The Undoer (23 page)

Heidi

I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t the white-hot sting of the needle going in and out, over and over, in a million teeny, tiny stitches. Jag is meticulous. Every suture is even and straight. He’s like a surgeon, and I clutch Bret’s hand with all the strength I have inside me. Each time the needle goes through my tender wound, my toes curl in anguish. I try to breathe, panting methodically to control the pain, but it doesn’t work. My stomach muscles contract each time the needle pierces my skin.

I can’t stay still.

Bret presses my shoulders down, his hands like heavy weights holding me beneath the water, drowning me. I’m sweating profusely as I hold a thick piece of leather between my teeth. Tears leak from my eyes and the seconds tick by, feeling like an eternity.

Scuffling breaks out outside, and then shouts from Owen and Doug. Someone falls against the tent, and I scream out as Jag is shoved on top of me.

“What’s going on out there?” he yells.

“Nothing. It’s fine,” Doug says. “We got him.”

Owen pops his head into the tent. “It was another demon, but he’s dust. No worries. Just hurry up!”

My eyes roll in their sockets, but I call myself back from the edge, my heart racing. “I can’t take it anymore!” I try to push Jag’s hands away, but Bret grabs my wrists, holding me away from the needle. There’s more shouting outside the tent, but I can’t understand what they’re saying. I can’t concentrate on anything but the burning of my wound.

It’s only a second later that Jag sits back on his heels, the bloody thread dangling from the needle. “I’m done.” Setting the needle down, he wipes the stitches, and then smothers on antibiotic ointment. He covers the wound with a bandage.

I can hardly breathe. I really feel like I’m going to die.

“It’s all good,” Doug calls from outside. “No worries here. We’ll just stay out here by ourselves, killing one demon after another. No biggy.”

“Do you need anything?” Bret whispers to me, ignoring Doug’s sarcasm. He smiles, which actually helps. He doesn’t seem too worried, and it calms me a little.

I open my eyes, my heart slowing down, but I’m nauseated and my head is pounding, not to mention the burning of the sutures. I need painkiller. Something to knock me out, but we don’t have anything like that, nor do we have time for me to be drugged and out of it. I want to sob in frustration. Instead, I shake my head, grit my teeth, and say, “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

Bret squeezes my hand, kisses my forehead—which I almost don’t notice—and then covers my shivering body with a blanket. Yeah, it’s a hundred degrees outside, but I’m shivering. I close my eyes, trying to ignore the whole world.

“What time is it?” I ask as he lies down next to me on his bag.

“It’s almost five in the morning,” he answers.

The sun will rise in an hour and a half. Not much time to rest because we need to get moving. I sigh and let it all go—the exhaustion and the fear of almost losing Jag.

The enormity of our situation settles uncomfortably in my chest. I’ll be no help at all now. I’m the weak link. I’m going to get us all killed. We’re a man down and our mission seems impossible. How will we ever close
The Door
? It’s too daunting a task, and I’m too tired and in too much pain to figure it out.

***

It seems like only five minutes has gone by when Bret wakes me, but the sun is bright overhead. I feel dazed and achy; I can hardly move. In fact, I can’t get up at all. It hurts to roll to my side, and there’s no way I can sit straight up. My stitches pull and sting when I try. I don’t want to say anything, as I already feel weak and helpless, but Bret seems to understand. He takes my hand, placing his other hand behind my shoulders and lifts.

I get to a sitting position with tears brimming in my eyes. I would give anything for painkiller. Rolling to my knees, I make it the rest of the way by myself, but I’m sweating profusely, and the thought of pulling my tunic over my head just about makes me break down right there. I’m still wearing my bloody tank top.

I glance down at my clothes and Bret stares at me blankly, as if he knows what I’m thinking but doesn’t want to suggest helping. He’s my brother though. He has to. “It’s not coming off by itself.”

Bret grimaces. “Right.”

“I’ll help you change,” Jag says with a devious smile from the tent door, watching our exchange.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll help her,” Bret says, pushing Jag out and zipping the door closed.

“Hey, if you’re not man enough…” Jag says from the other side. He laughs, and I can hear him walking away.

