18. Bella and Tom Alvarez
Chapter eighteen
Bella and Tom Alvarez
We don’t speak on the drive down to the harbor.
There’s no time for it—and something in the silence feels intentional, like whatever passed between us in his home hasn’t finished settling. The realization that we have both seen each other in dreams. The way I feel when he kisses me, when he is near. The mystery.
The road curves sharply as we descend from The Cliffs, the fog thickening again as if the island prefers to hide what lives above it.
I grip the door handle tighter than I need to.
It’s about twenty minutes to sunset and the fog has already rolled in, dimming any sunlight. We reach the lower road just as a cluster of lights comes into view—lanterns, flashlights, a small group gathered at the edge of town where The Wilds begin.
The trees look like they’re leaning in to listen.
Darius stops the car before we reach them.
“I go first,” he says. “I’m not sure what dangers are there, Bella.”
I’m already opening the door. “No, I walk with you. I’m the town doctor, for goodness sake.”
He watches me for half a second. Then nods.
“Okay, but stay close,” he says. “There could be danger here.”
We step into the fog. The air feels heavier, like something has pressed down on the space and hasn’t lifted.
Finn spots us first. “Bella—thank God,” he says, stepping forward. “We’ve got a serious situation. The mayor called and asked me to bring the ambulance. I just got here.”
“Thanks, Finn,” I reply. “Who is it?”
“Tom Alvarez,” he says. “Dock worker. Someone found him just off the path. Didn’t make it far.”
Didn’t make it far. My stomach churns a little.
“He’s alive?” I ask.
“Barely. For now.”
Tom is on the ground, propped against a rock, breathing shallow but present. His shirt is torn at the shoulder, darkened with blood.
“Hey,” I say, dropping to my knees beside him. “Tom, can you hear me?”
His eyes flicker open.
“You’re the new doc,” he rasps.
“Yes. I’m here to help you.”
I peel back the fabric carefully. And freeze.
“Okay,” I whisper.
Finn crouches beside me. “Same?”
“Not exactly.”
There are punctures. But not like the ones found on Silas.
These are messier and uneven and uglier. The skin around them looks irritated, inflamed in a way that doesn’t match the clean, controlled damage I saw before.
Tom groans, his hand twitching toward the wound.
“Don’t touch it,” I say, catching his wrist. “Just breathe.”
“I saw it,” he whispers.
“What did you see?” I ask.
His eyes dart past me, toward the trees.
“Wrong,” he says. “It was wrong. Up and down, moving odd, a thing chasing me, leaning forward, dragging a leg. Just wrong.”
That word again. Wrong.
“Focus on me,” I say. “We’re going to get you to the clinic.”
Darius stands just behind us, not interfering but watching and listening.
“What’s different?” he asks me quietly.
I glance up at him. “The wound. It’s not clean. Not controlled. It’s like something wild was tearing at him.”
His expression darkens.
I reach for the kit Finn brought, working quickly. Clean. Stabilize. Stop the bleeding as I can.
Basic, familiar steps. But nothing about this feels familiar.
“Bella,” Finn says quietly. I follow his gaze. On Tom’s arm, I see his veins are starting to web out in an odd way. They are spreading before our very eyes. Unnaturally.
Tom shudders.
“It burns,” he whispers. “Inside my arm, where that vein is … like it’s buzzing.”
I exchange a look with Finn.
“Darius,” I say, not looking up this time. “Something’s going on with his blood. We need to get him to the clinic fast.”
Tom gasps suddenly, his body going rigid.
“Hey—hey,” I say, pressing a hand to his shoulder. “Hang on, Tom.”
His pulse spikes under my fingers. It’s too fast and he’s losing consciousness. The line under his skin darkens another shade. It’s not subtle and it’s moving.
“That’s not possible,” I whisper. I press harder on the wound, trying to slow the bleeding, maybe stop the spread of that vein.
It doesn’t respond the way it should. Nothing is responding the way it should.
“Let’s go,” I say. “Now!”
Darius lifts Tom as if he weighs nothing.
“Careful,” I say. “Don’t jostle the shoulder.”
He places him in the back of the old ambulance, the only one on the island. Finn jumps into the driver’s seat and I climb in the back next to Tom.
“Are you coming?” I ask Darius over my shoulder.
“I’ll follow in my car,” he says.
We move quickly, the path back to the clinic not all that far, but it seems so with the fog pressing in thicker. What is doing this? Who is doing this? And what is this disease?
Tom groans again.
“It’s worse,” he says. “It’s—”
“I know,” I say. “Just keep breathing. We’re almost there.”
We arrive, and get him inside the clinic, onto the table, and I immediately get to work.
Gloves. Light. Antibiotic. Blood sample. IV. Focus. Everything else drops away.
“Finn, saline. More gauze and antiseptic.”
“On it.”
“Stay with me, Tom,” I say. “Don’t check out on me.”
His eyes roll slightly.
“I’m trying,” he mutters.
Charlie paces near the door, restless now and uneasy.
I work through the motions, but my mind is elsewhere. On Lena. On the girls that came in earlier. On Silas. On the old journal. On the vein moving under Tom’s skin faster than anything I’ve ever seen.
The door opens behind us. I don’t have to look. I know he’s there. Darius steps into the room.
“What are you seeing?” he asks quietly.
I don’t stop working and Tom gasps again. The veining under his skin pulses and moves.
I freeze.
“Okay,” I say, very calm now. “We have a problem.”
Darius doesn’t answer. Neither does Finn.
They don’t need to. Because we all see it.
Something is in his blood.
Something that is spreading, faster than anything we can control.
But what is it going to do next? What kind of danger is Tom in? Maybe all of us are in danger?