Willow
Two days passed without any word from Logan and the others.
Two horrible days during which my anxiety worsened to the point where sleep had become impossible and eating had become a chore. I attempted going to work only to be repeatedly sent home by Cassie; unfit to work, unable to function, I merely wandered with a stomach full of unease, the dark circles under my eyes soon returning with a vengeance, and my clothes fitting looser.
On the third day, after yet another agonizingly long night, fraught with unease and unwelcome dreams, I found myself walking aimlessly through camp, shivers rippling through me despite the mild day. The sun was hidden behind heavy clouds, as it had been for the last couple of days, as if it too were having trouble finding the strength to do what needed to be done.
Eventually, I reached the outskirts of the bathhouse, mindlessly joining the slow trickle of people headed inside, mumbling the requisite hellos while grabbing what I needed from the various bins. Headed for the showers, I stood mutely beneath the cold flow, uncaring when my skin goose pebbled and my teeth began to chatter.
Logan.
My hands fisted against the tile, my chin touching my chest, a silent scream building within me. With every fiber of my being, with every thought in my head, with every beat of my heart, I willed him to return to me.
As a sob slipped free and my head jerked up, I clasped my hand over my mouth and slammed the water off. Toweling off, I dressed quickly, and hastily braided my hair down one side.
Exiting the bathhouse, I headed to the dining hall, hoping that eating something might calm the ever-present roiling in my quickly shrinking stomach. Keeping my head down, I hurried through the cavernous hall, feeling exponentially worse by the distinct lack of people inside. I wasn’t the only one feeling the loss of those who’d yet to return—Silver Lake had come to a sort of standstill, a dark pall falling over camp that had nothing to do with the weather. People moved about like shadows, going through their daily rituals and routines, but lacking the color they once imbued.
Maria and Betsey stood huddled together behind the serving line, shoulders hunched, mouths drawn into tight lines as they scooped eggs from a pan. “Willow.” Maria forced a smile even as her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Haven’t seen you much lately—how are you?”
“Um, okay, I guess,” I stammered, shrugging weakly.
Handing me a plate of eggs, Maria clasped her hand around mine and squeezed. “He’ll be back,” she whispered hoarsely. “They’ll all be back.”
“Yes, they will,” Betsey said firmly. “Any day now.”
I stared at the plate of eggs in my hand, wondering what Logan might be eating out there. Wondering if he was eating at all. Wondering if he was even…
“I, um, I need to go.” The words had barely squeezed from my too-tight throat before I was halfway across the dining hall, shoving my plate of eggs at a passing person. Outside, I broke into a run, running as fast as I could in the direction of Doc’s, bursting inside the cabin, breathing hard. Doc glanced up from her book with a start, a medical tome that was nearly as thick as it was wide and raised a finger to her lips, pointing to where EJ was sprawled across several waiting room chairs, his mouth hanging open, a steady stream of drool dripping from his bottom lip all the way to the floor. And then to Joe—seated on the floor outside of Britta’s room, his eyes were closed, his head pressed back against the wall, his loud snores rattling both him and the gun balanced precariously in his lap.
“What’s with the gun?” I asked once I’d caught my breath.
Closing her book, Doc came to stand beside me, hands on her hips as she looked over Joe. “We had some concerned folks stop by last night worried about the possibility of Britta being infected and the infection spreading through camp. Of course, I alleviated their concerns but Joe wasn’t satisfied—he’s got it stuck in his thick skull that someone might try and do something to Britta.” Doc shook her head. “As if anyone here would ever hurt her.”
“How is she?” I asked. “Any change?”
“Nothing yet, honey,” Doc replied, rubbing my back. “You remember what I said—sometimes the mind needs to sort itself out before the body can follow.” Pausing, Doc glanced at a still sleeping EJ. “You know I had to pry the IV from him last night before he passed out from blood loss. I’ve never seen someone so eager to donate blood before.”
“I bet he’d donate his foot, too,” I muttered, “if Britta asked him for it.”
“He sure would,” Doc said, still shaking her head. “Lovesick fool.”
“I heard that,” EJ said, yawning. Sitting up, he wiped the drool from his mouth. “So, what’s the word, Willow—any news?”
“No,” I said tightly. “Nothing.”
EJ smiled weakly. “No news is good news, right?”
“Not sure that rule applies to the end of the world,” Joe muttered, his eyes still closed.
“Why the hell not?” EJ snapped.
One eye cracked open. “Think about it, you fucking moron.”
“I heard there’re eggs for breakfast today,” Doc quickly interjected. “If you want some, you’ll need to hurry.”
At the mention of eggs, both men sat up a little straighter, though neither seemed overly eager to leave.
“Oh, would you two stop this petty horseshit!” Doc sent the toe of her sneaker into Joe’s thigh before marching across the room and grabbing hold of EJ’s arm, yanking him from his chair. “Up and at ‘em boys,” she said tersely, dragging EJ toward the door. “It doesn’t do Britta any good to have the two of you fighting over who gets to guard her doorway.”
