“Come with us,” Dad says, tugging at my arm.
I glance back at Cole fighting with his sister, their voices drowned out by the thundering sound of boots and soldiers coming our way. I just don’t know which soldiers they are—mine or theirs, and who will ultimately win this fight. It feels like the wrong thing to do but I lower the door and the last thing I see before shutting out the world is a pack of Hybrids swarming the area and dragging Cole’s still-fighting body off his sister.
Chapter 18
The sounds of the battle seem far away even though I know it rages right over our head. The earth provides solid protection, even though occasionally an explosion hits close enough that our electricity falters. With my father’s help, we manage to get Wyatt into a bed.
“Strip him,” my father says, already down the hall and in the tiny kitchen looking for medical supplies.
“What? Why?” I ask. The majority of the injuries seem to be to his head and face.
He returns to the room with a bowlful of bottles and rags. The glint of stainless scissors and a knife sit on top. He points to Wyatt’s body. “He was favoring his left side.”
I push up the hem of his shirt and swallow back a wave of nausea. The whole left side of his body is black and blue. With my fingers I trace the mottled outline of a boot print.
“Good God,” I breathe, and reach for the scissors. I cut away the shirt and then move to his pants, unbuttoning and pulling them over his hips. I eye the trail of hair on his belly and the dip of his hips and leave his shorts on. I glance up at my father, who is snapping on a pair of latex gloves and say, “Tell me what to do.”
It’s weird to see my father in action like this. Most of his doctoring is done tucked away from people and with his eye pressed to a microscope. But he’s proficient and hasn’t forgotten what he learned in med school. I guess now we all have to be more than one thing in life.
While he works, checking Wyatt for internal damage and inspecting the cuts on his face, I boil water on the stove and find soap. My father stitches the cut over his eye. I wipe down Wyatt’s face, his arms, and gently clean his broad chest and the muscular dips and curves of his arms and shoulders. Despite his mass, he’s too skinny, his belly lean, and tan cheeks gaunt. In our world of darkness and brief encounters it’s the most I’ve seen of him in months.
“That’s all I can do for now,” My father says, applying ointment to a cut on his jaw. He shines a flashlight in Wyatt’s unmoving eyes. “I’m sure he’s concussed. One of us should stay here tonight.”
“You can rest first,” I say. “I can sit with him. I’m too wired to sleep anyway.”
He takes off his glasses and cleans them with the hem of his shirt. “Come get me if you need me.”
The air is tight between us and the emotion of the day rolls over me like a freight train. A sob escapes even though I’m trying so hard to keep everything in. “Thank you for helping him.”
“Oh, Alexandra,” he says, opening his arms. I step in for a hug and for the first time in months, I feel like I’m home.
*
I find a canister of instant coffee in the kitchen cabinets and make myself a pot. The water has the tinge of metal, but I’m on my third cup when Wyatt shifts in the bed.
Seeing him like this takes a toll on my psyche. He’s supposed to be the strong one—invincible. He’s the one Jane cherry-picked traits from that she then used to mold her precious Hybrids. I stare at his body, the sheet only up to his thighs. His shorts are gray—Army-issued, if I had to guess—and I can’t help but absorb every inch of him. The loss in weight makes the angles of his muscles harder. Sharper. Even now, completely vulnerable, he’s absolutely intimidating.
He moves again, this time opening his mouth, and I’m standing over him by the time he blinks and cracks an eyelid.
“Jesus,” he mutters, flinching a bit at my closeness.
“Sorry.” I exhale but don’t move. “You’re awake.”
He blinks again, wincing, and false starts a move with his hand to his head. “I feel like I got run over by a truck.”
“A truck named Hayes.”
He closes his eyes and I press my hand against his cheek. “It wasn’t him, it was those freaking Hybrids, although he was the one that gave the order. Bastard.”
“Well, he’s dead. Paul killed him.” I was one second from doing it myself. “I don’t know exactly what happened before we showed up, but one of them tried to kick you to death. Your ribs are a mess and you’ve got a nasty concussion.”
He opens one eye. “Hayes is dead?”
“Yeah.”
“Damn. I was hoping to do it myself.”
“We also took the Center, or are in the process of taking it, I guess.”