THE WHOLE THING HAD TAKEN maybe three minutes. Three minutes, and Levi was gone. Nate was trying to sit up, one hand pressed to his neck. I felt sick at how much dark blood ran through his fingers. But if the wolf had hit his carotid artery or jugular, he’d already be dead.
I gathered whatever inner strength I had. “Okay, let me see,” I said, prying his fingers away. I angled him to see better and tried to keep an “Oh, shit!” expression off my face. “It’s deep, but not torn, and he didn’t hit an artery. A couple staples and you’ll be all set.”
Nate’s bloodless face turned even paler but I pretended not to notice. Jolie, on the alert as always, dropped the med kit next to me and I grimaced my thanks. I took out what I needed, but first things first.
Standing up, I went to the rest of the squad. “Guys, take everything of Levi’s that we can use, as long as it won’t slow you down. Then we need to hide his body—we should burn it, but that would take too long, make too much smoke. This ground is probably too hard to dig into, so maybe put him at the back of the cave and cover him with rocks.”
Everyone looked at me, horrified. The thought horrified me, too, but it was necessary. “Do you want to leave his body here for the wolves?” I asked acidly. “Or for trackers to find?”
Mills swallowed and shook his head no.
“Right. Do it as fast as you can and scatter any blood into the dirt and leaves. I’m going to patch Nate up and then we need to hit it.”
Working quickly, I swabbed Nate’s gory neck with antiseptic wipes, which was like putting a Band-Aid on an arm that had been caught in a combine.
“Levi’s dead?” Nate asked quietly, and I nodded.
“Yeah. Be still. When you talk I can see your muscles move, and it’s gross.”
I’d helped Pa patch up our horses when we had them, and Ed and Ned, our gentle oxen. Sometimes they’d wander into a barbed-wire fence or something. After a fast, completely inadequate local anesthetic, I put my fingers in Nate’s neck, squeezed the muscle together but not too tightly, and shot a staple into it. He yelped and reared back.
“Come back here,” I said.
Nate’s face was green with pain, but he crawled closer and tilted his head. I sprayed some more anesthetic on his skin and repeated the process, shooting in two staples and making tears come to his eyes. We’d all had the bejesus kicked out of us at the Crazy House, and this wasn’t too much worse. But I was glad it wasn’t me.
It took half an hour to gather enough rocks to cover Levi’s small, thin body. My throat ached and Jolie was crying, making odd snuffling noises that she herself couldn’t hear. I forced Nate to lie down quietly while we worked and also made him drink a bunch of water. He’d lost a lot of blood.
Finally we were ready to go. The night felt like it had lasted a week. Bunny took point, followed by Jol
ie, then Mills, then Nate, then me. The adrenaline from the attack had drained out of me, leaving a cold, hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I was glad that Nate wasn’t dead—Cassie would have killed me—but he wasn’t out of danger yet. His wounds could get infected, either killing him or making him so sick that I’d be forced to leave him somewhere. And there was a chance that the wolves had been rabid. So for the next week I had to keep an eagle eye on all of us—anyone who had gotten scratched, bitten, or drooled on. Because if any of us had rabies, I’d have to kill them myself. No exceptions.
48
CASSIE
AT LEAST HE DOESN’T SNORE, I thought, looking at Tim’s sleeping form in the dim light. There was so little floor space up here that our sleeping mats were only a few feet apart. We were used to sharing rooms and dorms with others, but this was the first time I’d ever slept in the same room with just one guy. Too bad it was Tim. If it were Nate… this could almost be romantic.
Oh, my God. Romantic? I must be going cow-brained. I was in a filthy, dark, yucky attic with my sister’s boyfriend and the plague! Could you set the romance bar any lower, Cassie?
I rolled onto my back and pulled my sleeping bag up higher. Speaking of plague, I did a swift self-check, as I’d done every five minutes I was awake. With nothing else to do last night, I’d read all the newspaper reports out loud to Tim. They’d listed the warning signs: sore throat, fever, swollen glands, bruises. These would rapidly devolve into bleeding from… everywhere. Then high fever, blackened pustules, bloody stool… awesome. Gosh, Cassie, that would be even more romantic!
Come to think of it, I was glad Nate wasn’t here. Groaning, I wiggled out of my sleeping bag and rolled it and the mat up, stowing them out of the way. High fever? Nope. Bloody stool? Not yet! Excellent.
I opened the trapdoor and felt for the new rope we’d tied to a hook. It was heavy and I pulled it up, wondering what Strepp had sent us for food today. I pawed through the contents, looked at sleeping Tim again, and decided not to let him eat anything he couldn’t spell.
Peanut butter sandwiches. I remembered when Becca and I made waffles or pancakes, drenching them with syrup from our own maple trees. We’d drunk fresh apple juice and real coffee with real milk from our cows. Suddenly I missed my cell so much that my chest hurt and tears came to my eyes. If I could go back just one year, back when things were normal and I was usually mad at Becca…
The horrible thing was that now I knew what a crock it had been. I’d thought my life was normal, but I’d been living a lie. This life, as much as it totally sucked right now, was real. I mean, you know, horrible and filled with probable plague, but still. It was real. And bad real is better than good fake.
49
HOLDING MY SANDWICH IN ONE hand, I went to a table where I’d cleared a space. Every relevant newspaper account that I’d been able to find was lined up in order.
Ms. Strepp had given us a phone so we could report without having to see anyone face-to-face. I jumped when it rang loudly and grabbed it. “Hello?”
“Report,” Ms. Strepp said.