a/n: Couple of things to be wary of in this chapter: 1) wound care. proceed with caution if that sorta thing makes you squeamish; and 2) dead people.
Also I got tired of trying to figure out what kind of books a pharmacy might have so there's that. I even have a friend who's a pharmacist, but did I ask her? Guess.
Love the reviews, y'all! Keep 'em comin!
now for me some words come easy
but i know that they don't mean that much
compared with the things that are said when lovers touch
Jackson Browne, "Late for the Sky"
June 26 - Doc Soames' cabin, somewhere in AR
Kai slept till nearly eight the next morning, which was late for her—though she'd been trying to adapt her circadian rhythms to Nick's, because who wanted to be up at four AM breaking camp or whatever? But it would be an easier task without the nightmares. Last night she'd fallen into bed a little after eleven and dreamt what felt like the entire night about coyotes. Coyotes in the corn, coyotes surrounding the cabin, coyotes stalking Nick as he worked away, oblivious. She tried to call his name, but for some reason in this dream he couldn't hear her, and she could only watch as the coyote pounced, and Nick was dragged to the ground under its mangy body.
She awoke from that one shivering and dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom. She could make bread today; there were packets of dry yeast and everything. Maybe Dr. Soames and his wife had been doomsday preppers like Sheriff Baker. Prepper light.
Nick was sound asleep on the couch, but she woke him and sent him to the bedroom. While her noise wouldn't disturb him, everything else would, and he needed to rest. He stumbled that way in a daze with a wave of thanks, and the door shut behind him.
Around lunchtime she woke him with some fresh baked bread slathered with honey, and he ate it like a starving man.
"How's the pain?" she signed as she perched on the edge of the bed and drew her feet up to sit cross-legged.
He hitched a shoulder and held up four fingers. Then flashed them again.
"Eight? That doesn't sound good. You still have plenty of those pills?"
He gave a quick nod and licked honey off his fingers. "I just took a couple. I hate how much they make me sleep."
"Sleep is good. Restorative."
"Yeah, but—" He broke off with a shake of his head and stared down at his empty plate, expression pensive and haunted.
"The nightmares." She blew out a rueful breath. "Me too. Coyotes?"
He nodded. "And him. Not in person, but his presence. I miss Mother Abagail. You don't think something's happened to her, do you?"
"No!" she signed quickly. Then, more thoughtfully, "No, I don't think so. We'd know. I think—he's trying to scare us. Keep us away from her. Divide and conquer."
He thought that over for a bit, but she could tell that the pain meds were starting to kick in. At last he pointed at her, then at himself, then crossed his fingers.
She tilted her head. "We have to stick together."
He nodded. "Coyotes run in packs. So do we."
"Teamwork makes the dream work," she said with a smirk.
He grimaced and pointed sternly at her, then at the door.
"You brought that on yourself," she said, still grinning. "But I'll go and let you sleep. You know where I am if you need anything." She slid off the bed, but as she started away he lightly grabbed her wrist to stop her. She glanced back at him in surprise.
"Still the best bread I ever had," he signed. He made the gesture big, arms wide, to show her just how best he thought it.
Her mouth quirked again, a brief half-smile. "I know," she said. She twisted enough to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Get some rest, Andros. May your dreams be sweet like honey."
"Sweet like you," he said with a drunken grin. He wouldn't have dared it if not for the drugs, and he wasn't even sure what it meant, because Kai D'Arnaud was a whole lot of things, but sweet definitely wasn't the first word that sprung to mind.
"Thought you were trying to avoid nightmares," she said. She poked the center of his chest to gently push him back against the pillows. He tipped like a Weeble, and once she was satisfied that he was more or less horizontal, she turned to go again.
This time she stopped in the doorway and looked back with a thoughtful furrow to her brow. His eyes were closed, so he didn't see the way she studied him, or how she touched her fingers lightly to her lips like she still felt the warmth of his skin there. She gave a quick shake of her head at the ridiculous direction her thoughts had wandered and left him to sleep.
He appeared in the kitchen a few hours later when she was adding frozen vegetables to the soup she was making. She shot him a smile and a wave, and he pointed at the stove and rubbed his stomach.
"Smells good," he signed.
"Beef stew. I'm using what we brought in the cooler from the Bakers'. I thought maybe tomorrow you'd feel like going to town with me, so I wouldn't have to go alone." She eyed him. He looked pale under his naturally tan skin, and shaky on his pins. "You can stay in the car."
