Page 60 of Once Upon an Apocalypse

Before I could even fathom a response, Dana turns back around and asks, “What the hell happened?”

Chapter 38

Afterwepiledintoour car—all seven of us—I explained the last half hour of events to Dana. I took the driver’s seat while Dana slid into the passenger’s seat. Amos was helped into the back seat by two of the other strangers, and Jonah was thrown into the trunk with another.

As I continue telling the story of how Jonah’s men tried to kill us, how I killed them, Dana gives me directions to their safe house. She had offered to drive, but there was no way I was going to put my life in her hands. Even if she’s all buddy-buddy with Amos. Her familiarity hit me soon after telling her what happened to us. The day my mom was going to give me a tour of The Valley, the day I was freed from my hospital room, Dana had been carried in by Amos. Her leg was broken after falling off a building.

I forgot all about that woman, not thinking to ask who she was. Taking a peek in the rearview mirror, a shiver of fear crawls down my spine, erasing all thoughts of jealousy about who Dana is to Amos. He’s mine now. And I need to focus on getting him somewhere safe, where he can heal.

Amos looks deathly pale. A shade so unnatural to his natural brown skin. I push down my anger, fear, and sadness. Push everything down to keep my mask from breaking as I finish telling Dana how Amos had gotten bitten. All because he was being a stubborn asshole. Amos gives a dry chuckle in the back when I use those exact words.

“That was a smart move to cut off the arm,” Dana says, turning toward the back. “We were able to salvage most of our medical supplies. One of our scouts had seen the incoming siege, but we had little time to get everyone to safety. Some fled by car, but others…weren’t so lucky.”

The rearview mirror shows me Jonah’s defeated face as he looks down at the floor of the trunk. Part of me wants to know what he had done to those people. What he did in the bunker to climb the ranks to become a legatus. He might have saved Amos’ life, but he has a lot to answer for.

“Pull in here, Lori.” Dana points to a long driveway off the main road. An old farmhouse sits at the end. I park on the side of the house and turn the car off, unlocking the doors.

Dana hops out quickly, walking to the back of the car to let our prisoner out as I help Amos out of the backseat. The bleeding hasn’t stopped, but it’s slowed down enough to ease some of the tension in my chest. When I wrap his whole arm over my shoulder, he slumps down so low I stumble for a moment but stop us from tumbling to the ground. I straighten my body and restore my stance, holding him up with a strength I had only felt in my scariest moments.

We follow our company to a side door of the farmhouse. Dana knocks twice, then again three times. The door immediately swings open. With her gun pressed to Jonah’s back, she pushes him inside, relinquishing her guard to the two others who flank her. Then she ushers me and Amos in, bringing us upstairs to a make-shift infirmary. It’s really just a two-bedroom suite in this farmhouse turned bed-and-breakfast.

The room Dana escorts us to has two full sized beds with a nightstand in between, and a tall dresser to the left of the panoramic windows. Everything is decorated in charming shabby chic decor. I lie Amos down on one of the clean beds. The white linens instantly staining from the blood dripping from Amos’ arm stump.

Tears threaten to tear me apart again, but I push them down as I hear Dana order someone to hook Amos up to an IV before leaving us in the room. A woman not much older than my mom, with curly brown hair and a sharp nose, carefully unwraps the hasty bandages Jonah used from his own shirt.

“This needs to be cleaned out before we can work on closing it up, though I’m not sure how to do that without shaving down the bone,” she explains.

Amos groans, turning paler by the second.

“Use my skin,” I nearly shout.

“What?” Both the women in the room look at me like I’ve grown a second head.

When I look at Amos, his golden eyes have lost all their luster, but I know he’s aware of what I’m suggesting. “Lori, no. I’m not worth the pain this will—”

“You are worth everything, Amos. So shut up. I will heal. Let me help you.”

My eyes plead with his until I win. A black woman with frizzy gray hair and large, round glasses on a small, round face approaches the bed, saying, “Hey Amos, I’m sorry but this might pinch a bit.”

She gently pushes the IV into Amos’ right arm, making him wince. “That was nothing compared to getting an arm chopped off. Thank you, Ruth.” To me he says, “If I don’t make it—”

“No. None of that.” I sit on the edge of the bed, my butt gently pushing into his thigh, and grasp his only hand between mine. “You will survive this.”

Amos doesn’t answer as the drugs from the IV drip have taken effect already, dragging him down to a deep sleep where he hopefully won’t feel a pinch of pain. I look up at Ruth, asking, “What can I do to help?”

“We need to clean the wound. You can assist Angie, making sure she has enough linens to clean and dress the stump of his arm. Do you think you can do that?”

I nod, walking over to the other side of the bed where Angie is setting up shop. She pulls another chair over for me to sit on and we get to work. The blood-soaked shirt Jonah used as a bandage has already been discarded. Angie had placed a towel underneath the stump of Amos’ arm. The sight of it makes my heart stop and this time, I can’t prevent the tears from leaking out of my eyes.

“There, there, my dear. We are going to clean him up right as rain.” Angie’s optimism is the candle of hope I need to keep myself together. Even if she’s lying to me, I don’t care. I latch on to her words and remind myself of what I said to him. “You will survive this.” We will survive. Together.

“Lori?” Ruth asks from across the bed, monitoring the IV drip. “What did you mean when you said, ‘use my skin’?”

“Did Amos not tell you all about me?” I ask, holding a bowl of warm water for Angie. She dips a bit of bloodied cloth into the bowl, turning the water a sickly red. “I am immune to the virus that creates zombies. I can also heal very quickly.”

“Are you the gladiator we’ve heard tales of? The one Dr. Tuwile experimented on?”

“Angie, don’t be insensitive!” Ruth barks, turning eyes of pity and sadness on me.

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