Page 17

She had to spend one day alone with her thoughts and couldn’t get a song out of her head. The wipers on the bus go swish swish swish… ugh.

I had to do something productive.

I dug through our packs, searching for a flashlight, but there wasn’t one, drat. I would never ever leave home without one in every pocket

Then I dug through the first aid kit and found a small how-to book and a full course of antibiotics, hallelujah! Also some wound cleaner, and pain killers. A tube of arnica. Packets of antibiotic cream. He had been sewn up, this was good, but with questionable hygiene. The book, though, said not to bother the bandages. I needed to keep everything stable and not move it.

I looked over at Torin sleeping and whispered, “Torin, Torin, I need you to take some antibiotics.”

He continued sleeping.

“Fine, I think sleep is good, probably. You’ll take them as soon as you wake up.”

He did have some smaller cuts that I could see from this position, and bruises turning purple. I sat on the edge of the bed again and checked the cuts, the skin around them looking angry, feeling hot to my gentle prods. I dug through the first-aid kit for one of the packets of antibiotic ointment. I squeezed a bit onto my finger and leaned over him, carefully slathering it on the gashes, keeping my touch light. “So many cuts, Torin, this is not good.”

Then I spread some arnica over his ribs, and then moved to his thigh and rubbed it on with slow circles, working the salve into the muscle. His breathing changed into something like a sigh, so I kept going, thumbs pressing gently along all his bruised places.

Then I placed my hand on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths. “Don’t get infected, I don’t know what I’d do. Promise me.”

He continued to sleep.

I sat on the stool and read the whole first aid guide with the light from the window. This was not exciting. And there was no chapter about what to do if monks sew up a wound in medieval times with ancient tools — pray?

The mental song cranked up again: The wheels on the bus go round and round, all through the town… So I did indeed pray and tried other kinds of distractions, like jumping jacks and beginning a list of all the things I was going to show Torin once we got back home.

While I held the cup for him to drink again, I thought about how I wanted to take him to the waterfalls.

While I pressed cool damp cloth to his forehead, I thought he would love a movie theater, but maybe I’d start with television and work up to it.

While I sat on the stool, watching him sleep, hunger pains driving me crazy, I thought, Had he ever gone to a big grocery store? He had been so amazed by the small corner market.

Ugh, I should not think about groceries, I was too hungry.

I sighed. Would my life ever be normal again?

I ate my food and then, after trying to be cool, I ate Torin’s share, too. I was really hungry, he would understand.

I walked around and did some calisthenics.

He had turned over and was facing me when I tried to wake him up again. “Torin? Love?”

He opened an eye.

“I’m kind of scared — are you okay, you’ve been sleeping for a long time.”

The corner of his mouth drifted up, “Tis fine, I will get us out of this verra soon… I just need m’sword, dost I hae m’sword?”

“Yes. It’s here, but⁠—”

“Tis all I need, when I wake from this sleep I will fight us free…” His voice trailed off.

I was not filled with confidence.

I wrung out the cloth and began washing his face again.

Daylight crept through the narrow slit of a window, throwing a thin blade of gray light across the floor and as the day dragged on that sliver of gray light crawled slowly along the stones. The passing hours were both a relief and also a dread. The day was almost over, night was coming… again. The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round… Damn it.

I went through our packs again. We had a pistol, a box of bullets, a few knives, Torin’s sword, some pens.