Chapter 19
Jett
I awake with a jolt, my mind half trapped in a dream where I'm running away from a bunch of zombies who are terrorizing downtown LA, which explains the throbbing pain engulfing my knee.
Except I'm not in downtown LA, and the pain in my knee is because I fell yesterday and is unrelated to zombies in any way.
Reeve and Wilkin are both fast asleep, and the only light inside the cabin is coming from a small lamp by the door, which Reeve told us is for if we need to use the toilet during the night.
I pull down my sheet and take in my knee. The pain feels like it's coming from under the bandage, so I unclip it and take it off. My knee is swollen and burning up. My breath starts coming out unevenly, in jagged little spurts as the pain grows.
Reeve stirs. "You okay, Jett?"
"No," I whisper so as not to wake Wilkin up, but he must've heard Reeve and sits up. "My knee is throbbing. Badly."
"Shit. Let me have a look." He gets up and turns the overhead lights on, blinding all three of us. He drops down beside me.
Wilkin joins him. "I thought you said it was okay," he says, which is what I said right before we fell asleep when Reeve asked me how I was feeling and if I needed anything.
"Yeah, well, it turns out orgasms are a very effective pain blocker."
Wilkin lowers his gaze to my exposed knee and makes an ewww sound. "That doesn't look good."
"It doesn't." Reeve shakes his head. "I disinfected it as best I could. Shit."
"What do we do?" I ask.
"There's no cell phone reception out here, is there?" Wilkin asks even though Reeve has already told us there's not.
"There isn't. I could run back to the house. It'd take maybe an hour, an hour and a half."
"That's crazy," Wilkin says. "It's too far. And besides, it's the middle of the night. It's not safe."
"I should be okay until mornin—Fuck!" I yelp as I stupidly try to move my leg to get a bit more comfortable. Instead, I've made it a thousand times worse, hot pain shooting out from my knee.
"We can't wait until morning," Wilkin says.
Reeve nods, running his hand through his hair. "Emergency button," he cries out.
"What?" Wilkin and I say at the same time.
Reeve pushes to his feet and charges toward the kitchenette. "Granny made Grandpa put in an emergency button when they got a bit older in case anything happened to him. It's here, under the sink."
"What does it do?" Wilkin asks.
"I'm not a hundred percent sure, but I think it sends an alert to the house.
" He opens the cabinet door and falls onto his hands and knees.
I'm in a lot of pain, but real talk, the sight of Reeve's ass in sweatpants from this angle is better than Ibuprofen.
"Okay. I've found it. I'm pressing it. There. " He returns to us.
"Now what?" I ask.
"Now we wait," he answers.