The Wounded (The Woodlands Series) (8 page)

The rest of
the group filtered in. Various levels of gasps, cursing and outrage thudded against our ears when they saw the destroyed hospital. When everyone was gathered, Matthew wandered off, angrily kicking over trays and upturned beds. I thought he was having a tantrum until I realized he was searching for something. Finally, he held up a glass bottle and a syringe, drawing the liquid from it. He put it to Addy’s arm, and she struggled against him. Her physical strength was akin to dry grass snapping under my boot, but her mind was never stronger.

With
a fierceness only Addy could pull off, she said, “No, dear. I want to feel. I want to feel it. If my life’s about to end, I want to be here right ’til the last second.”

Something like
an unreleased hiccup wedged in my throat.

Matthew turned to the gr
oup of Spiders and Survivors, saying, “The settlement has evacuated to the hiding place. Most of us can stay here. I need about four volunteers to come with me to recover them.” My father put his hand up.

I
wasn’t sure what to do. I wanted to go. Orry and Joseph were waiting for me. I had to make sure they were ok. I needed to see them. But how could I leave Addy?

A
dry hand patted mine. “You’re not staying here with me, so don’t even try it.” Her voice crackled.

“But…” I started to say, but she was right. I had to go.

“I’ll stay,” Rash said. “I’ll stay with her.”

I felt so much gratitude and sadness
that it was welling from every pore. I could never repay him for this. But the things was... I knew he’d never expect me to. I threw my arms around him and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

I bent my head down to Addy’s ear and whispered, “Don’t give up yet. You’re stronger than all of us.”

Her grip on me tightened more than I would have thought possible. “You just give that boy the biggest kiss from me,” she said with a wink, “oh and the baby too.”

I
laughed, but it was the saddest laugh.

Matthew recovered some antibiotics and put them in an IV bag for Pietre.

“Is that all you can do?” Careen asked. “What about his leg?”

Olga wobbled over
. I could almost hear the tinkle of the bath toy in her swaying movements. She hovered her hand over Pietre’s leg, careful not to touch him. She closed her eyes, pulled her thin ponytail over her shoulder, and ran it through her fingers, thinking. When she opened her eyes, the bright sparks were rounded with seriousness. “Matthew, don’t put it off. We have to try to set it. And if that doesn’t work, amputation.”

Matthew stared down at the tiny
woman, and I thought he was going to tell her to mind her own business. Instead, he nodded and said, “I’ll assist.”

Olga clapped her hands together
dramatically. “Very well. Show me to the theater.”

At
that, Matthew laughed and ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Let’s hope it’s intact.”

Together with a nurse I
recognized from the mounds, they wheeled Pietre away, pushing debris out of the way as they went.

I was glad to get out of there. When Pietre woke up and found his leg gone, his behavior up until now would seem like blissful dream.

When we left, Careen was
parked serenely by Pietre’s empty bed, waiting.

I expected her to fall apart, to be red-faced and emotional.
Instead, she seemed relieved. He was alive. He might not see that as a blessing, but she did. I hoped he would let her help him.

I rolled my hand over her shoulder, her muscles lean and defined. She leaned back in her chair, flipped her head up to look at
me, and gave me a dashing smile. “Are you going to be ok?” I asked doubtfully.

She blinked her
big, blue eyes soulfully reminding me there was so much more to her than I’d initially thought. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “Don’t know about him though.” She knocked her head towards the theater entrance, a smooth parting of debris piled on either side of where they’d wheeled him through. “He’s not as strong as you and me, you know?”

I raised my eyebrows. She thought I was strong. It threw a few support beams around my shaky frame. “He’ll get over it.” I hoped.

She stood and clasped the sheets, remaking the already made bed. She flashed me a look of concern and masked it quickly. “You should go… be careful.”

*****

Two beds over, Rash sat cross-legged on the edge of Addy’s bed, talking. I don’t know what he said, but she smiled.

“What are you two smiling about?” I
asked, trying to look directly into Addy’s eyes and not at the rest of her.

“
Oh nothing,” Rash said, grinning, “Addy’s just filling me in on your reaction to her when you first met. Pretty funny.”

I scowled disingenuously
. “Well, I’m glad you’ve found the common ground of making fun of me to keep you busy.”

Rash punched my shoulder. “You’ve gotta go.”

I leaned down and touched my cheek to hers. It was so cold, thin and delicate as wet paper. “I’ll bring him back so you can kiss him yourself,” I whispered.

She didn’t say
anything, but her eyes warned me not to get my hopes up.

I only said a quick goodbye. I’d be back. I couldn’t leave room for any ot
her possibility other than I’d see them both again. And soon.

*****

We followed Matthew out of the hospital. The others were left behind with orders to start the cleanup and keep an eye out for soldiers.

