Otto sags in Chase’s arms, his own sprawled like broken wings.
I skid to my knees, cupping Otto’s head as Chase lowers him to the ground. Otto looks between us, eyes wide.
“I got you. I got you, buddy,” Chase says, pulling his shirt over his head. Balling it up on top of the wound.
It’s the second time he’s had to do that in the space of months.
“Now, it’s unanimous,” the Warden says behind me. “Even saved you an extra mouth to feed.”
My head snaps up. Vision red. And I can feel my lips pulling back from my teeth as I plant my foot beneath me.
Chase grabs me by the wrist so hard I jerk in his grasp, pain like white light behind my eyes so that I barely register the hard shake of his head.
The Warden claps Jenner across the shoulders as they start back up the hill. “Open the barricade, boys. Let’s let these fine folks through.”
Otto writhes on the ground between us, blinking at the sky.
There’s so much blood.
“What do we do?” I cry. “He said there’s a hospital. We have to get to the hospital!”
Chase blows out a breath, squeezes his eyes shut. Reopens them, blinking several times before leaning up into Otto’s line of vision.
“Hey, buddy,” he says softly.
Otto’s gaze meets his.
“You wanna get out of here?” Chase says.
Otto nods, expression strained.
“Okay. Wynter, hold this.” He nods toward the T-shirt. “Lots of pressure.” He gets up, goes to the car. Returns a few seconds later and kneels down. “All right. Let’s go.”
Otto’s brows lift, bemused—and then clamp down in pain as Chase scoops him up, my hand pressing against the wound, the other beneath Otto’s head.
We rush to the car, where Chase has laid the front passenger seat back. Get him in, Chase holding the sodden T-shirt in place as I climb in back and reach over the console. Press it down again as Chase closes the door.
All this time the car has been running.
I glance up the hill where the exit merges onto the bypass just in time to watch the trucks move out of the way, one of them pulling out completely before rumbling down the road away from town.
Chase gets in and two seconds later we’re emerging from the maze of cars and pulling onto the bypass.
I glance in the rearview mirror, catch a brief glimpse of the truck turning just past the Days Inn.
Otto clasps my wrist, breath shallow. A wheeze coming from his chest.
“I’m so sorry, Otto,” I say softly. “I’m so sorry! Hang in there, okay? We’re going to get you help.”
I lower my head, free hand reaching for his.
It’s been a long time since I’ve prayed. Obsessing is far easier. Checking, reviewing with a matching compulsion in the search for assurance and control.
All an illusion.
There’s no compulsion for this. For what to do next when all your options are gone.
So I pray. Remembering that the ground has always met my foot when I couldn’t see beyond my next step. Believing that the world is too in need of beauty to give up a person like Otto. Who isn’t an extra mouth at all. Only a gift.
We follow the blue H signs toward the hospital. The roads are clear, the sun gilding the street.
But when we get there, the lot is a jungle of cars, of fallen-down tents and garbage everywhere. Flyers mashed into the concrete. The windows of the hospital broken, like a thousand eyes, put out.
Chase pulls around back. Gets out and runs to the ER entrance.
“I can’t wait for you to meet Truly, my niece,” I say to Otto, squeezing his hand. “She’s never seen the ocean, either. Maybe we’ll just want to stay. What do you think of that?”
He gives a faint, pained smile.
“We’ll have to get you sunscreen. Lots of sunscreen,” I say. “A big, floppy hat. You won’t even need shoes.”
Chase comes walking back to the car.
“Okay, here we go,” I say, reaching over Otto to get the door.
I stop as Chase comes back to the driver’s side, something in his hand.
“What?” I say, as he gets back in.
“Place is one of those colonies,” he says, holding up the crumpled paper.
INFECTED
NO SERVICES. NO VACCINES. UNSANITARY CONDITIONS.
THIS IS A QUARANTINE AREA.
DO NOT ENTER UNLESS YOU ARE ALREADY ILL
WITH R.E.O.D. OR DROPPING OFF SOMEONE WHO IS.
DOOR WILL LOCK BEHIND YOU!
I read without comprehending.
“Guard said there hasn’t been any hospital staff since May. They’re all gone.”
Otto’s breath is rattling in his chest, his lips tinged blue.
Chase looks at me, as though to ask: Where?
We pull out of the parking lot, past the line of trees, the sky aglow in purple and red. Otto lets go of my hand and reaches as though to touch that palette of color, fingers splayed against the window.
I glance at Chase.
He turns down the main street, accelerating toward the edge of town. Past stores without windows and neighborhoods lit only by burn barrels, abandoned schools and empty grain elevators. Running on fumes. Chasing the sunset.
We end up on a gravel road, drive for a mile. Past fields that should have been planted, sprouting by now. Green and lush with weeds.
There’s a creek ahead; I can tell by the meandering line of trees. Otto points and we head for it.
The car slows and then stops, having taken us as far as it will go.
Chase comes round, the dash blinking. Lifts Otto from the passenger side and carries him toward the creek, Otto’s head against his chest.
I let go of the sodden T-shirt in my hand.
We prop Otto against the trunk of a locust tree, his face tilted to the sun, the way it was as he pedaled down the highway. Curl up on the earth beside him as color fades over the horizon.
“It’s beautiful, Otto,” I say, looking up at him. He nods, faintly.
Frogs sing from the creek bed against a choir of cicadas.
Sometime later, Otto gasps.
“What is it?” I say, eyes going to the wound, which has not stopped bleeding. But when I look up his face is filled with wonder.
His hand lifts, so slowly. Touches his forehead with his thumb. The same way he did when I asked him about his father.
“Your dad?” Chase says.
Otto nods.
I turn my head against his chest, tears soaking his bloody shirt. Sputter an uneven exhale. A minute later I feel him pat my shoulder.
By the time I’ve collected myself the field has come alive, fireflies sparking the air like Christmas as twilight descends.
I pray, disconsolate, and wait for a miracle.
Sometime later, I open my eyes.
The moon’s up, so bright the trees cast nocturnal shadows. A lone cicada sings a sleepy chorus.
“Otto?” I whisper and lift my head.
His eyes are closed. He might be sleeping.
As I sit up, his hand falls open.
A last firefly takes to the air.
“Otto?” I say, his name breaking on my lips. Diaphragm hitching with sobs as I shake his shoulders.
His head lolls and he slumps to the side. His thin frame an abandoned thing.
Chase shoves to his feet and walks off, arms clasped over his head. A minute later he bends, grabs something off the ground. Throws it with a savage yell and rages at the sky.