Page 15 of Citadel

A sharp slash of pain stuns me. I’m knocked off my feet, and the beast moves fast. Backing up and then lunging again.

I’m dead. In a couple of seconds, I’m going to be dead.

Just as I have this panicked thought, a gunshot echoes over the growling. The attacker whimpers in pain and withdraws.

It’s a boar. Or a pig with hair and tusks. Or something. He makes a weird move, like he’s going to lunge again—injured but still on his feet—but then turns around and runs away.

There’s another shot, and the animal falls down, skidding on its side for a moment with its momentum until it comes to a stop.

It’s dead.

“Del!” Breanna woke up in the scuffle and is running over to me now. I’m still on the ground, and my left arm hurts like it’s going to kill me.

“I’m okay,” I manage to say. There’s blood all over my arm. The animal must have gored it.

It could have done so much worse.

Cole strides over, nudging Breanna aside so he can get to me. He scans me from top to bottom and then takes my arm in his hand, wiping away the blood so he can inspect the injury.

It’s one big slash from my shoulder to my elbow.

“It looks terrible,” Breanna says. “She needs stitches.”

“No way for that right now. I’ll clean it and bind it up, and we’ll hope for the best.”

It’s all I can do to keep from whimpering with pain as he finds an old shirt in his pack, rips it into strips, uses one piece to clean the wound as best he can and then the others to bind it up tightly.

“We need to keep it clean,” he mutters, holding my eyes. “Or it’s gonna get infected. If it does, you die. You understand?”

“Yes, I understand. I’ll keep it clean.” I turn to look at Breanna, who’s obviously trying not to cry. “I promise.”

I’m shaking. I can’t help it. From lingering panic and the pain, which isn’t going away or even getting better.

Cole leans over and lifts my chin, staring at my face intensely like he’s trying to read my mind. “You’re tough,” he says at last. “You’ll be fine.”

Strangely, the curt words are comforting. I believe them. My teeth are still chattering, and Breanna gets a blanket and brings it over to wrap around my shoulder.

“You can rest for a while,” Cole says. “I’m gonna carve up some of that pig. We can’t take it all, but it’s too much meat there to go to waste. So rest a while. Oh, and here.” He leans over to his pack and pulls out what looks like a pill bottle. He dumps out three burnt-orange pills. “Advil. It will help with the pain.”

“Isn’t it expired by now?” Breanna asks. We haven’t seen any sort of medication in years.

He shrugs. “Still seems to work.”

I swallow down the pills, praying they do indeed work. The pain is still awful, and right now it doesn’t feel like it’s ever going to go away.

* * *

The next few days are even worse than the ones before.

We end up staying in place for the rest of that first day because Cole wants to smoke and dry out some of the pig meat so it will last longer. Breanna is very concerned about me and jumps eagerly on the idea of resting for the day.

I’d never admit it for the world, but it’s a relief I don’t have to hike.

Cole said I’m tough, and I’d like to believe it, but I feel pitiful and the damned wound keeps bleeding.

Way too much blood.

Surely it’s not good that it won’t stop no matter how tightly Cole tries to tie the bandages. I feel so bad I can barely enjoy the roasted pork loin he cooks up for us on the fire.

---