39. Knox
THIRTY-NINE
KNOX
It’s the throbbing that stirs my senses. The numbness, the tingling, and the inability to lift my arm. Peeling my eyes open is a feat of its own, and I blink at the white ceiling cast in a flashing green hue.
Soft breath tickles the skin beneath my jaw, and I register the weight of someone lying against me. The unease I woke with fades a little as I find Ava curled into my side, her head on my shoulder, her arms wrapped around mine as she sleeps.
I swallow what feels like a spadeful of gravel and glance around. We’re in a cement medical room, with a glass case on the other side stocked with supplies. A monitor beeps beside me, and antiseptic lingers in the air. Pale light filters through a door cracked slightly open, but there’s silence beyond it.
I look down at Ava again, searching my memories for morsels that make sense. We left Amarillo for Guymon, avoiding the road in case the people in black followed us. We stopped for water and...
The dead fish. I remember the quake and Rooster rearing back. I was going to fall; I knew it the instant he spooked, and then I felt a rip of pain. As the fog in my mind abates, the pounding in the base of my skull and tingling in my arm worsens.
I stare at the needle in my arm, telling myself I’m not paralyzed if I can feel Ava’s death grip on me, as well as every aching inch of my body. I watch the continuous drip of the IV beside me as small, barely-there moments of consciousness flash to life.
A voice in my head asks me if I can hear them.
A feeling of weightlessness makes my stomach flip.
The jostling that rattled my teeth.
The methodical hum of an engine.
It’s all a haze, yet I remember a familiar voice interwoven through it all. Ava’s.
I have no idea how long I’ve been asleep, but somehow, she got me here—wherever here is—and I’m overcome with questions. And whatever Ava had to do to get us here, she figured it out alone.
Jaw clenching, I stare at her— really seeing Ava curled into herself. The way she’s clutching me as if she’s afraid I’ll disappear. I’m in a hospital gown, but her jeans are bloody, and a flare of apprehension fills me as my focus shifts to what I can see of her face. Her ponytail is loose, her hair hanging over her shoulder in a knotted mess, and her down vest and long sleeves are covered in dirt. I don’t think the blood is hers, and as I reach for the knot in the back of my pounding skull, I assume it’s mine. My hair is matted and damp under a bandage wrapped loosely around my head. When I look at my fingers, there’s no blood but a strong antiseptic smell.
Exhaling, I rest my head and let it all sink in. Wherever we are, we’re safe, but the surmounting unknowns eat away at me.
“Ava?” Her name is gritty in my throat, and reaching over, I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, waiting for her to stir.
Ava’s lashes flutter, and her lids fly open as she registers my touch. Her grip on me loosens as she shoots up, propping herself with one hand as her bleary eyes shift over me. “You’re awake.” Immediately, they start welling with tears.
I drop my hand with a tight-lipped smile. “Thanks to you, I think. Are we in Cactus?” I scan the room again. It’s windowless and equipped with the bare essentials, not like a hospital.
Ava shakes her head. “There’s nothing in Cactus.”
I frown.
“We’re at the facility,” she murmurs. “We’re in Guymon.”
“Guymon?” That was a day’s ride from where we stopped, probably longer. “How?—”
“The people in black,” she whispers, but she sounds more sheepish than anything. “They found me on the road, riding back to you.” Whatever maelstrom churns in Ava’s amber eyes is also thick in her voice. “I didn’t want to lead them to you, so I—” She sighs, twisting her ponytail before finally meeting my gaze.
“So, they weren’t dangerous, then,” I realize.
Ava looks down with a sigh. “No, they were retrieving the last of the equipment they’d left behind when that building collapsed. They actually lost someone.” She shakes her head, like she’s at her wit’s end. “We got lucky, Knox. I thought it was going to end a lot differently.”
Tingling hand be damned, I reach for her, but Ava winces the second I touch her arm. I snap my hand back.
“Bruised,” she murmurs, flashing me a weak smile. “But none of that matters now. You’re awake, and Malia wanted me to find her the second you came to.” The more Ava brightens, the more I know it’s all for show. She’s a rush of moving limbs as she climbs off the bed, muttering about the doctor and that she knew I’d be okay, they just had to be patient.
“Hey—” I take Ava’s hand before she gets too far to reach.
She whips around to look at me.
“Slow down a minute,” I say as gently as I can. I clear my throat and tug her back to me.
Ava squeezes my hand in hers, absently fingering my blanket with the other. Her brow furrows deeper.
“Are you okay?”
Ava nods before her forced smile catches up, and then her chin trembles. “I just—I’m glad you’re okay. That’s all.”
“Do I hear chatter in here?” A female voice, soft and expectant, comes from the hall before the door opens wider. An Asian woman in cargo pants, boots, and a white doctor’s coat steps into the room. She looks in her forties with a wavy, black bob that barely reaches her jaw.
