Page 16 of Citadel

By the next morning, my injury has finally stopped bleeding, and Cole seems satisfied with what he’s managed to do with the pig meat. He’s left the remainder scattered around for animals to take care of. We set off on our trek again, but I’m a lot weaker than I expect.

An arm injury shouldn’t make it difficult to walk, but for some reason it does. It still hurts unmercifully, but it’s more than that. I don’t seem to have my normal energy.

Breanna checks in with me constantly, and I always say I’m fine and that I don’t need to rest. I’m determined not to slow the others down and not to be a wimp.

But it’s brutally hard to keep going as the hours pass.

By midafternoon, Breanna is demanding that we stop because I can’t go on anymore. I insist that I’m okay, but I can’t stop shaking, even as I push step after step after step.

Cole thinks I’m tough. I don’t want him to be disappointed to discover I’m not.

Finally he turns around to face me, lifting my chin so he can see my face. I do my best to meet his gaze evenly and show a strength I don’t feel.

“Okay,” he mutters. “We’re stopping.”

“I said I’m fine!”

“You’ve done good today with being injured,” he says casually. Almost offhand. “We’ve already gone farther than I thought we would. No need to push it.”

“But it’s too early to—”

“Stop it, Del,” Breanna says in her bossiest tone. “We’ve done plenty for today. If you aren’t careful, you’ll get really sick, and then we’ll be stuck for a lot longer.”

This rings of the truth. I stop arguing.

I might hate the fact that I’m injured, but injured is what I am.

Cole finds a good spot a short distance away to spend the night. Next to the river in what used to be a hunting cabin. The windows and doors are gone, but the structure is still standing. There’s even a bed and some blankets, sheets, and towels folded up in a trunk.

Breanna makes the bed and then makes me take off my shoes, jeans, and sweatshirt and lie down so I can really rest. She gets some water and wipes my face, neck, and arms with a wet washcloth. Cole has been working outside, but now he comes in to tear up one of the sheets for better bandages.

He takes off the current dressing, cleans the wound again, and wraps it up, this time thicker and tighter since we have more material for the bandage. “How does that feel?” he asks, inspecting his wrapping job.

“Good.” I swallow, feeling weak and fragile and very small. I hate feeling that way. “It was fine before though.”

He gives me a narrow-eyed look.

“Don’t give me that disapproving glare. You’d be saying the exact same thing if it was you who got injured.”

He lets out a weird breathy huff. It takes a moment for me to realize that it’s actually a laugh.

It’s the first laugh I’ve ever heard from him.

It feels like a victory.

“You’re right,” he says. “I’d be way more stupidly stoic than you’re being. But your sister is the boss here, and she wants to stop. So we stop.”

I doubt he means that. He’s using it as an excuse. But it works as an excuse for me too. It makes me feel better. “Fine.”

“So get some rest. You need to be strong enough to start off again tomorrow.” He straightens up but stops before he turns around. “Oh here, let me get you more Advil.”

I sit up enough so I can swallow the pills when he returns with them. When Breanna comes in, I scoot over to make room for her on the bed.

Then I close my eyes, and I’m asleep in about five minutes.

* * *

I doze on and off for the rest of the day, and I sleep like the dead all night. By the next morning, my arm still hurts like hell, but I feel like I have more energy. I do better with the walking, and I manage to make it all day.

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