Willow
“You’re going to be fine,” I murmured, clutching tightly to Britta’s head, stroking her sweat-slicked hair. “You’re going to be fine—everything’s going to be fine.” I shuddered, my stomach roiling with each intake of air. Along with varying degrees of body odor, the tinny, thick smell of blood filled the cab. Joe and I were covered in it; the seats were swimming in it. Despite Joe’s attempt at a tourniquet, Britta was still bleeding profusely.
I continued to whisper while Logan drove faster, almost carelessly, barreling over broken roads with single-minded focus—to get Britta home as fast as humanly possible. The pickup crested a small rise in the road before slamming down again as Logan took a hard left, sending us flying through the forest that bordered Silver Lake.
All thoughts of the second horde had been temporarily forgotten; we could only deal with one catastrophe at a time and right now everyone’s sole focus was on Britta.
“Open the gates!” Logan shouted, laying on the horn as the truck skidded to a stop outside the main gate. “Open up—Britta’s hurt—open the fuck up!”
Shouts arose from the guard tower above and the camp beyond. As the gate began to slide open, Logan stomped on the gas, forcing Joe and I to redouble our hold on Britta and brace ourselves against the seats. We lurched to another sudden stop; doors flew open, sunlight streaming inside the cab, highlighting the macabre scene.
“We need Doc—Britta’s hurt!”
There was more shouting; familiar faces swimming in and out of sight; hands pulling at me from every direction. I scrambled out of the way, allowing more capable people to take my place. Standing there in the dirt, I watched as Joe, helped by several others, carried Britta off in the direction of Doc’s cabin. Her head hung limply over Joe’s arm, her arms and legs swinging lifelessly. I slapped my hand over my mouth, stifling a sob as, suddenly, strong arms were wrapping around me, pulling me close. I slumped against Logan, gripping handfuls of his shirt, burying my face in his neck.
“It’s okay,” he muttered, soothing his hands up and down my back. “She’s gonna be okay.”
“You didn’t see her,” I whispered hoarsely. “There was so much blood—she was so pale.” My knees shook along with my words; the adrenaline that had been coursing through me only seconds ago had begun to wane.
“What the hell happened?”
Logan and I broke apart to find Leisel, accompanied by Maria and Betsey, hurrying toward us. Taking in the state of us—the blood and gore coating our clothing—their eyes widened.
“There was a second horde,” Logan hurried to explain. “Or maybe it was the original one that backtracked… or… I don’t fucking know.” He paused, dragging his bloodied hands over his bound hair. “We were just about done clearing the last of them, and then all of a sudden they were coming out of the trees—hundreds more, from every direction.”
“Britta was bitten,” I whispered hoarsely. As three sets of shocked gazes shot to me, I swallowed and tried to speak. “And… and Joe cut off her foot. She’s at Doc’s.”
Leisel’s eyes closed; she took a deep breath before opening them. “And Davey? Please tell me—”
“He’s gone,” Logan interjected, his gruff tone faltering slightly. “I don’t know how it happened, just that it happened after the second horde showed up. We were all running to the trucks and… ” he trailed off, shaking his head.
Leisel’s features flared as she fought to keep herself composed. Behind her, Maria and Betsey were staring mutely at us, their expressions stricken.
“And what about the others?” Leisel asked. “Did you see anyone from Xavi’s team? Jim? Anyone?”
Logan shook his head. “I haven’t seen anyone else since this morning.”
Maria covered her mouth with her hands, just barely suppressing a sob. With a shushing sound, Betsey turned to her, gathering the young woman into her arms.
“Okay, I need to think,” Leisel muttered, her brows drawing in tight, pressing her lips together as she looked to the sky. “First, I need to brief the rest of the camp on what’s happened—you two come with me.”
“Wait,” I hurried to say. “Can I go check on Britta?”
Leisel gave a sharp nod. “That’s fine—I only need one of you. Logan, I’m going to collect everyone and then I’m headed to the dining hall—see you in five?”
As the three women headed back the way they’d come, Logan turned to me. “Hey,” he said, taking my face in his hands. “Are you okay?”
Despite feeling the very furthest thing from okay, I nodded. I’d been through worse than this—I already knew it wouldn’t break me.
“Okay, look,” he said, glancing in the direction of the dining hall. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll come find you once I know what’s going on.”
As Logan disappeared down the path, I dashed to Doc’s. The usual smells of cleaning agents and antiseptic greeted me upon entering the cabin, though stronger than usual, along with the same sickening scent of blood and sweat that had permeated the truck.
Approaching the room I’d once occupied, I found Britta. She lay in the same bed I’d nearly died in, her lips blue, her skin pale and shining with sweat, her hands and leg tied to the bed railings. Joe stood at her bedside, dressed in ill-fitting scrubs and looking considerably cleaner than he had just minutes ago. The room itself looked pristine. Every surface was damp and glistening, the smell of disinfectant nearly unbearable.
Brushing past me into the room, her arms filled with bags of fluid, Doc cast a glance in my direction. “Perfect timing, Willow—I’m going to need another set of hands.”
“There’s ma’ girl,” Britta slurred, attempting to lift her head. Blinking sluggishly, she tried to smile, only managing a slight grimace. “Now, Willow, what tha’ fuck did y’all do with ma’ foot? Joey won’t tell me where’s run off to.”
