“I got bit, babe. I’m sorry. I got bit.”
It was all happening so fast. He got bit…by a Rabid?Less than an hour ago, I was kissing him goodbye and telling him not to eat all the strawberries, and now he had a gun pointed to his head. Was he going to…
“Cipher, put down the gun,” I said. I could only handle one thing at a time.
“I just wanted to say goodbye.”
He really meant to do it. He was going to shoot himself in the head, right in front of us all, and leave me behind forever.
“Cipher, put the gun down. We can fix this,” I said.
“No, you can’t fix it, Kitten. Not this time.”
Macon was rounding the circle from behind, slow and steady, on his way toward Cipher. He gave Cipher a troubled look, then turned to me as if prepared to act on my word. But what should we do? I had to keep Cipher talking, try to talk some sense into him.
“Just slow down for a second. We’ll find some other way,” I begged.
“I’m not going to risk hurting you or the others,” Cipher said.
My God, he was a stubborn asshole, always such a goddamn hero.
“Is this what you want my last memory of you to be?” I said, voice cracking. “Of you blowing your brains out in front of me?You want me to have to pick up your brains off the ground and scrub your blood from the pavement? Come on, Cipher, there’s gotta be a better way.”
That at least made him hesitate, long enough for Macon to grab him from behind and lift him off his feet. The Glock wobbled in Cipher’s grip, and Macon knocked it from his hand, then twisted his good arm behind his back. The gun clattered to the ground, and I rushed over to scoop it up.
“Fuck, don’t do this,” Cipher said. He looked utterly defeated, slumped in Macon’s arms, no longer fighting.
“Take the rest of his weapons,” I said to whoever was listening, then turned to Gizmo and Wylie. “Find whatever restraints you can. We’ve got to strap him down.”
“Kitten, you’re making a mistake,” Cipher said with tears in his eyes.
“I don’t care. I’m not giving up on you yet, you stubborn, fucking asshole.”
Cipher had gonesilent as we removed his weapons and anything else he could use to hurt himself or others. Gizmo and Wylie retrieved a bunch of leather belts, and we found a way to restrain him to our twin bed, using the wooden legs of the frame to secure him. He could shift around a bit, but he couldn’t undo the straps or get out of the bed. Maybe it was harsh, but I didn’t trust him not to hurt himself.
“You’re just drawing this out,” Cipher said, his face turned away from me so I could examine his neck. I’d donned latex gloves and a face mask on auto-pilot, but I was having a hardtime focusing. I needed to keep it together. We needed to come up with a plan.
I ignored him for the moment, not wanting to hear his quitter talk anymore. “Take a deep breath now, this is going to hurt,” I warned, then doused his wound with rubbing alcohol.
“Ahhhh, fuck,” he hissed. Some of the blood was washed away by the alcohol, and I dabbed at the rest with a warm cloth. The bite was bad, still oozing blood in some places. The marks were distinct, the outline of human teeth as clear as day. There was no mistaking, it was the bite of a Rabid. The wound itself looked as if it were already infected with pockets of pus and red inflammation. That was unnaturally fast for infection to set in, another bad sign.
“Well?” he said in my silence.
“It’s not good,” I told him. I may have strapped him down and forced treatment upon him, but I wasn’t going to lie to him too.
“I don’t want to turn into that, Kitten. I don’t want to hurt any of you,” he said with panic in his voice.
“I won’t let that happen.” I tried to stay calm despite the growing terror and dread coursing through my body. “Wylie and Gizmo are going to get a hold of Captain Crenshaw. Channel 4, remember? She told me they’re working on a cure at the lab.”
“You’re living in a fantasy land, Kitten,” he said sadly.
I gritted my teeth, still pissed at him for that stunt he pulled outside. “It’s better than giving up at the first sign of trouble. I can’t believe you thought blowing your brains out was a good idea.”
“I should have done it back in the street as soon as I’d gotten bitten,” he said with remorse.
“No, you shouldn’t have. That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.” I was yelling at him now. Fear and panic were making itdifficult to concentrate, and his defeatist attitude wasn’t helping. “Maybe you’re immune. You were infected before.”
“And I had my leg cut off before it could spread,” he said.
