Chapter 3
Three
I ’m cranky this morning, and I don’t mean like give-me-a-few-minutes-to-wake-up-and-have-a-cup-of-coffee cranky. I’m legitimately annoyed-by-everything-I-might-take-out-my-gun-and-shoot-someone cranky.
When I returned to the bunker after situating Noah and Ryland last night, I found Aiden in clean clothes and soundly sleeping on the couch. On the floor, next to him was his guardian freshly showered and cocooned in a pile of blankets. River sat on her top bunk, using a battery-powered light to skim through the medical book she never got to use at university, looking to diagnose Aiden’s ailment. I silently crept through the room and slipped into my lower bunk, facing the two men. Wrapping my hand around my gun under my pillow, I tried to relax. I dozed off a couple of times but woke up from the bed shaking as River climbed down to check on her patient. It was a rough night to put it kindly.
Everyone is still sleeping when I tuck my gun into my jeans and tiptoe to the kitchenette. I take the coffee carafe out of the cupboard, preparing it to brew on the stove before moving on to an economy-sized box of pancake mix.
Across the room, River checks Aiden’s temperature before plugging in our little Yule tree. With our gifts to each other in tow, she joins me in the kitchen and hands me mine. With a bright smile, she digs into her bag and holds up a large tube. “Oh my God, face scrub, and it’s a good brand!”
I grin at her excitement for the product we used to take for granted and watch as she pulls out a box of tea. “I used to drink this all the time in grade school. I forgot how much I loved it.” River bats away tears with the back of her hand. “Thanks, Quinn. I love them.”
I nod, too emotional to speak.
“Open yours,” she urges.
I tear the newspaper from around a small box, revealing a picture of a gaudy ring labeled Mood Ring .
“This should be good,” I say, pulling out the ring and slipping it onto my finger.
River removes a folded piece of paper from inside the packaging. It’s a chart explaining what mood corresponds to the color of the stone.
“It’s black. You’re stressed,” she declares.
A humorless chuckle escapes me. “That sounds about right.”
She frowns and continues to study the meaning of the other colors. “I wish it were pink, or at least light blue.”
I look over her shoulder at the chart. “Happy or relaxed? Riv, I’m not even going to bother with happy, but relaxed, are you kidding me? There are four grown men in our house, three of which could probably overpower us. I’ll feel more relaxed once they leave today.”
She walks away from me, folding the paper and placing it back into the box. “They’re not leaving today.”
“Oh, yes, they are,” I say through clenched teeth, trying to keep my voice down.
“I think I know what’s wrong with Aiden. His breathing is strained and crackly like he has fluid on his lungs. I think he has pneumonia. He can’t go back out there, or he’ll die.”
Blowing out a puff of air, I pace the kitchen. Damn, I hate the feeling of being torn between what my mind says to do and what my heart knows is right. We’ve done more than what’s necessary to help these guys out. I can’t help my thoughts from roaming in the seedier territory. They could be trying to break us with the sad story of their pneumonia-ridden friend, hoping to throw us off so we’re unsuspecting when they execute the hostile takeover of our home. The blond boy hasn’t even woken up. Who’s to say they didn’t find him on the street dying and think they could play a sympathy card with him?
I sigh and close my eyes.
It’s a far-fetched idea, and last night, every single one of the men had a clear moment of panic. Aiden is someone they care about immensely, and no matter how I try to spin it, I can’t deny that.
There’s no way they will survive the world beyond these walls. Ryland didn’t even have a bullet in his gun, and someone would need to carry Aiden. They would never make it through a Z attack, and if the Afflicted don’t kill them, the sub-freezing temperatures very well could. Can I honestly live with myself if I send them out to die?
“Quinnten, you’re taking longer than usual to come to the right answer,” River says over her shoulder as she flips a pancake in the skillet.
I stop moving, lean against the wall, and examine Aiden’s and Wes’s sleeping forms. I think about what it would take for me to sleep in a room with people I don’t know. They must have been through hell to be so exhausted that they’d risk death at the hands of strangers for a few hours of rest.
My brows furrow as I catch a drop of sweat traveling down Aiden’s cheek; his fever has spiked again. “What’s it going to take to get him well?” I ask.
She places a plate stacked with pancakes on the table and starts another batch. “We have some medication, but it’s expired. It won’t be as potent as it should be, but even then, I need him to wake up, so he can take it. Thankfully, he’s still sweating, so there’s still some fluid in his body, but I have to get him to push water. If he dehydrates, it won’t be good.”
“How long do you think it will take for the medication to kick in?”
The spatula in her hand hits the pan and her shoulders slouch. “I don’t know, it just depends on how bad it is and if it spreads anymore.”
I push away from the wall and fill my coffee mug. “Is he contagious?”
“I don’t think so. For as long as they say he’s been sick, the other boys would be showing signs by now. My biggest hurdle is figuring out whether he has contracted a bacteria or a virus.”
