“You must have a good immune system,” she said, looking at the wound again. “It’s worse every day, but it could have gone bad much faster.”
“I guess I get sick less often than most. I thought it was because I was a hermit and wasn’t catching germs from anyone else.”
She lined up her equipment. “Yeah, we people are filthy creatures.” She wished for a nurse, to talk and distract him. But she was all there was. “Tell me something while I do this.”
“What?” he said.
“Anything. A happy memory from childhood. A story. About your favorite motorbike.” She dipped up some water and washed her hands again. It was body temp. “Go on, talk.”
“I remember the first time I rode on a motorcycle.”
“Tell me that.” She prodded at his wound with a knife blade, as sterile as she could make it under the circumstances. She scraped off the scab that had formed over the exit wound.
His breath caught, and thin blood trickled from the hole. The wound looked like a little flat volcano, with the skin at the edges raised, and the center part a bloody, pulpy crater. She tuned out his words and focused on the job at hand. Loading her syringe carefully, she brought it to the wound and pressed the plunger.
The stream that came out was thin and not as forceful as she’d hoped. She’d have to be less delicate when she pressed the plunger—but that would tear up the device sooner. Well, screw it. She could build another tomorrow if she failed today.
She loaded the syringe again, heard Benjamin say, “But I didn’t really have a good grasp on left and right yet,” and she tuned him back out. She held the tube steady and slid the plunger as quickly as she could. The stream was much stronger. Water spurted into the center of the blood “volcano” and what dripped back out was red. A clot of thickened blood tumbled from the hole, and blood began to flow more freely after it.
She glanced up at Benjamin’s face. His eyes were closed and his head turned away. She cradled his arm and steadied it to get a better look. “And of course I fell,” he was saying.
And then another voice came, from behind her. “Don’t move. And don’t go for that rifle.”
Aw shit
, Coral thought as she turned her head to look behind her. There were two of them, a man and a woman. He had a rifle in his hands and she had a handgun in a holster. Her jacket was open showing it, and her hand rested on the butt, but she hadn’t drawn it. Yet.
“I’m in the middle of something,” Coral said, surprised at how calm her voice was. Benjamin’s muscles were tensed under her hand.
“We see that,” said the woman. “You a doctor?”
“Something like that,” Benjamin said.
The woman moved closer. The man said, his tone tense, “Kathy. Be careful.”
“I’m careful,” she said. She stopped six feet away and bent to look at Benjamin’s arm. “That’s a bullet wound?”
“Rifle,” said Benjamin. “Maybe from that one there.” He jerked his head toward his own rifle.
The man spoke. “You don’t know?”
“No, not exactly.”
Coral said, “We were escaping this crazy cult. They almost caught us. The gun was theirs.”
The woman nodded. She was a tiny thing, only five feet tall, if that. “There’s been some of that, I know. Cults.”
Coral began to think she might not be shot in the next few minutes. The woman seemed normal, as much as any human being she’d run into—at least since she’d met Benjamin half a year earlier. “Can I finish what I’m doing here?” she said.
“Okay,” said the woman. Kathy.
“Don’t make any sudden moves,” said the man.
Coral turned back to the syringe and loaded it up again. Once again, she shot it into the wound. Another clot was dislodged, and blood flowed quickly, dark and normal looking. “Looking better,” she said to Benjamin.
He was watching the people with the guns, and Coral knew he wanted to do something about it, could feel the bottled energy in his quivering arm, could almost smell the controlled anger coming off him. “One more time,” she said. If he was going to do something brave and crazy, she was giving him a time frame for it.
She loaded the syringe again and irrigated the wound one more time. Benjamin stayed where he was. Without turning to look at the strangers, she said, “You guys wouldn’t have a sterile bandage on you, would you?”
“Not here,” Kathy said, as the man said. “No.”
