Flinching, Joe dropped his gaze to the floor.
“I… um…” I stammered.
“She’s drugged,” Doc said. “She doesn’t have a clue what’s going on and she’ll be sleeping soon. You remember where the scrubs are? Go get yourself cleaned up.”
“I remember,” Icalled over my shoulder, already hurrying toward the bathroom. I undressed in a hurry, leaving my bloodied clothing in a small pile under the sink. Scrubbing myself clean, I donned a set of purple scrubs before hurrying back to Britta.
“They got Davey and they got my goddang foot.” Chuckling softly, Britta’s eyes were rolling back in her head, showing white. She attempted lifting her hands, frowning when she found she couldn’t move them. “Hey… y’all… I’m stuck…” She pulled weakly at her binds.
“That’s okay, honey,” Doc replied. “There’s nowhere you need to be right now. Why don’t you start counting back from ten—can you do that for me?”
Britta’s fingers twitched. A deep frown furrowed her face. “I can’t move… my god… dang… hands…”
Covering one of Britta’s hands with both of mine, I held her still. “Hey,” I whispered. “You don’t need to move. You just need to sleep, okay? Let’s count together. Ten, nine…”
Britta’s fingers loosely squeezed mine. “Eight,” she joined in. “Seven…”
It occurred to me then that this might potentially be the last time I would ever speak to my friend. That, despite Joe’s split-second decision to take off her foot, she could still be infected. And even if she didn’t turn, there was still the possibility of her dying from blood loss or various other infections.
“Britta,” I rasped, bending my face to her ear as she continued to count. “I just want you to know… I just wanted to say…” I shook my head as tears filled my eyes and emotion clogged my throat. “… thank you for being my friend.” Britta didn’t respond—her eyes had closed, her hand limp in mine. Releasing her hand, my shaking fingers slid a clump of sweat-soaked hair from her face.
“That’s not going to keep her out for long,” Doc said briskly, rushing around to the other side of the bed where a rolling tray of silver instruments had been laid out. “And I’ll need to cauterize her leg before she wakes up—the pain alone could give her a heart attack.”
“Joe, get your butt over here. Put this between her teeth, alright?” Doc shook a strip of leather at him; distinct teeth-marks already punctured the bit of material, telling me it had been similarly used before.
“Willow, you put some gloves on.” Doc nodded sharply toward a box on the counter. “While Joe holds her hands, I’ll need you to hold her leg still.”
Firing up a small metal blow torch, Doc used it to heat the flat end of a large silver scalpel. It dawned on me then, the full horror of what was going to happen. My eyes went wide, feeling the burning rise of vomit in my throat.
“Everyone ready?” Doc asked. Tools aside, Doc began removing the impromptu dressing from Britta’s leg. Blood continued gushing from the wound, mangled flesh and exposed bone where Britta’s foot should be. “There’s extra skin to work with,” Doc muttered. “Figured as much. Willow, hold her leg—hold it as tightly as you can.”
Picking up the blowtorch, Doc resumed heating the scalpel. “Here we go,” she said firmly, sparing me and Joe a brief look, just before pressing the heated scalpel to the end of Britta’s leg.
The smell of burning flesh, not unlike the smell of burning hair, filled my nostrils. Britta’s body jerked—her eyes fluttered behind closed lids and her fingers twitched, yet she didn’t wake. Holding tightly to her leg, I locked eyes with Joe and for a moment we only stared at one another, as if neither of us could bear to watch as Doc pressed the scalpel to Britta’s stump for a second time. This time Britta’s mouth opened around a moan and the leg I was clinging to jerked violently.
“Hold her still,” Doc snapped. “We’re nearly there!”
I tightened my grip, my fingertips digging into Britta’s bloody flesh. With the third press of the heated scalpel, Britta’s eyes flew open with a bloodcurdling scream, partially muffled behind the bit of leather stuffed between her teeth. Her back arched upward even as we all fought to hold her to the bed. She went still just as suddenly as she’d woken, her eyes rolling back and her body going limp.
Silence engulfed the room. Joe sat down hard in his chair, his throat working furiously. Doc turned away, placing her instruments onto the cart and wiping the sweat from her brow with the crook of her arm. Releasing Britta’s leg from my shaky grip, I retook her hand in mine.
“She needs antibiotics and more fluids,” Doc muttered as she began moving around the room, gathering up various items. “I need to clean and dress her leg. She needs blood, too, which means I need to find those damn blood type tests from that last hospital raid. Then I’ll need to find out if anyone in camp is compatible…” Trailing off, Doc pressed the back of her shaking hand to her forehead and went still. Taking several breaths, she turned to me. “I’ll be back shortly—don’t let anyone in this room, do you hear me? If either of you leave, make sure to scrub back in before returning. We need to keep as sterile an environment as possible.”
As Doc pulled the door closed behind her, I turned back to Britta, tightening my hold on her hand, sending prayers up to a god I didn’t believe in—begging him to save my friend.
A knock at the door had Joe and I jerking upright—me from my slouched position beside Britta’s bed and Joe from his chair, holding his head in his hands.
“Who the fuck is it?” Joe snapped.
“Logan,” an equally irritated baritone clapped back. “I’m looking for Willow.”
“Coming,” I called, scrambling for the door. “Don’t come in—the room is sterile.”
Opening the door just enough to enable me to slide through, I quickly pulled it closed behind me. Hurriedly pulling off my gloves, I tossed them into a nearby trash bin and threw my arms around Logan.
“Britta?” he asked, his face buried in my hair. He’d cleaned up some—his clothes were clean, his hands and face washed, his hair wet and wound into a tight ball atop his head.
“Doc cauterized her leg,” I whispered against his chest. “But she still needs blood and antibiotics and…” My words fell away as my eyes began to burn. I felt suddenly exhausted and weak and a whole host of other disconcerting and overwrought feelings that I couldn’t even find the strength to name. Fisting my hands in the back of his shirt, I began to cry in earnest.
