Lost Roads (Benny Imura 7)

44

“YOUR TEMPERATURE’S UP AGAIN,” SAID Alice, feeling her mother’s forehead and the side of her throat.

Her mother was buried under layers of blankets, shivering but awake.

“It’s nothing,” she said. “Just a cold. World’s worst timing, but that’s all it is.”

Alice frowned. “I don’t know. Maybe one of your cuts is infected. Let me take a look.”

Apart from her injured hand, Mrs. Chung had several small cuts, mostly from splinters and flying glass during the fight.

“I just checked when I was in the bathroom, sweetie. I’m fine. Really, it’s just a cold. You go along. I’m sure Gutsy wants to see you.” Her smile, despite the fever, was radiant and encouraging.

“Sure, but—”

“Just go. I should try to sleep as much as I can. That’s the best way to beat a cold. Sleep it off, and let the body heal itself.”

Alice didn’t like it, but her mother insisted. “At least let me get you some tea and cut up a few oranges. Vitamin C.”

When that was done, Alice kissed her mom on the forehead and left.

* * *

Mrs. Chung waited until she heard the click of the front door lock, and then she pushed the blankets away. She sat up and used her splinted hand to pull up the sleeve on her other arm. There were five small bandages there, each taped in place over a cut. The flesh around four of the bandages was normal or slightly pink.

But higher up on her arm, near the elbow, the skin was very different. Although it was the smalles

t cut, that whole part of her arm was now a dark red. It scared her. She hadn’t been bitten—nothing like that—but during the fight she’d been nicked by a splinter of wood smeared with some dark substance. She thought it was oil or grease, because she’d taken the injury near the wagonwright’s barn; and she’d cleaned it thoroughly. Several times.

Why was that one cut getting infected while the others were not?

What was that black stuff?

Surely it was only oil. Or grease.

She tugged down her sleeve and pulled up the blankets. Shivering as she did so. From the fever. From the fear.

45

GUTSY SAT CROSS-LEGGED ON A desk at the school, watching as Captain Ledger stumped around on crutches.

“I’m going out first thing in the morning,” Sam said. “One of the scouts found a dead shambler a few miles northeast of here. Single pistol shot to the forehead. Very precise, so it could have been Collins.”

“Outstanding,” said Ledger. “I’ll go with you and—”

“You’re not going anywhere, Joe,” interrupted Sam. “Not with that leg.”

“I’m fine. Just a scratch.”

“Sixteen stitches isn’t a scratch.”

“Yeah? Well, screw that.”

“You barely healed up from the injuries you got when your chopper crashed, and now you’re in worse shape.” Sam shook his head. “Maybe for once try not to be a macho idiot.”

“You say the sweetest things, Sam. Always captain of my fan club,” said Ledger sourly. “But here’s a news flash: I’m going. There’s no debate on this.”

They glared at each other, but it was obvious to Gutsy and everyone else who was going to win the argument.