“Good. You’re awake.” She smiles, more believably than Ava, and walks around the bed to the other side. “Knox, I’m Malia. It’s nice to finally meet you.” She clasps her hands in front of her. She has kind eyes that crinkle in the corners.
“Uh, you too.”
“She cleaned your head wound and gave you fluids,” Ava explains.
Malia nods absently, staring at my chart. “Dehydration is no joke.” She pulls a penlight from her coat pocket. “Look at me, please.” She holds it up for me to follow. “Believe it or not, the actual wound isn’t terrible, though the swelling is a bit concerning. We need to keep an eye on it, but from what I can tell, a concussion and a few scrapes and bruises should be the extent of things.” I squint in the bright light, and when Malia’s satisfied, she smiles. “Any questions?”
“Dozens, actually. How did I get here?” I look at Ava. “Where are our things? The horses and Lucy?—”
“The animals are fine. Our stuff is here,” Ava promises. “Dillon and Andrew brought us here in the van.”
“And,” Malia adds, looking at Ava, “they returned a few minutes ago with the horses. That’s why I came to speak with you.”
Ava nods. “I’ll go check on them—see that they aren’t too shaken.”
“Actually, Ava, why don’t I have a look at you now that Knox is awake?”
Ava takes a step closer to the door, shoving her hands in the back pockets of her jeans like she does when she’s anxious. “When I’m finished with the horses. They could use a familiar face and a head rub after the night we’ve had. Especially Loca.”
Again, I frown because I’m missing the entire story. Every nervous tick of Ava’s body tells me as much.
“I’ll be back soon,” she promises. “And I’ll bring Lucy in if I can get her to leave the kids that were lavishing her with attention out there.” With another forced smile, Ava strides out the door.
“What isn’t she telling me?” I pry my eyes from the empty doorway and meet the doctor’s dark gaze as she glances away from the monitor.
“Honestly, I’m not entirely sure. She’s been so focused on you, she hasn’t given me much, but...”
“But,what?” My hands fist with apprehension.
“Andrew said she was agitated when they found her. Like she was running from someone, or that something scared her—other than your wounds, of course.”
“She was running away from them, most likely. When we saw you guys in Amarillo, we thought you were dangerous. We were trying to avoid you and the road.”
“Perhaps that’s what it was,” Malia says, and she motions for me to sit up. Gently, she prods the swelling at the base of my head. “Sorry for my cold hands,” she mutters, removing the gauze. “The bleeding has stopped, and you could probably use one or two stitches, but I didn’t want to tempt fate while you were unconscious. I’ll let you decide if you want sutures now that you’re awake. Your vitals are normal, though I’d like you to sleep here tonight.” She looks at me, expectant.
“Yeah. Sure.” I don’t know that I have much of a choice or where I’d go otherwise. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now”—Malia clasps her hands together again—“the important question. Do you need to use the bathroom?”
All my apprehension vanishes the instant she asks. “Desperately,” I admit.
With a knowing smile, Malia removes my IV, covering the wound with a cotton ball from the canister behind her and a piece of tape. The instant she pulls my covers back, cool air accosts my exposed skin since I’m only in a hospital gown and underwear. “The toilet is down the hall. I’ll walk you to it.”
Carefully, I swing my legs over the bed, noting the socks on my feet, and I’m instantly grateful when they hit the cool concrete. Malia takes my arm and helps me stand as I get my bearings. My head pounds a little, and blood rushes through my limbs, but there are no twinges or shooting pains, no broken bones.
She offers me her arm. “Do you feel nauseous at all?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Not at the moment.”
“Good. What about increased pain anywhere? Anything fractured or broken that we missed?”
“No,” I breathe, clearing my throat again. “I’m good. Sore, but...good.”
“Glad to hear it. Feel free to lean on me if you need to. The moment you start getting dizzy, let me know.”
I grunt instead of nod, my bladder ready to explode, and allow the doctor to help me out of the room. “How long was I asleep?” I scan the walls for a clock.
“According to Ava, you were out about an hour when they found her on the road, and it took us a couple more to get you here and settled. So, about five hours, give or take.” I can feel the doctor’s eyes on me, and when we get to the restroom, she pushes the door open for me. “Did you see anyone else while you were out there?” she asks, but there’s too much caution in her voice for it to be strictly curiosity.
I pivot to face her. “No. Why?”
Malia’s eyes squint as she smiles and nods to the bathroom. “I’m just trying to put the pieces together is all.”
I really have to go, but I want to know what the thinly veiled apprehension is all about.
“I know you woke up in a strange place, Knox,” she continues, “and you have a lot of questions, but I need you to take it slow. Give yourself a few hours to acclimate and assess how bad you’re really feeling before you start wandering around. The last thing we need is for you to fall and hit your head again because you’re too impatient to wait.” She switches on the bathroom light. The overheads flicker a moment as they buzz to life. “I’ll wait here for you. Take your time.”
“I’ll be quick,” I tell her, because I don’t know how I feel about this place and these people, not yet anyway, and I need answers.