He nodded, but when he tried to step closer he wobbled and almost fell. She reached out and grabbed his waist to steady him.
"Whoa, hey, what's wrong?"
He closed his eye a moment, and when he opened it again a tear hung suspended on his long dark lashes.
"Nick?"
"I think I fucked up," he said. He took her by the upper arms and gently moved her a step or two away, then held up both hands for her to wait. Slowly he reached for the button on his trousers. Undid it and the zipper, and let them fall to his knees. He twisted a little and pointed down, at his thigh, and as her confused gaze followed his finger she let out a ragged, horrified gasp.
"Oh fuck," she breathed, then signed it.
He nodded dismally. On his leg was a six-inch long furrow that stretched from the hem of his boxer briefs almost to his knee. Blood was crusted around it, and the skin was tight and shiny and red. Small streaks of crimson, like tendrils of poison, moved out from the wound in a frightening corona.
"I think when I was trying to pull my gun I shot myself. Can you believe it? How fucking stupid. I didn't even realized it hurt, because of the pain in my eye, and I guess I didn't notice it yesterday. I went to pee just now and when I dropped my pants the cloth hit it and it hurt like a motherfucker."
She swallowed around a throat gone thick. "That must've been—when I shot him—the shotgun seemed—really fucking loud. Louder than—just one shotgun. We must've fired—at the same time." Her signs were jerky and disjointed, and she couldn't look away from his leg. Clearly it had to be cleaned. He had to have antibiotics. Those streaks meant blood poisoning, and if the bullet had somehow lodged in there…
"Okay," she said. She took a deep breath and looked up into his frightened face. "It's going to be okay. We'll get it cleaned up, and I'll make that run into town and get you some antibiotics and you'll be fine." She spun in a slow circle to study the room, then waved him toward the kitchen island. "Let me clean it first, then you can get up there. Lots of light, and a good height. I need supplies."
She took off before he could say anything, and he hobbled to the island to wait for her. His leg was badly infected, he knew that much, and he thought he might be running a fever from it. He could read on her face how bad it looked, and how scared she was, but he'd also spent the last several days learning how incredibly competent she was when it seemed like shit was about to hit the fan. Of all the people to be stuck with during the apocalypse with a raging infection, he'd choose her.
She reappeared from the bathroom and dumped what she'd scrounged onto the kitchen counter. There was a large first aid kit and what looked like a medical bag, in addition to a stack of towels and some cleaning supplies.
"My wife was a doctor," she said. "I guess I never mentioned that. We met when I was in culinary school and she was finishing her residency in New York. A pan fell off a high shelf onto my head, and I had to go to the ER. She was my doctor."
She sprayed down the island with bleach-laced cleaner and let it sit.
"Then I went back a few weeks later because I burned myself on a hot pan. By my third visit, this time from a cut, we were starting to become friends. I accidentally ran into her later that night and our first date was pie at an all night diner."
His mouth quirked at one corner. "Are you really that accident prone, or was it on purpose to cozy up to the cute doctor?"
She shrugged and wiped the counter with a paper towel. "I used to be. I was always…rushing. Like I thought being fast meant being better. Since then I've learned to take my time."
"That's good," he said. "I like to take my time too." He paused. Frowned. "I've never actually shot myself before."
"I didn't think so. You've always struck me as a very steady individual." She turned away to open the medical bag and began sorting through the contents. "Oh, there's lots of good shit in here. A suture kit, though I hope to hell we won't need that. Gloves. Masks."
Finally she turned to him again with a reassuring smile. "I'll put some towels down so you aren't on the cold counter. Can you get up by yourself, or…?"
"I think I can make it," he said, dryly.
"Okay then, touchy." She spread out a few towels, and grabbed a pillow from the couch for his head. As he'd said, he was able to hop up with no problems, and she stopped him before he could lie down.
"Let me look at it first, so we know what…needs to be done." She put on a mask and a pair of gloves, and leaned in close. She could feel the heat radiating off his skin now; how had she not noticed it earlier when she'd kept him from falling? Too worried about gravity, she supposed.
The whole area was swollen, so it was hard to tell what was what, but at the end there seemed to be a decided bulge. The bullet, maybe. If it stayed in there it could turn septic, and that would most certainly kill him in their current situation.
Not an option worth considering.
She looked up at him, brilliant eyes steady above the mask. "This is going to hurt," she signed.
He nodded. "I know. I'm ready."