I glance at Bret, expecting him to get mad or make a retort, but he doesn’t. He presses his lips together and waits for me. “In the top of my bag,” I point. “The white one.”

He opens my bag, grabs the white tunic and a white tank top. There’s a somewhat-white sports bra that he picks up delicately, like he might get cooties from it.

“Seriously, Brecken?”

His eyes go wide, and I realize I called him by his old name. I feel a blush creep up my cheeks, but I don’t apologize or say anything about it. He
is
my brother. I know it on the deepest level. I trust him implicitly, and I think Jag is actually coming around too.

Bret crawls closer, and I slowly raise my arms. “It’s ruined anyway. How about we just cut it off?” I suggest.

“Right. Good idea.”

I turn around as he slips his dagger from its sheath. He slices up the back of the ruined tank top. It separates like butter. Good old magic dagger. I won’t be able to wash the bloody sports bra I’m wearing, and it will be a nightmare to take off over my head.

“Just cut it,” I say, my face hot and thumping with my pulse. Bret’s expression matches mine, so I know he’s just as mortified. He averts his gaze and cuts. The straps slide down my shoulders, and I let the ruined material drop to the floor. I lift my arms up and Bret stands behind me, threading the clean underclothes over my hands. He slides the spandex bra down my arms with minimal pain. I adjust it before raising my arms for the tank and tunic. They slide on much easier, like a whisper over my chilled, yet fevered skin. I’d die for a bath.

“All done,” he says, surveying his work. “I should be a nurse.” He smiles, and I grin back at him.

“Thanks. I couldn’t have done it alone.”

“I know. Don’t worry about it.” He turns away, rolls up his sleeping bag, and grabs his pack. “I’ll get your stuff in a minute. Come out and sit down.”

“Okay.” I don’t even bother trying to pick up my backpack. I’ll need a few days to feel like I can do anything, but I’m afraid we don’t have that long. Owen has a bandage around his arm and Jag sports one over his shoulder. Other than that, we were lucky. How none of us died is a mystery to me. Maybe God
is
on our side after all.

The drive starts out hot and only gets hotter. We don’t pass any roadside stands, and we’re getting low on water. There might be a stream further into the hills, but Bret doesn’t want to deviate from our path. He’s convinced that staying on the road is safest, and he’s probably right.

Every bump in the road makes me feel like I’m being knifed all over again. It hurts to sit up and it hurts to recline. I can’t shift without gasping and I’m ready to start screaming… or crying profusely.

The next jostle of the car is the cherry on top. I just can’t take it anymore. “Are you trying to hit every pothole in the road?” I screech. Sweat is dewing on my forehead and upper lip. I wipe it away, knowing I’m in trouble. I need drugs. Antibiotics mostly.

Lunchtime rolls around, and the boys eat dates, figs, and cheese in the car. I can’t force the food past my lips. I’m too nauseous. The fruit is warm and mushy and the cheese has started to sweat, bending easily in my fingers. So gross.

It’s silent in the car most of the way until Doug pipes up late in the afternoon. “Want to play I-Spy?” he asks. “I know it’s a stupid game, but I’m totally bored.”

I glance into the backseat and hiss, pain slicing across my abdomen for the millionth time. “I’ll play with you. I’m bored too.” I need something to take my mind off myself. My seat is laid as far back as it will go without totally smashing Jag, who sits behind me. I’m so grateful he’ll let me recline. I don’t think I could sit up straight and not pass out. He plays with my hair and tickles my neck, and it helps me relax. I’m stunned that he performs such tender acts in front of the others. He doesn’t seem to give a crap about what anyone else thinks.

“I’ll play too,” he says.

Doug starts. “I spy with my little eye… something round, gray, and—”

“A boulder,” Jag says.

“Huh. Yep.” Doug shrugs. “There’s not much to choose from.”

The game goes on for ten minutes with things like skeletal shrubs, starving trees, and the occasional bird flying over.

Owen takes his turn next. He looks around, bored, but at least he makes an effort. “I spy, with my little eye, something dark and… uh…” He’s quiet while he stares out over the landscape. “Moving.” He sits straight. “And it has a gun!” he yells into the tight confines of the Jeep.