“
I’m intrigued. Where is this hiding place?” Pelo asked Matthew, holding his hands in front of his face and jiggling his long fingers, as we worked our way through shadowed alleys. Layers of tin and wood tilted and teetered over our heads as we continued to step down, down, down.

He didn’t need to tell me. I knew
. Everything in the Survivor settlement tipped towards one place. A place I knew Woodland soldiers would never approach.

Matthew confirmed my suspicions
, answering as he bent down to walk under a loose piece of roof that had slid off a dilapidated building. “It’s on the edge of the blast site. The Hole.”

We popped out of a claustrophobic alleyway onto a narrow bank that fell away into the crater, crumbling and receding like a toes’ touch would start a landslide.

Matthew handed us
thin, paper surgical masks from the hospital as we stood wedged in the opening, but not before I got a mouthful of black dust. Courtesy of the hollow-sounding wind that kept picking up swirls of black silt to assault our faces. I pictured Joseph standing here with Orry and felt sick.

My boots sank ankle deep in the soft
, grey powder. I turned and watched my father fighting a losing battle, brushing his shoulders and jacket front of ash, only to have it settle again until he gave up. I pulled my hair back and squinted, trying to picture three thousand survivors battling their way around the edge. I couldn’t, which was a terrifying thought.

The Hole was
a giant crater, with torn roads, crumbled buildings, and train tracks clinging around the rim, like they gripped the edge when the bomb hit and were still fighting not to fall into the abyss. We were going to have to pick our way through and over these obstacles until we reached the opposite side. Matthew used hand signals to point out where we had to go, since the wind and the face masks made it nearly impossible to understand him. He pointed to an overhang, possibly a blown up part of a bridge. That was where we were headed.

It took us over an hour to make it a few hundred
meters, swinging over twisted rails, climbing into buildings, and back out again. My father walked in front of me, and I let him pull me up. I took his hand when it helped me. Matthew was about ten meters ahead, standing right on the edge of the black rim. He pulled his mask down and wiped his forehead with his dirty hands, branding himself with a black paste mix of sweat and ash. The wind carried his words back to me. “Ublyudok. Bastards.”

My eyes followed to where his
were, and I inhaled so quickly and deeply that the mask sucked into my mouth, briefly suffocating me.

Lying
halfway towards the center of the Hole, its arms and legs fanned out like a starfish, was the first body.

*****

There was hatred and there was how I was feeling right then. This was deeper and hotter. It ran through my blood like a knife, slicing and splitting me open until all I could feel was shaking anger. This body, dressed in jeans, a knitted jumper, and the standard sneakers was lying face down in the ash, a deep imprint of its shape rising like a dark shadow. A brownish stain marked its back. This person didn’t fall. They were shot down. Shot down as they tried to escape.

We couldn’t stay there
, staring down in disbelief. We had to keep moving.

Again,
we were forced into the belly of a building. Our footprints shifted the dust, revealing the remnants of a white laminated floor skimmed with ash like spilled pepper. Rows of metal shelves leaned against each other with colorful packets of food scattered everywhere. Old, fluorescent tube casings dangled precariously from the ceiling. I peered at one of the labels. A fat, happy child with dark hair and brown skin smiled at me, while bear-like animals with blackened eyes danced around his head. I opened the packet, and hard biscuits shaped like the bears fell into my palm. I tilted my head. It looked like the food they gave the sled dogs.

Everyo
ne moved slowly. Even Pelo, who always seemed to be ready to launch from his toes, dragged his body along, investigating this strange world where people once piled plastic-looking food into giant, metal trolleys. He leaned his elbow against one, staring at a poster still managing to cling to the wall. The language was foreign, elegant strokes crossed over each other, looking like platform houses. Underneath the writing was a family: a mother, father, and a little boy dressed in red. They looked happy, the flag flapping behind them echoing calmer days, perhaps. It reminded me, there was so much I didn’t know.

My
thoughts darkened at the thought of this family and so many others. In my mind, the poster started to burn at the edges, the paper curling upwards, the smiles on the faces twisted and stretched until they were more like grimaces of pain. All these people, these families, were gone.

The squeak of a wheel turned my
attention, and I watched as the trolley rolled away from Pelo, clanging against a speaker on the wall. The lights flashed on and off for a second, and the speaker sprung to life, playing a kind of music that seemed to lull and infuriate at the same time. A monotonous jingle that repeated on a mind-numbing loop. Everyone quickened their pace, the creepy, empty market holding too many ghosts, too much past.

We pushed through some smashed glass doors
at the back of the building and wound our way through the vegetation that groped every building, clawing at the rubble and reclaiming it. We climbed a small outcropping, a roof that was now covered in grass and plants. A tree grew awkwardly out of its gutter. A rope tied to it dangled down towards the crater. We turned to face the crumbling pile of rock and clambered down.