Coral sensed them engaging in some sort of non-verbal communication back there. They were deciding about her and Benjamin. Trust us? Kill us? Coral didn’t know what their options were, but whatever they decided was beyond her control. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to sound sane and calm and friendly for now. She could always escalate to violence later—and if Benjamin did, she would join him. “Okay, so I’m reaching for these bandages on that rock there. Don’t be alarmed.” She took one of the clean strips of bandage and dabbed at the blood running down Benjamin’s arm. Going for a second bandage, this one still slightly damp, she tied it around the wound. She felt him flinch. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Does it feel better or worse now?”
“It’s fine.”
“You’ll have to put on your old shirt for now. I don’t think the other is dry yet.”
“Wait,” said the man. “Kathy, check him for weapons.”
“I have a pocket knife, right there on the rock,” said Coral, figuring they’d already seen it. Her pointing it out would make her seem less a threat.
Kathy circled the two of them, always leaving a clear shot for the man, and picked up Benjamin’s shirt, checking the pockets. She patted his jacket, too, and had him turn out his jeans pockets, then motioned Coral to stand.
“Slowly,” said the man.
Coral stood, her arms well out, and let the woman pat her down. Benjamin was still seated, pulling on his shirt and buttoning it.
“Where’s your gear?” said the man.
Benjamin said, “We don’t have much.”
“I asked where it is,” said the man.
Coral looked at him. “I’m Coral. That’s Benjamin. I know Kathy. What’s your name, though?”
It took him a few seconds, but he finally said, “Martin.” He was younger than the woman, Coral thought, and despite a thick blond beard, looked no older than Coral herself.
“Martin,” she acknowledged, as Kathy completed her pat-down and moved out of reach. “Well, Martin, we’ve lost gear twice. I’m sure you know this, but there are some dangerous people out there.”
“We know it.”
“I’m sure you’ve lost gear, too.”
He shook his head.
Why not? She tried to figure out a way to weasel more information from him, but she was trying to think of too much at once. Benjamin’s arm. Escaping another bad situation before it got worse. Where the rifle was. Where the hatchet was. What Benjamin was about to do, and what she should do to the woman if Benjamin made a move for the man. Go for her gun? Grab her to use as a shield?
Kathy picked up their rifle and deftly unloaded it, tucking the ammo in her pocket.
Another rifle lost. Coral was tired of this. She was tired of fighting other people. She was tired of the struggle to keep what was hers. And she was underfed and physically tired. “Look,” she said. “If you take my fishing gear, too—pitiful as it is—we’re going to die. We’re damned close to it now. So if you plan to do that, just put a bullet in my brain now, would you?”
The woman shook her head. “We’re not going to kill you.”
“Nor will I be used as a whore,” said Coral.
Kathy’s eyebrows shot up, as if she’d never heard of such a thing. “We wouldn’t do that, either.”
“Huh,” Coral said, making her skepticism clear in her tone.
“We’re—” Kathy looked at Martin. “We’ll talk about it later. We need to get going, Martin. Light’s fading.”
“Yeah,” Martin said. “Where’s your other gear? You need to bring it along.”
Benjamin was thinking over the situation, weighing his chances. Coral could almost read his mind as he decided there was nothing to do but go along with these people. “In there,” he finally said, nodding his head toward entrance to the snow cave. He was cradling his bad arm by the elbow.
While Kathy crawled into the snow cave and began pitching their gear out, Coral exchanged a look with Benjamin. He shrugged.
“I know,” she said, agreeing that for now, their best option was to cooperate. “Is your arm that bad?”
“It’s fine,” he said, letting it drop to his side, but slowly. She could tell it was tender.
She turned to Martin. “Can I make him a sling with that shirt hanging over there?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Thank you,” she said. She had to tie the shirt around herself first to figure out how to convert it to a sling, and then, with another nod of permission from Martin, she went to Benjamin and slipped it around his neck.
“I don’t need it,” he grumbled.
“I know,” she said, but she kept adjusting the sling for his height. “There. Try walking a few steps.”
Martin’s rifle, which had sagged, came back up.
Grimacing, Benjamin walked a few steps, turned around, and walked back. “It’s fine, but—”
“I know. You don’t need it,” said Coral. “So you’ll humor me by wearing it, so I don’t throw a tantrum.”
That earned her half a smile. It made her feel better, despite the situation they were in with these strangers.
