror.
“I hope it’s food.” Amy appears from nowhere, probably called to us by the sound of her daughter. “She’s hungry, and breast milk and a handful of chickpeas aren’t doing it.”
Again, guilt racks me. She chose to leave with us, and now she’s struggling to take care of her baby. I know it isn’t our fault that the Keys tried to trade Jamie for food and supplies, but I still feel responsible.
We have to keep moving. Even if it hurts.
“If it is food,” I say, “I think we might want to talk about leaving.”
Niki turns to us. “Are you okay to go?”
“It’s my arm, not my leg this time, so it will suck, but yeah, I should be fine.”
Taylor and Jamar make their way over to us and Taylor asks, “Did they find food?”
“Hopefully,” Daphne says, again looking at me and telling mewith those motherly eyes of hers that she knows I lied to her. And, Christ, it works, because I do feel guilty.
“Good,” says Jamar. “’Cause I’m about to add starving to death to the list.”
Niki looks at her brother. “We forgot to add alligator attacks.”
Without skipping a beat, Jamar says, “I’m surviving the apocalypse and I’m worried about the superflu, thieves, guns, pneumonia, a broken back, Canada having to dip into the strategic maple syrup reserve, cannibals, traumatic brain injuries, ingrown toenails, getting a bad haircut, hearing the phrase ‘it could be worse’”—that one I legit guffaw at—“appendicitis, Christian fascism, waterborne parasites, burns, and alligators.”
“You lose!” Niki teases. “You forgot beestings and cashews.”
“I’m not the one allergic to those things.”
“But you still have to say it. Point for me.”
“You should add lions to your list, too,” I say as Jamie joins us. He, Cara, and Rocky Horror have set the totes down near the medical tent, where the Nomads are sorting through them. And, yes, it does look like there’s food.
“Oh yeah,” Taylor chimes in. “You gotta tell them that story, Andrew.” She turns back to Jamar like this is a magical moment she’s been waiting to talk to him about. “It’s wild. Jamison took out, like, three lions single-handedly.”
Jamie puts his lips to my ear and murmurs, “They’re going to be disappointed when a pack of lions shows up and kills us all.” Then he kisses right behind my ear, giving me chills. I lean my head on his shoulder and he holds me close. Even though it hurts my arm.
By dinner the following day, they’ve searched the whole mall. They did find food but no more medicine. They divvy it up evenly among everyone, and Daphne, Kelly, and Amy get the kids fed while Jamie and I split a can of condensed soup. Cara is over talking to Niki.
“How’s your arm?” Jamie asks. It’s probably the fifth time I’ve heard that question today from him alone.
I mumble loud enough for him to hear, “I’m surviving the apocalypse and I’m worried about bear traps, lions, and finding sleeping pills because I’m exhausted and I’ll take all of them immediately.”
After dinner, Dr. Jenn comes by during her rounds to check on my arm and distribute my evening antibiotic. She points the light strapped to her forehead at my wounds. Jamie, standing off to the side and attempting to give me privacy, obviously can’t help himself because he keeps glancing over.
“Wounds look okay,” she says. “Any discharge?”
“Only when we have canned beans.”
She snorts and shakes her head. “Pus, Andrew. Thick and yellow. Burning? Signs of infection?”
“Not as much.”
Jamie—again, can’t help himself—turns and says, “Tell her about the pain.”
