Page 217 of Everything Under the Sun

Another day passed, but we didn’t walk far: less than three miles before we needed to rest again. And still, there was no food to be found, but we managed to find water, leftover from the last rain in a ditch just off a dirt road. Stagnant. Filthy. Bugs floated drunkenly above it and skittered along the surface. And we had no way to sterilize it. But it was all the water we had, and it was drink and risk getting sick, or don’t drink and risk death without it.

And so we drank straight from the hole, gulping the water from our cupped hands as if we’d never known what the heavenly liquid felt like in our mouths.

We fell next to one another after we’d had our fill, the sun blazing down on us, but we couldn’t move to find shade.

“Are we going to die?” Thais asked, though I got the feeling that what she really had wanted to say was: “If we stay here, we’re going to die.”

“No, we’re not going to die.” I answered; my eyes were closed, my breathing unsteady, my body sweating as it tried to burn off the fever. But what I had really wanted to say was: “You won’t, but I just might.”

The sky opened up again in the night and stirred us from our sleep. Grateful for the clean water and slightly cooler air the rain brought with it, we woke with weak smiles on our faces, and we just lay there, looking up at the nighttime sky as the rain fell on us in heavy torrents and gave us some relief.

Thais let the rain fill up the small toy bucket, and we drank until it was empty. And she filled it up again, instructed me to drop my pants, and she cleaned my wounds.

“This one feels too…tight,” Thais said as she pressed her fingers carefully around the wound on my thigh.

I swallowed nervously, and hoped she wouldn’t notice the extent of the infection.

THAIS

I peered in closer, unable to see just how red and inflamed the skin was in the darkness, but enough I could tell it was getting infected.

I looked up at him, his face still very much swollen from his injuries, but he opened both eyes now at least.

“This one doesn’t look good, Atticus.”

He shrugged it off. “It feels all right. No different than the others.”

I didn’t believe him for a moment, but then I gave in, confident the penicillin would do its job.

“Well, we still need to find some kind of antiseptic,” I said, “before it gets worse.”

And that night, when we came upon a small mechanic’s garage with an old rusted truck parked outside, I was blessed once again with just what I needed, this time to pack his wounds and help keep them clean.

“Hold still,” I instructed.

ATTICUS

I sat on the oil-stained concrete floor of the garage with my back against the wall. I wasn’t looking forward to Thais packing the holes where the knife had gone in with balled-up spider webs she’d gathered from the garage. But she knew what she was doing and that was enough to convince me.

I hissed through my teeth when she packed the infected wound on my thigh.

I watched her, admiring her.

THAIS & (ATTICUS)

Sensing his eyes on me as I worked on his wounds, I raised my head.

“What?” I asked, half-smiling.

“Nothing.” Atticus’ lips turned up on one side.

I blinked.

“Tell me,” I insisted.

He looked down at my hands as they prodded the wound.

“You just amaze me, is all,” he said.

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