She looked at Martin. “Can I roll up my sleeping bag, or are you going to take that away from me, too?” Kathy had already pocketed her knife.
“Shake it out first, so I can see if there’s anything hidden in there.”
Coral did as he said and then rolled up her bag and tied it snugly. She slung it over her shoulders. “I assume you’re taking us somewhere.” Their compound or lair or whatever. Another trap?
Kathy emerged from the snow cave, pushing the last of their gear ahead of her and holding to their hatchet. “Burlap sacks, huh? Go on and pack them.”
“I had a nice backpack, once,” said Coral. “The cultists did something with it.”
“When you say cult, are you talking polygamous Mormons or…?” Kathy said.
“They weren’t polygamous, and they weren’t Mormons, unless I’m very confused about what that is,” said Coral. And that was possible. She’d never met a Mormon before, as far as she knew. “This was some weird UFO end-of-the-world thing. Totally crazy, no offense if that’s your deal, too.”
“I’m a Methodist,” said Kathy. “Lapsed, I guess.”
Which struck Coral as funny, that in the post-Event world, someone still identified themselves that way. Sounded safer than alien baby-breeders, though.
Benjamin had made short work of his share of the packing. He stood and pointed at the burlap sacks. “Do you want us to carry them?”
“I’ll take the heavy one,” Coral said, reaching for it.
“No,” said Benjamin. “I’ll get it.”
“You’ve done more than your share this past couple weeks. And remember your arm,” she said.
“Let Coral take hers. I’ll take the heavier sack,” said Kathy. “You can baby that arm.”
Wrong word to use,
baby
. Benjamin scowled at it like a six-year-old kid being told he was a baby.
That told her, as much as anything, that he must be hurting. “Did I make it worse?” she said.
“I’m
fine
,” he said. But within a few steps, he put his arm back in the sling.
Martin was no fool about positioning himself well behind the rest of them. Benjamin went first, then Coral, then a space of eight or ten feet, and Kathy. Martin brought up the rear and directed Benjamin to follow the newcomers’ tracks back toward the west. The sun was a barely-lighter patch in the sky as they walked toward it for nearly an hour.
Coral was surprised at herself for how calmly she was acting. Inside, she was angry, and frightened, and barely holding herself back from attacking the superior force, unwise as that would be. Somehow, despite her inner turmoil, she was keeping it together and pretending to be a meek and obedient prisoner.
She knew she
was
physically weak, and Benjamin’s arm would limit what he could do in an attack. If they were to free themselves of their captors, it would have to be through wile, not direct force. If they were to free themselves, they needed their rifle, and the hatchet, and her knife back, too. Without those, the odds against their survival skyrocketed.
For now, Coral could bide her time.
They were losing light when they came to the strangers’ camp. Two other men sat at a campfire. A tent was pitched nearby. Both men stood, weapons in hand. One had a rifle with a scope, the other a shotgun.
Four weapons were arrayed against them and not even her pocket knife to defend herself. Coral was under the control of a far superior force.
They were communicating with each other wordlessly, the glancing, raised eyebrows, little shrugs of people who knew each other well. It didn’t take a genius to know the silent conversation was about her and Benjamin.
The first words spoken were Kathy’s. “Coral is her name. She’s a doctor.”
Coral didn’t deny it. If she was seen as a useful asset, maybe that would keep her alive.
“Looks awful young to be a doctor,” said one of the new men, a tall man with a fur lined hood framing a long face.
Coral kept her silence.
“Well?” he prodded. “Are you?”
If they had anyone in their group who knew about medicine, she didn’t think she could fake being an MD. “Doctor in training,” she said. True enough, though it implied more skill than what she had.
“Where?”
“University of Michigan.”
The fourth man said, “Good school.” He had glasses, a trimmed beard and a high brow, and he looked as if he might be a graduate school student himself in the old world.
“Good school,” she agreed. A stab of nostalgia surprised her. She wished it were spring of last year, that azaleas were blooming, and that she were walking the Diag through the ever-present cloud of pot smoke, heading to her biochem lab. She wished she were still that girl, living in that safe and simple world, with no bigger worry than getting the answer to her question on metal hydrides out of a bored TA.
