Thirty Six
In And Out -Libby
Two days had passed since the bridge, since Finn was shot.
I stood in the doorway of the exam room, watching his chest rise and fall in an even, unforced rhythm. His color had returned, a shade closer to normal, but he remained unconscious.
“Libby,” Fiona said from behind me, her voice a careful balance of competence and exhaustion.
I turned to meet her gaze. She looked tired from sustaining the impossible for too long, but not panicked—not yet.
“He is healing,” she offered, the thought almost a vulgar kindness in this place. “No fever. No swelling. No red flags.”
“You’re sure?” I asked, my own voice thin.
“As sure as I can be in a veterinary clinic with no real human medical equipment,” she replied with a dry half-smile.
A laugh hitched in my throat but died there, the moment more relief than humor.
She checked Finn’s IV; fluids dripped steadily, antibiotics doing their work. Time, a scarce currency, was the only thing we couldn’t counterfeit.
A loud purr cut through the quiet, and I looked down to see Doc Fluffbutt, the orange cat who had adopted Lily, stretched across her lap as if the world outside didn’t exist.
“His name is amazing,” Lily insisted, stroking the cat with tremulous care.
A weary grin touched Fiona’s mouth as she shook her head. “That vet had a sense of humor.”
“Or a problem,” I offered, watching the cat blink up at me as if judging us all.
Doc Fluffbutt let out a rumbling purr that sounded almost smug, and I found myself smiling despite everything. Lily deserved a small mercy, a tiny anchor to cling to.
“Food,” Fiona said after a moment, as if we’d circled back to the obvious. “We’re going to need more.”
I nodded. “I know.”
“We’ll be here at least a week,” she added, delivering the blunt calculation with the clinical certainty she’d honed under fire. “Maybe more if he doesn’t wake up soon.”
My gaze shifted back to Finn, the steady rise of his chest stubborn proof of life. A week felt impossibly long, but it was the math we had to live with.
“Okay,” I said, inching toward practical steps. “Then I’ll go find food.”
“By yourself?” Lily cried.
“We don’t have many options. Fiona’s with Finn, and you’re absolutely not going. That leaves me. End of story,” I said, laying out the logic. “There’s a store two doors down, probably picked over, but maybe not empty.”
Close is good. Close is safer, if only for a time.
“Mom, it’s risky,” Lily countered.
“Everything is risky,” Fiona shot back, with no anger, only an acknowledgment of the brutal probabilities we faced.
I stepped away from the door, pacing the room in measured strides, the plan already forming in my head even as I spoke it aloud.
“I should go check it out,” I admitted. “I don’t want to leave you guys alone too long.”
Fiona nodded. “We’ll be okay. But if you see any of them, you book it back here, Libby. Seriously. We can starve for a few days if it means we’re all safe.”
Lily looked up from Doc Fluffbutt, the cat’s quiet presence a fragile thread anchoring her.
