Trailing them is the man I chased away with the gun.
“That’s the one who attacked you. In the plaid.” I point toward him.
“He looks tough. I’m impressed.”
“I let the gun do the talking.”
Aiden lets out a soft laugh and kisses my forehead. “If it weren’t for you, I’d probably be walking with them as we speak.”
When the macabre parade has passed, we both let out a long breath.
“Andthatis why I don’t like going through cities,” Aiden says.
“I’m starting to agree with you.”
“The only good news is I’m guessing they’ve managed to clear out most of the Infected. That’s probably why we haven’t run into any.” Aiden turns to me. “Still, I think we better hightail it outta here before they find us again. How’s the leg?”
“Been better, but I agree. We should get going. How’s the head?”
Aiden touches the spot where the gunman hit him and winces. “I’ll live.”
As we wait for the people to disappear well out of sight, I fill Aiden in with the details of the attack and how I rescued him. He smiles broadly as I recount what happened, wearing an expression I can only describe as pride.
Once the street is clear, we quietly open the door, slip out of the shabby motel, and never look back.
*
AIDEN
Both of us areso donewith Ellensburg. All we want is get the hell out of this town and its bizarre residents. Zach is limping badly on that left leg. But neither of us wants to spend another second in this town. We’ll take our chances finding antibiotics elsewhere. Cle Elum is the next good-sized town. Hopefully, we’ll have more luck there.
We stay quiet while we snake our way through abandoned neighborhoods. Only talking enough to discuss which way to go. We meet up with the Palouse to Cascades Trail again. Once we’re on it, we go as quickly as possible to leave Ellensburg behind us.
As we continue down the trail, farmland stretches into infinity in every direction. Being this exposed isn’t great, but at least it’s unlikely somebody would be out here. We make it another few miles before the shadows get long. Zach’s shoulders are slumping, and he’s looking worn out. We cross the Yakima River. A lush forest runs all along it, giving us an excellent place to camp away from prying eyes.
We find a day-use picnic site nestled into the trees. It has a wooden shelter with picnic tables underneath, well water from a pump, and vaulted outhouses. Overall, a nice find. Much better than the desert landscapes we’ve camped in the last couple nights.
We both strip naked and wade into the chilly river water to wash off the mud and grime from ourselves and our clothes. Once we’re done, we dry off and lay our clothes out to catch the last rays of the fading sunlight.
Zach’s been a trouper. I’d guess he’s been operating on adrenaline and willpower for the last few days. But he looks spent now that the crisis is over and we’re resting.
I set up the tent and let him rest in it while I make us dinner. The site has metal BBQ stations. I risk a small fire so we can have a warm meal. When I bring it to Zach, he cracks a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks exhausted.
“Thanks.” He tries to sound cheerful, but it comes out flat.
“No problem. You get some good rest tonight.” I smile and try to hide my worry.
We sleep together in the tent again, but Zach is restless all night. We both sleep poorly. Toward the middle of the night, he’s radiating heat. Sweat beads up on his brow. I press the back of my hand to his forehead and feel a fever. He’s already half awake, but I give him a little shake.
“Here, take these.” I hand him a few ibuprofen pills.
He swallows them without question. In a while, his fever subsides, so we get a few hours of sleep before sunrise.
In the morning, we wake to dark clouds. It’s a change of pace from our relentless sun, but rain won’t be welcome today, especially with Zach feeling worse by the hour.
His wound looks more infected than ever, with pronounced red streaks heading up the leg. Pushing him like this tears me up, but things could get dire if we don’t get some antibiotics soon. Cle Elum, the next town, is still a twenty-mile hike.
Going for antibiotics by myself is an option. But a forty-mile round-trip hike would take me all day and into tomorrow. Leaving him alone for that long is a bad idea, so I convince him to at least try part of the trip. I won’t be gone for so long if we can make it halfway.