“What? Where?” Bret yells back.

Owen points off to the east and we all spot him. Like a tiny ant. He’s far enough away that it’s a miracle he saw him at all. The guy scurries, low to the ground, behind a hill, and then he is gone.

“Where there’s one, there’s more.” Jag leans forward.

I sit my chair up straighter. I don’t want to be in his way. It makes me gasp and hold my breath, waiting for my stitches to stop screaming. I try to keep my focus on the hills and not on my burning wound, but the thread pulls and stings. I lift my shirt up to inspect it. The edges are red and swelling, and it hurts worse now than it did earlier. There’s nothing we can do about it, so I keep the news to myself.

Brecken

I watch the bandit hurry behind the hill. I’ve noticed others too, long before Owen said anything, but I didn’t want to worry the others. There’s not much we can do anyway, and I’m not about to stop the car.

The sightings are growing more frequent though. Soon, there will be a group big enough for an ambush if they all work together. We’re almost out of Iran, and for that, I’m grateful, but the land is becoming more rocky and mountainous, filled with thugs with bandanas over their faces. There are also fewer roadside shops with food, water, and fuel.

I press my foot to the pedal, hurrying. We have to get to Mashhad, the next big city, and then go north to Turkmenistan. The topography of this area has changed since the Rift—according to our map—which was a waste of money and is useless. Where there were mountains, there are now valleys. Where there was once a valley, there is now a lake.

It’s going to get dark soon, and no way are we going to camp again. Not after last night. Heidi is totally incapacitated. She’s been popping aspirin—which hasn’t done much good—like it’s candy. She needs serious painkillers—but from the dew on her brow and the flush to her cheeks, she needs antibiotics and a visit to the hospital.

“Do you have any water?” she rasps, her head lolling toward me.

She looks terrible and my heart skips a beat. “Yeah. Owen, are there any water bottles back there?”

“Yep.” He hands one up and she guzzles it down, then wipes her mouth, breathing hard.

“You don’t look good,” I tell her, noticing another thug dressed in black, darting behind a tree about fifty feet off the road.

“I don’t feel so good.” She closes her eyes, her pale skin seeming even paler in the waning sunlight. Dark circles stain the skin under her eyes and a sigh parts her lips.

“She needs a doctor,” Jag says from the backseat, his tone accusing. I can’t see his expression, but I can feel the tension rise. He’s angry and blaming me. We wouldn’t be in this predicament if it weren’t for me. I know that and feel the ache of guilt without Jag’s condemnation.

“I know, but I’m not sure what you want me to do about it. I’m not a doctor.” I flash him a glare in the rearview mirror, which he returns.

“Pull over,” he demands.

“No. There are too many demons out there or haven’t you noticed?” I shake my head, tempted to tell him how stupid he is for even suggesting it.

“We need to check her wound,” he says, his voice rising. “Look at her! She has a fever. It’s probably infected.”

“We’ll stop when it’s safe,” I bark back. “She’ll be okay for a minute.” I don’t know what he thinks we can do in the middle of nowhere in the dark. “There. See that?” I point off to the east, toward a glow over the hills. “That’s Mashhad. We’ll stop there for the night.”

“Fine,” Jag mumbles, and I notice Doug and Owen glance at one another in the rearview mirror. They don’t say anything, which is probably smart.

We only drive for a few more minutes when an explosion erupts, fire blossoming outside Heidi’s window. The Jeep rocks to the side. She screams and falls against me in the driver’s seat. The guys shout from the backseat. It’s too dark to see much, so I don’t know if another attack is on the way. What was that, anyway? A rocket launcher? A roadside bomb we drove over that didn’t function right, blowing us to bits?

I push the gas pedal to the floor, only able to see a few feet in front of us. Men dressed in dark clothing dart into view, throwing rocks at the windows, trying to stop us. No other bombs go off, and for that, I am grateful, but it isn’t over yet.

“Why are they attacking us?” Heidi screams.

“They want the Jeep and whatever supplies we have,” I say, swerving to miss a guy who tries to jump onto the hood.

“How do you know?” she cries, practically sobbing in pain and holding her stomach. “Just make it stop!”