The fourth man, the graduate student one, said, “I’m Doug. That’s Jamie.”
Coral’s little trip down memory lane had her almost saying, “Nice to meet you,” but that was ridiculous. It was not nice to meet them. It was frightening. She gave a curt nod instead.
“Your friend is who?” said Jamie. “He’s kind of quiet.”
“That’s Benjamin,” Coral said. “I’m trying to treat a wound infection he has. You all wouldn’t have any aspirin or antibiotics or a sterile gauze?”
“What’s he to you?” asked Jamie.
“My husband,” said Coral, before she had any idea she was going to say it. But once she had, she thought it might have been the smartest thing she’d said in a long while. If they were going to believe she was a doctor and spare her life because of it, she needed to give them a reason to spare Benjamin’s, too.
“Looks old enough to be your father,” muttered Jamie.
“It’s his beard,” said Coral. She couldn’t see Benjamin’s face, but she hoped he wasn’t staring back at her slack-jawed in shock to discover that somehow, in the past seven months, he’d gotten himself married to her. After the initial surprise has worn off, surely he’d understand what she was trying to do. She had to protect him, and she had to keep them from being separated.
“We have a few first aid supplies,” said Kathy.
“And you’re willing to share?” said Coral.
“Sure. It’s not much.” She ducked into the tent and brought out a good-quality backpack. She rooted through it and tossed Coral a soft-sided pack, dark green with a red cross on it. “Take whatever you need.” She turned to the men. “Any food hot?”
“We were waiting for you two. But I don’t know about two more people. Do we have the MREs to spare?”
Benjamin said his first words. “We have fish that Coral caught yesterday.”
“Ice fishing?” Jamie asked.
Coral moved to the fire, which was giving out some light, and opened the first aid kit. There were bandages, a stretch bandage, tweezers, some two by twos, tape, and, miracle of miracles, a small tube of triple-antibiotic ointment, about 2/3 used.
“Coral,” said Benjamin.
“Come over here and let me re-bandage that.”
He pointed across the fire. “The man asked you a question.”
She glanced up. Jamie said, “Stupid question. Had to be ice-fishing, right? You have a tip rod?”
“No.” She had a vague idea of what they were—ice fishing specialty gear. “Summer gear and five feet of line. But the perch didn’t seem to mind.”
“Willing to trade one of your perch for an MRE?” he said.
She nodded. “I’ll trade you two for two, in fact. Benjamin, please throw the man some fish, and then sit down next to me.”
The man jerked when Benjamin opened the burlap sack, but Kathy said, “I’ve already been through their bags.”
Benjamin handed over a whole perch, cleaned of its guts, head still attached, and two fillets left over from yesterday.
“Damn,” said Jamie. “Thanks. That looks great.”
She had Benjamin sit by the fire so she could see his arm better in its light.
“We have a flashlight,” said Martin.
“Thank you,” said Coral, meaning it. “That’d help.”
She wasn’t used to doing first aid for an audience, but that’s what she had to deal with. She was auditioning for her role as doctor to this group, and that made her more nervous.
“Hurry it up if you can,” said Benjamin. “It’s damned cold without my shirt.”
Coral shot him a grateful look for giving her a built-in excuse for fumbling the job. She untied the previous bandage. The bigger wound of the two was still seeping blood. She tore open a two-by-two and put a dab of antibiotic cream on it. The stuff was precious, and she didn’t use more than she needed. She put that on the larger wound. “Hold that,” she said to Benjamin. She opened a bandage strip for the smaller wound. She put a smear of antibiotic cream on it and pressed it on Benjamin’s arm.
She taped down the edges of the two-by-two, then had him flex his arm to make sure it was going to stay put. “I’m going to wrap the old bandage around it again, to make sure those don’t slip, okay?”
“You’re the doctor,” said Benjamin, and when she glanced at his face, she saw the glint of amusement in his eyes.
