Chapter 14: Dust
I'M HOME NOW. Matthew's men dismiss themselves, uninterested in what has befallen my family. I run to Neveah, to Apollon. His arms are holding his midsection. I put my hand over them and feel the stickiness of blood.
"Oscar," I shout. Neveah and I begin dragging Apollon inside, her struggling with his shoulders and me stumbling around with his legs and feet. He must weigh as much as the both of us combined, all bone and muscle. Still, we have him halfway through the threshold by the time Oscar joins us.
"Eden," he says, "Jonas and Miranda are worse. They need me."
"Go," I grunt, panting and trying to get Apollon's feet through the door. He's limp, and I'm terrified that we're dragging only a body inside. Blood hammers at the insides of my skull. I'm not thinking. I need to think. I drop Apollon's feet unceremoniously. Not like bruised heels will do that much more damage. "Here," I pant, fishing inside my pocket. I thrust the vials at Neveah, who looks at me wide-eyed, frozen, half-falling under Apollon's weight. She glances down at his face, at the vials, toward Jonas and Miranda. She eases his weight onto the floor much more carefully than I did. Her hand trembles as she takes the vials from me.
As she moves away, I scramble around to crouch beside Apollon's head. His face is white. His cheek feels cold. We're halfway inside, and light is spilling over him now. I gingerly move his hands away from his stomach long enough to take a peek. His jacket is slick with blood. "Get me the towel," I hiss, and Oscar scurries toward the bathroom. In an instant, he's by my side, pressing the towel into my hand. I wad it up against Apollon's stomach. He groans, flooding me with relief. He's still alive, which at least gives us a chance. "It's OK," I tell him softly. "You're going to be OK."
"Is he?" Oscar whispers beside me.
I want to lie to him, but I can't. "I don't know," I whisper back, hoping it's quiet enough that Apollon can't hear.
Tears well up in Oscar's eyes— tears that I think he's been holding back all night. Even now, his chin jerks up in an attempt to defy them. But his forehead, then his chin, crinkles. His lips pucker as his chest caves in a little sob. He shakes his head ferociously, breathing in. "What can I do?" he squeaks.
"Hold this."
He places his hands over the towel.
I move to Apollon's feet, and try to get his bottom half inside the door. I have to bend him sideways, which can't be good for him, but the open door is an invitation for disaster. I slam it, and bolt it. Neveah is administering V2 to Miranda. Jonas is lying deadly still next to her, his face paler even than Apollon's. Has Neveah already dosed him? The question niggles at me. She wouldn't do Miranda first, would she? Jonas was symptomatic first. He's worse off. She would have dosed him first.
Focus. Oscar, kneeling beside Apollon, looks smaller than normal as he gazes up at me with his deep brown eyes.
I kneel beside him and carefully unfasten Apollon's jacket, working it out from under the towel. I don't have my knife, so I rip his shirt open with my fists. Oscar's hands move gently away and I push the cloth to the sides, revealing Apollon's bloodied stomach. The actual wound, when I find it in all the blood, is not very large. Less than an inch long, at the side of his stomach. I take the towel from Oscar and press it against the gash. Not very big, I'm saying over and over again. Not very big. But then, how deep?
Apollon's chest rises and falls, his breathing quicker, shallower than usual. I have Oscar hold the towel again, and I take off my jacket. I drape it over Apollon. Our only blanket is under Jonas and Miranda. I straighten Apollon's legs as best I can, and sit on my knees, his feet lifted into my lap. What else can I do for him? I draw a blank. A feeling of hopelessness sinks in as I realize I don't know how to make him better. Oscar, having bravely fought back his tears, talks softly to Apollon. Telling him it's OK. Telling him I will take care of him. Suddenly, my own tears are like a spring flood, rushing from me without consent, a thing beyond my control. I bend over Apollon's feet, my fingers closing around the soles of his boots. I expect to sob, but my body is so tired, all that comes are silent tears. My chest is still, aching with hollowness, as I watch my tears plop like fat raindrops onto Apollon's pant legs.
A hand touches my shoulder. I don't look up. Neveah kneels beside Oscar with a needle and catgut in her hands. I watch how gentle her touch is as she removes the towel. Underneath, it is soaked through with shiny red. She turns it over and blots delicately around the wound before beginning her repairs. The needle moves deftly in her hands, each stroke certain and precise. I stare. Her skin is creased, dry, pale enough that the veins in the back of her hands stand out, but her fingers are long and delicate. There's something soothing about the way they move. I'm hypnotized by them. The world drifts far away, and by the time she has finished sewing up Apollon's stomach, I'm half-nodding asleep.
Only when she stands do I blink my eyes awake. Oscar looks from her to me, and back.
"Will he..." I begin, but then I'm glancing toward the bed. "Will they...?"
She looks toward the bed, too, and then down at Apollon. Her gaze flickers. She says nothing, and turns away to clean her needle.
Oscar moves suddenly to my side and leans in against me, half sprawling over Apollon's feet to do so. I wrap my arm around him, and close my eyes. I picture the men running from the pathway. Who were they? Cold sinks into me as I consider the possibility that they were Donegan's men. That they came here because of me. Apollon may die, and if he does, will it be my fault? Have I failed my only family? Shivering, I glance toward the bed again, toward Jonas, who lies corpse-still. How fragile life is. How easily we can lose everything. Our fingers reach and grasp and claw, trying to cling to what we have, but in the end, life runs through them like water. We cannot hold it.
My arm tightens around Oscar, whom I can hold onto for just this moment. I lean my head against him, and close my eyes, and try not to imagine his little body turning to dust and scattering on the wind.