The blisters I taped yesterday are holding, but the skin around them is angry. Her ankle is swollen, a blue-purple bruise blooming under the skin.
She winces when I touch it.
“You walked five miles on this,” I say.
“You told me to.”
“Ligaments are loose. We need to wrap it tighter.”
I pull the med kit from my pack. Ace bandage.
I rest her foot on my knee. Her skin is ice cold. I wrap the ankle, pulling the bandage taut.
“Tight?”
“It’s fine.”
“It needs to be tight for support.”
“It’s fine, Diego.”
I freeze. My hands stop moving on her ankle.
“Halo,” I say.
“Right. Halo.” She looks down at me. “Diego is the guy who made me tea. Halo is the guy who treats me like a heat source.”
I finish the wrap. Secure the clip.
“Diego is dead,” I say. “Halo keeps you alive. Pick one.”
I stand up.
She pulls her sock back on. Jams her foot into the shoe. She stands, testing her weight. She winces, but she doesn’t stumble.
“I pick survival,” she says.
“Good choice.”
I shoulder my pack. “We head west. Toward the valley floor. We need a vehicle.”
“I thought roads were dangerous.”
“Walking is dangerous. We can’t outrun a drone on foot. We need speed.”
“So we’re stealing another car.”
“Yes.”
“Great. My felony count is really racking up.”
“Better than your body count.”
I start walking. I don’t wait to see if she follows. She will.
We hike for two hours.
The terrain fights us. Brambles. Ravines. Loose shale that slides under our boots.