Despite everything, it made her want to smile at him. She schooled her features, though, and tied the bandage back around his bicep. “You’re good for another day.” She turned to Doug, who’d been holding the flashlight, and thanked him for the extra light.
“No prob,” he said, flicking it off and putting it away.
Kathy had filled a pan with water and was setting it to boil. Jamie had found a small skillet in his gear and was cooking the perch. “Do I have to share?” he said.
“We’ve been living on fish for months,” said Coral. “I certainly don’t need any.”
Kathy said, “I’m not a big fan of fish. You three guys can split it.”
“I’m in,” said Doug.
Martin said, “Me, too. Wish we had some butter.” He stretched and then sat, his hand still loosely on his rifle. Kathy still had her gun in the holster.
“We didn’t bring extra MREs,” Kathy said. “The trade was two fish for two of these, but I’d suggest you two split one tonight and one tomorrow morning.”
Benjamin said, “It’s good of you to share.”
It was shocking they were willing to share, Coral thought. The strangers could have taken their fish, their gear, shot them and either eaten them or left them for dead. She hoped that wasn’t because they wanted to save them for something terrible. Kathy’s reassurance she wouldn’t be forced into prostitution might or might not be true.
Kathy said, “You two have a choice of—let’s see. Pork fajitas, beef and vegetable, turkey, and smoky frankfurters with beans.”
“You decide,” said Coral to Benjamin. It all sounded wonderful to her.
“Turkey for supper,” he said.
That surprised Coral, and then she realized he was probably picking what he thought she’d like. Oh well, it didn’t matter. She’d eaten raw grubs. Any actual meal designed for human consumption had to be better than that. “Franks for breakfast,” she said, picking what she thought Benjamin would prefer as their second meal.
“Turkey and franks it is. These are all fifteen to twenty years old, by the way,” Kathy said, tucking the other meals back in the backpack.
“How’d they survive the heat?” Benjamin said.
“Basement storage,” she said, as she sat by the fire. “Hey, Doug, give me some light.”
He shone the flashlight for her as she read the package. “You need water for the main meal and for the stuffing thing, if I remember right.” She tore open a plastic bag, and a dozen smaller bags spilled out onto her lap. “Okay. We have the main meal with turkey, gravy, and peas. Stuffing. Dried cranberries.” She set each packet aside as she named it.
Jamie said, “Put water in those berries, too, or they’ll be like rocks.”
“That’s true,” said Kathy. “Oatmeal cookie. Jelly to spread on the cookie, which is probably too stale to eat. Chocolate, coffee—we usually save those for morning.”
It sounded like a wealth of food, and a mad variety of tastes, to Coral. Her salivary glands were responding to the words and the memories they triggered.
Jamie finished cooking one fish fillet and set it aside on a rock that formed the fire ring to keep warm while he cooked the next. Light faded from the sky as they waited for everyone’s meal to be ready at once, and soon the fire and flashlights were all the illumination they had. The four of the strangers had camping plates, and Coral and Benjamin poured their meal pouches into the pan she’d used to boil water, and they shared that as a plate, passing it back and forth in the firelight. They all drank hot water.
She wasn’t sure she’d tasted anything quite so good, ever, as that meal. At some level, she knew it must be pretty mediocre stuff by her old standards. But having turkey again, and cornbread dressing, and the wild sweetness of the cranberries—what a wealth of sensation. All she could think about for those too-brief moments was the food, its taste and texture.
When the meal was done, and Benjamin was tearing open the main packet to lick out the last of the gravy, her mind came back to their situation. Why were these people willing to share the food with her and Benjamin?
She didn’t trust them and their seeming kindness. She didn’t trust anyone but Benjamin. The world had taught her that no one was honorable, and that kindness was a lure, like the lures she dangled in front of the fish. What were these people trying to lure them into?
The comparison to fishing provided an answer. After she’d lured the fish in, she killed and ate them. These people wanted to use her. And it might be as food, or it might be for sex. If she was very, very lucky, it might be for her skills. When they found out she wasn’t as skilled at doctoring as she had claimed, what would be done to her and Benjamin then?
Should she be trying to ingratiate herself? Or looking for an opportunity to escape?