I shudder at the mention of a virus and remind myself that Z is just one of the thousands. “All right. Have Wes help you move Aiden to my bed, and then he can sleep in yours. You and I will share the sofa’s pullout-bed,” I say and take a sip of the hot black sludge in my cup.
After preparing the food and moving Aiden, we invite Wes to sit at the table and eat a plate of pancakes. I take one cake, slather it with homemade strawberry jam, and roll it up as a meal to go. I grab two dishes, a dozen pancakes, and a jar of grape jam and take them with me upstairs.
The sun hides behind gray clouds, but the house is much brighter than it was last night. I find Noah and Ryland standing at my uncle’s desk, leaning over a map sprawled out on the top. Noah looks comfortable in his clean sweats, but Ryland is still in his filthy jeans, t-shirt, and has put on his hoodie again.
I clear my throat, walking closer.
“Morning, Quinn.” Noah smiles.
“Good morning. I brought you breakfast,” I say, setting the plates beside the map.
Ryland doesn’t bother to address me and remains busy examining the northern regions of Stern. He runs his fingers through his hair, pulling it away from his eyes. “I don’t know, Noah. That route puts us hiking through major cities. It’s best if we avoid populous areas to get to the land bridge.”
Noah spreads jam on several pancakes as he listens to his friend. I quietly stand to the side, nibbling on my food. In deep concentration, Ryland runs his finger along a route leading from here to the land bridge joining Stern to the content just north of it, Oscuros. Every time he reaches a well-known city, he curses under his breath and starts the path again.
Noah cuts into his stack of cakes and takes an enormous bite. “You’re right. With our luck, we need to steer clear of anywhere we know is crawling with the Afflicted.” With a shake of his head, he picks up his plate and glances at me. “These are good. Did you make them?”
“River did,” I say.
“Tell her I said thanks,” he says, sitting on the couch .
Ryland gives up on the map and prepares the leftover pancakes.
My curiosity gets the best of me, and I finally ask, “Why would you guys want to go to the land bridge? Rumor has it that Oscuros built a huge wall and placed a military presence there to keep the people of Stern out.”
Ryland stops mid-motion with a fork full of grape jam hovering over his breakfast. His gaze meets mine, and I cease breathing for a moment. His eyes are a vibrant jade, but the harshness of his stare takes away from their beauty. With an intense glare, he studies me, and I can’t find the strength to look away. My chest tightens as my mind races to make sense of his baffling demeanor. Finally, he rips his eyes from mine, freeing me from his hold when Noah answers my question.
“We’re hoping the land crossing is still open. Hopefully, our passports will get us into Oscuros and from there, back to the Giran.” Noah furrows his brow in response to Ryland’s apparent disapproval. “Well, she asked.”
“But why didn’t you guys leave during?—”
“Noah, get your shoes on. I’m going to need your help outside,” Ryland orders, folding the map and placing it in his bag. He waits for his friend at the doorway while Noah stuffs the last of his food into his mouth.
Before they exit the room, Noah gives me an apologetic grin. “Thanks again, Quinn.”
The plate Ryland was preparing is left untouched on the desk, and I want to scream at him for being an asshole, but I think better of it. He doesn’t trust me, and I can hardly blame him. In all honesty, he’s the only one in their group showing any caution when it comes to us. I admire him for looking out for his friends when the others seem to be a bit careless, but that’s the extent of my admiration. The guy is an inconsiderate jerk. I didn’t have to give him two M.R.E.s last night, and I surely didn’t have to bring him breakfast. Just because civilization is in shambles doesn’t mean he needs to act uncivilized.
I stroll over to the dusty window looking out over the front yard. Ryland looms over Noah at the bottom of the porch steps. His face contorts as he points to the house. He’s clearly not happy I was told about their plan to get home. I don’t see what the big deal is; I’m a Stern citizen, and it’s not like they’re going to let me mosey across the continental line.
Before the blackout happened, the news was reporting that Oscuros was building a massive wall at their end of the land bridge to keep people from Stern from entering. They were erecting the barrier quickly, and by now, the only way to leave Stern is by sea—that is if nobody is still patrolling the waters. And even if they’re not watching the water, it would be difficult for someone to find all the provisions needed for a long sea voyage. If these guys have a plan to get home, then more power to them. I’d take the opportunity to leave if I could too.
The question still remains—if they want to go home so badly, why didn’t they leave when they had the chance?
I discard my curiosity and come to terms with the fact that my house guests are a complete mystery. Moving away from the window, I pick up Noah’s empty plate. Since he was ungrateful, I think about taking Ryland’s meal away but stop myself. He might change his mind after he’s done scolding his friend, and I can’t bring myself to waste the food.
When I return to the bunker, Wes and River are crowded around a conscious but lethargic Aiden. Wes holds him in a sitting position while River brushes his hair back from his face. She tries to coax him into drinking some water, but instead, his head rolls in my direction. His eyes are a dim, lifeless blue and light blond stubble covers his gaunt face, but it’s not enough to cover the dimple in the middle of his chin. Underneath his sickly facade is a handsome young man.
