Logan
Antibiotics. I shook my head, still unable to believe it.
Sitting on a cushioned chair, my legs bounced anxiously, my feet tapping against a spotless linoleum floor. Nearby an old box fan was noisily blowing warm air in my direction. At my side, Willow lay asleep in one of two hospital beds—actualhospital beds—with a blood pressure cuff wrapped loosely around one arm and an IV line inserted in her other. The IV pole stood between us, a bag of fluid dangling from each hook, one filled with saline, the other with antibiotics, both dripping slowly through the tubing. There was more medical equipment arranged around the small room—several tanks of oxygen, an ultrasound machine, even a small x-ray machine. It even smelled like a hospital—the sharp scent of antiseptic and cleaning products.
And electricity, I thought, still feeling rattled as I blinked up at the overhead light for the hundredth time, watching as it flickered.
And an actual fucking doctor.
She’d introduced herself as Keshia.But everyone calls me Doc, she’d said with a warm smile and a shrug. She was an older woman, tall and thin, with long salt and pepper locks that hung halfway down her back. Instead of a white lab coat, she wore cutoff denim shorts and a black tank top, showing off a full sleeve of tattoos on both arms. Fiddling with the stethoscope hanging around her neck, she told me that Willow had a bad case of cellulitis on her leg and what looked to be blood poisoning.
She explained that the bagged antibiotics had expired long ago, but with limited resources available, anything at all was better than nothing at all. Then she’d treated Willow’s leg with a topical ointment she’d made from her homegrown penicillin cultures, the same ointment she used to treat the wounds on my hands. Both my hands were bandaged now and throbbing fiercely.
Willow and I were alone now, but the door to the room remained open, allowing me full view of an adjoining room—a waiting area that also doubled as triage. On one end of the room were a handful of mismatched chairs and a cluttered desk; on the other end, a wheeled stretcher sat surrounded by emergency medical bags—the sort that EMTs used to carry with them.
Currently, Doc was seated at the desk, idly flipping through the pages of a large hardback book. In a nearby chair, Davey was staring at me, his rifle cradled in his arms. On the wall behind him hung several health educational posters. Just above the front door hung a wooden sign with the words: CAMP NURSE crudely painted in white and red.
I’d seen similar signs on my way here—REGISTRATION OFFICE, CAMPSTORE, DINING HALL, BATHHOUSE—making it clear that this place had once been a summer camp. Despite its origins, to call this place a mere camp would have been a grave understatement. Roughly the size of a football field, the cordoned space bordered a lake and was protected by a fortified wall. They had children here, families,even a goddamn doctor. I still couldn’t quite believe it.
Looking at Willow, her skin had taken on an ashy hue and she had deep, dark circles ringing her closed eyes. Staring at her, I was reminded of someone else. Somewhere else.
“Logan.”
The door creaked open; Mackenzie stood in my bedroom doorway, holding a candle in her hands, motioning for me to join her.
Beside me, Lucas was sound asleep, shivering as he slept. Tossing my blankets over him, I moved quietly into the hall, closing the door partway behind me.
“We’re leaving Asheville,” Mackenzie whispered, her breath visible in the freezing cold corridor. “Tomorrow.”
I blinked at her. “What do you mean,you’re leaving? It’s the middle of fucking winter, where the hell are you going?”
She shook her head and the candle flickered, reflecting off the tears in her eyes. “My dad heard another FEMA broadcast on the radio today, and my mom has been begging to leave for weeks, ever since… ” she trailed off, her gaze dropping to the floor. “They just told me we’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Just the three of you?” I asked.
“Mr. and Mrs. Gleason are coming—the Harts too.” She began shifting uncomfortably,
My nostrils flared. “So everyone is just picking up and leaving?”
Mackenzie shifted uncomfortably. “I think you and Luke could probably come,” she said in a small voice.
I doubted that. Mackenzie’s parents might have loved me once, but that had changed once we’d begun living under one roof. They’d gotten to see firsthand how my family operated, and they hadn’t liked what they’d seen.
“I can’t even get Luke out of bed,” I told her, growing angry. Mackenzie already knew this; every day she’d watch me attempt to coax him from beneath his covers, trying desperately to convince him to eat.
“I’m sure he’d get up if he knew you were leaving…”
“What about Willow and her mom?” I bit out. “Are we just going to leave them here?”
“My dad said Willow’s mom isn’t going to last the week,” she whispered. “…and you know my mom doesn’t like Willow.”
“Nobody likes Willow,” I snapped. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything? We still can’t leave her here alone.”
“Logan, my mom is scared of her. She’s been coming up with all these insane theories about what happened and she’s got it stuck in her head that it was Willow who…you know… ”
“Yeah,” I scoffed. “I’d forgotten what a really scary time it’s been foryour momlately.”
“Don’t do that,” she whimpered. “That’s not fair.”