Jag rolls down his window, brandishing his dagger, leaning out to stab anyone who gets close. Owen does the same on his side, and we race through the winding countryside. More than once, a bandit launches himself at the car and tries to grab the rack on top. Jag never lets them get a grip. Doug yells for Owen to move over because he’s not seeing much action, stuck in the middle, but soon, the attack slows and finally stops. Everything grows quiet.

There’s no sound in the car but our heavy breathing. Heidi’s head rests against her window, her eyes closed.

“Heidi? You okay?” Jag asks, leaning forward and brushing her hair from her face. Her skin is fevered and flushed, her forehead hot, her breathing rapid. “Heidi!”

I can’t go any faster, but my racing heart makes me feel like we can. After another half hour, we close in on Mashhad. Lights fill up the night as the city comes into sight. The first couple of exits are for industrial areas, so we keep going until we are passing downtown Mashhad. There’s a motel just off the exit, and we pull up to the front office. It’s old and rundown, but they all are. I doubt we’ll find anything better.

Once we’ve paid for our room—we share one for safety’s sake—and we’ve laid Heidi on the bed, I gently lift her shirt. The cotton bandage sticks to the incision; the scab is full of pus and sticky. It’s definitely infected and screaming red. I glance at Jag, who gives me an expression of horror.

“That’s bad,” Doug whispers.

“She needs a hospital,” Owen adds. “Like right now.”

“Well, let’s at least put some more ointment on it,” I say, grabbing the tube from my pack.

“I’ll get directions to the hospital.” Jag leaves without even asking if I think it’s a good idea. It bothers me, but at the same time, it’s a good idea. I’m just jumpy and don’t want us to split up. This close to the border, it’s not safe. I feel an enormous number of demons in the area—like static before a lightning strike.

Jag is back a few minutes later. “The guy doesn’t understand me,” he growls. “You’ll have to get the directions yourself.”

I curse under my breath, but I leave Heidi with the Cazadors and go to the front office. I get directions, scribbled on a piece of paper, and make it back to our room in under three minutes. “Got it. Let’s go.”

“No,” Heidi mumbles into the pillow. “Get Dad.”

“She’s delirious,” Doug says.

I lift one arm while Jag lifts the other. We help her back out to the car with Heidi shouting at us the whole time, crying from pain.

The Jeep races through the streets, Jag yelling out directions. We get lost and have to backtrack twice, and it takes a half hour longer than it should have. When we finally arrive at the hospital, it’s just a small, rundown facility. A white, brick building that has seen better days.

We rush Heidi in through the front doors and sit her down in a chair. Even this late at night, the room is full of waiting, sick people. I push my way to the front desk and tell the receptionist that we need to see a doctor immediately.

She doesn’t even glance up, only gives me a paper to fill out.

“Seriously?” I say in Farsi. “My sister has a terrible infection. She’s practically incoherent.” I stare her down until she finally looks up, a white hijab wrapped around her annoyed face.

My glare does not impress her. With a bored expression, she says, “Everybody here is sick and practically incoherent. Take a seat.” She motions with her head to an empty chair and then goes back to whatever she was doing before I approached her.

Gritting my teeth, my hands in fists, I stomp back over to where the boys are waiting by Heidi. “It’s gonna take more than just asking to get her in before it’s too late.” Looking around, I know we won’t see a doctor until morning at the rate things are going. Half of the room is filled with gray men inside human bodies, hoping to get help before anyone else. They don’t care about the average mortal. They’ll make sure Heidi is last in line.

That’s all it takes for Jag. He jumps up, wearing that devious, totally frightening grin he gets while fighting, and pulls out his dagger. My heart lurches and adrenaline shoots through my body as I attempt to jerk him back, but he’s too fast. He pushes through the doors to the emergency room and disappears. Fifteen seconds later, he’s back with a doctor, whose mouth is in a grim, frightened line.

“Her,” he says, pointing with his dagger to Heidi.

The doctor motions for some orderlies to help her into the back room. We start to follow, but they only let Jag in. He’s the one with the knife after all. I go back to our row of chairs and pace, wondering if I should just push my way through like Jag had, but he’ll make sure she’s given the best care. Either that or more people will need emergency attention.