As I stand at his bedside, he gives me a broad smile and says, “Hey.”
“Hey.” I laugh through my response.
Something tells me he’s the friend that nobody can get mad at. The one everyone runs to for a good laugh and a little ray of sunshine when things feel too bleak.
Wes turns to me with a worry-line between his eyes. “Quinn, do you mind getting Ry, please?”
I shift side to side before nodding and heading back out.
Ryland is sitting on the couch in the study with one leg crossed over the other. The plate of food I left behind rests on his thigh as he eats his breakfast. Noah stands on the opposite side of the room, folding the blankets he used the night before. It’s dead silent, with thick tension lingering in the air.
“Aiden’s awake, and Wes asked me to get you, Ryland.” I don’t bother to wait for an answer, and instead tell Noah, “You can come too.”
Both men leave behind what they’re doing and rush to follow me into the bunker. As soon as I open the door, Ryland breezes past me, walking straight to his friend’s side. “How are you feeling?”
Aiden weakly shrugs. With a brogue from the west coast of Giran, he says, “You know, I could go for a pint about now.”
“Yeah, me too,” Ryland replies with a smirk.
River hands Ryland a pill and a cup of water. “ I need him to take these.”
With a quick nod, he turns back to his friend. “Do you think you could take a sip of water for me?”
Aiden’s head barely moves from one side to the other. “I don’t believe so.”
Placing his hands on each side of Aiden’s face, Ryland forces him to look at him. His long fingers twitch at the feel of the heated skin under them—a reminder of the critical condition of his friend’s health. “You have to take this pill. Do you hear me?”
“I hear you, but I don’t want to be sick anymore,” Aiden whines. His attitude is reminiscent of a child who doesn’t want to eat the vegetables on his plate or wishes to stay up after his bedtime. He doesn’t seem to comprehend that taking the medication will make him better. The right choice is overshadowed by the unwanted feeling of throwing up.
Ryland moves in closer and drops his voice. “I can’t lose you, too. We made an oath. You promised us you would uphold it, Aiden. Take the damn pill so you can get better, and we can go home.”
The ill man’s eyes turn glassy and his lip trembles, but finally, he opens his mouth wide. Ryland lays the pill on his tongue and presses the cup to his lips until every drop is gone.
Aiden immediately gags. His body violently contracts, and it takes both Ryland and Wes to keep him on the bed and from hitting his head against the wall. A small noise escapes me, and a gentle hand rests on my shoulder. I give Noah a strained grin, thankful for the small gesture of reassurance.
Wes lays Aiden’s head on the pillow. “Hold it down, mate. Deep breaths. ”
Aiden does as he asks, taking several laboring breaths until his body stops convulsing. It’s not until he relaxes and starts to drift to sleep that everyone steps away from his bedside and joins Noah and me across the room.
Ryland turns to River and asks, “What did you give him?”
“Antibiotics. I believe he has pneumonia. The rattling sound of his breathing suggests fluid is in his lungs.”
“How long before it starts to work?” he asks, desperately pressing for answers.
“I don’t know. It expired over three years ago, so it will take longer than if it were brand new. Plus, I’m not sure what type of pneumonia he has. This is going to be a process of elimination. It will be weeks before he’s well enough to travel.”
Ryland gathers the hair on the top of his head into his fist. “Weeks?”
“Yes, weeks.” She allows her words to sink in before continuing, “I suggest you let Quinn take the three of you into town. You need warmer clothes, and she knows the areas that have a higher probability of finding necessities. Maybe you’ll run into some newer medication in one of the houses; I’ll give you a list of what I need.”
Part of me wants to strangle River for offering me as a tour guide, and the other wants to hug her with pride. While I’ve been on edge and hesitant to help these men, she’s kept a cool head. Her collected demeanor and her studious nature are why she was accepted into one of the most prestigious pre-med programs in Stern. One day, she’ll make an excellent doctor.
With a quick nod, Ryland gives in to her suggestion.
I’ve not seen someone this determined in a long time. He has the same look I have when I think about reuniting with our family, and all the steps I need to take to make it happen. There’s not one damn thing on this planet I’ll let stand in my way. Ryland might be the only person in this room who can relate to the sentiment.
“We’re ready to go when you are,” he says, pulling me away from my thoughts.
I match his firm look—squared shoulders, straightened spine, and a refusal to look away. Yep, he’s as resolute as I am about protecting those he cares about. My admiration for him increases a little. We stare each other down, neither of so much as blinking, waiting to see who will fold first. The side of Ryland’s mouth slightly turns upward before he turns on his heels. I glare at his back as he weaves through the maze of boxes in the basement.
I question if that hint of a smile was just a figment of my imagination. It has to be. There is no way his hard exterior cracked. If I’ve learned anything in the past few hours, it is that Ryland Shaw is a complete asshole.