Logan smiled. “I’m covered with girl germs…don’t tell Riley.”
“Maybe you’ll be smarter now,” she quipped. “I’d like to think you will appreciate having a sister more, but I doubt it.”
I remembered he had said he had been burned on over fifty percent of his body. “He needed skin grafts from you to live. Didn’t he?”
“Yes. I matched his skin type, which doesn’t always happen with siblings.”
Glancing at my own bandaged arms, I wondered how badly I had been burned. I met Anne-Jade’s steady gaze.
“You weren’t as bad as Logan, but you needed skin grafts to survive as well,” she said.
She shifted her stance as if challenging me to ask her who donated skin cells for me, either that or she prepared for a fight.I didn’t have the energy to deal with either so I said good-bye and shuffled back to my bed.
The effort to visit Logan had exhausted me. Grateful for the flow of clean air, I inhaled large lung-filling breaths from my mask. Funny how I had taken something as vital as breathing for granted—not paying it one bit of attention until it had become a problem.
The next time I woke, the daylights brightened the infirmary and half of my curtain had been pushed back. Lamont rolled a small table toward me. Stocked with clean bandages, salve, a bowl of water, and a sponge, I grimaced in anticipation. She planned to change my dressing and clean the burns.
Hour two glowed on the clock. Another ten hours lost to injury. Another week gone. We were now on week 147,022.
Lamont tried a smile, but thought better of it. She kept her tone and mannerisms all business. Doctor to patient. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been stuffed into an oven and twice baked.”
Amusement flashed on her face. She tucked a long strand of her hair that had escaped her braid behind her ear. Wearing her light green shirt and pants, she looked ready for surgery. “You know I need to?—”
“Just get it over with…please.”
With deft fingers, she peeled the bandages from my left arm, starting at the wrist. “You might not want to see your skin. It’s not fully healed yet and will look like…”
I waited.
“Raw meat. But it will return to normal healthy skin. I even removed the scars on your arms and legs from…before.”
“You can do that?”
“It’s considered cosmetic surgery. I normally wouldn’t do it for arms or legs. Faces, yes. But since you needed so much skin already…”
“Oh. Thanks.”
Without the dressing the air stung my skin. I braced for the touch of water and it didn’t disappoint; liquid fire ran down my arm. I hissed in pain.
“Do you want a pain pill?” she asked.
“No…thank you. They make me sleepy and I’ve slept enough.” Why was I being so polite?Because this woman saved your life.
I kept that thought in mind as she changed all the bandages. My extremities fared the worst. When she finished my bedding and gown were soaked, and so were her sleeves. She pushed them up to help me switch to a clean bed and I froze.
White bandages peeked out from under the wet fabric on both of her arms. I stared at them, knowing what they meant, but not wanting to really believe it. Finally, I pulled my gaze away and met hers.
“You were going to die,” she said. “We needed to find you a match.”
CHAPTER 8
“And you matched my skin type?”I asked.
Struggling to keep her professional demeanor, Lamont nodded. Impressive considering I stood less than a meter from her. The fact we matched, meant I was her daughter. The daughter she had thought had been fed to Chomper over fifteen hundred weeks ago. Alive and…not quite well, but living and breathing.
How would I react if Cogan returned from Outer Space but he hated me for leaving him out there? Thrilled and awful at the same time.