She took a deep breath and rested her fingers lightly on either side of the lump. Squeezed. He hissed through his teeth, but when she flicked her eyes up to check on him, he just nodded for her to continue. She pressed harder. Something was definitely moving under there, but she wasn't going to be able to just squeeze it out like a splinter. There was too much swelling.
"Okay," she said. She stepped back and stripped off the gloves and mask. "I think that's the bullet."
He let out a shaking breath. He was looking a little green around the gills again; she passed him a large mixing bowl just in case. "It's got to come out, right?" he said. "It'll go septic if it stays."
"Exactly what I was thinking." She turned away to check the medical bag again, though she knew what was in it. "Doc Soames has a scalpel in here," she signed. She pulled a glass vial from the bag. "And this, I'm pretty sure, is local anesthetic."
"You're pretty sure? How sure is that?" He looked remarkably calm, all things considered, and she appreciated that about him.
She read the label again and chewed on her lower lip. "Like, ninety-eight percent. More, really, but I want to build in a margin for error."
"Kai. I mean this as kindly as possible. But I don't think there is margin for error here!" The calm facade cracked a bit, and she couldn't really blame him. He had a baker, not a surgeon, and for the second time in as many days he was putting his life in her hands.
"It is. An anesthetic. It's part of the suture kit, so what else would it be? I'll inject a bit in around the area, then cut the bullet free. It's right there near the surface; I'll just be cutting skin. No muscle or anything like that."
"And then you'll clean it."
"Yes. With hydrogen peroxide and saline."
He gave a slow nod. "Do you think it needs stitches?"
"I guess we'll see how removing the bullet goes."
Their eyes met. His was fever-bright, but hers were steady. That same steel he'd seen yesterday, even when she'd seemed on the verge of panic. She'd hacked her hair off in the bathroom but then pulled herself together to help with Jane. She'd shot Ray Booth to save his life when he'd only managed to shoot himself. Then she'd cleaned up his eye and gotten them both safely here, while also remembering to stop to check on the dogs and cats at the pound.
"You're a steely-eyed missile man," he said. He poked her in the sternum. "Heard that in a movie once."
"Apollo 13."
"No, not that one. Never saw it."
She frowned. Thought about it. "The Martian?"
"That's it!" He pointed at her. "Potatoes on Mars."
She gave a brief nod. "You better fucking believe it. Now lie down on your side, bum leg up. I'm going to limit the local to around where I'll be cutting. If you can feel it once I start, tell me and I'll add some more."
He did as he was told while she replaced the mask and gloves. She filled the syringe and added little dots of anesthetic, just like she'd seen on Dr. Pimple Popper—which, all things considered, was maybe not her best medical reference in this situation, but surely had to be better than Grey's Anatomy. At least it wasn't fiction.
She kept at it until she poked the spot with the needle and he gave her a thumbs up. Her first small cut, across the top of the bump, produced blood and enough pus to gross them both out.
"That has to be good, though," she signed one-handed. "Better to get it out."
He gave another thumbs up, this one sort of shaky, and offered a weak smile.
She used a thin pair of forceps to dig the bullet out, and as she'd guessed, it was close to the surface. She could tell at one point she was hurting him, but he stayed still and stoic until she pulled the little plug of metal free.
"Got it!" She dropped it into a bowl and swapped the surgical tools for the squeeze bottle and gauze.
Cleaning the wound took longer, and she had to stop several times for him to catch his breath. It hurt, a lot, and she could hear his teeth grinding as she worked. Finally she had it cleaned to her satisfaction, though it looked red and raw and jagged, like an ugly grin filled with picket teeth.
She applied a bandage, then wrapped gauze around his entire thigh to hold it in place. Finally she helped him sit up, and once she'd washed the bit of bullet, handed him the bowl.
"There it is," she said. "Little fucker."
He poked it with one finger and his face moved in a rueful grimace. "Can't believe something this small might kill me."
"Hey." She jabbed him in the shoulder to make sure she had his full attention. "Fuck that shit. Do you think I'd let you die? It's a stupid infection. You'll be fine."
His mouth quirked on one side. "Yeah?"
"Yes. I promise."
He looked at her then, and a thousand things he wanted to say flashed through his mind, but somehow even in his pain-addled, fever-dazed state he managed to keep them in. You're so kind and beautiful and tough and ferocious and whatever your secret is you can tell me because I trust you. I trust you past the end of the world, because here we are standing at the edge of it, and you're the person I'm taking with me into whatever's beyond that. Not because you're the only other person here, but because you're you, and when the map says Here There Be Monsters, I know you'll fight them all, and I wanna be the one to fight them with you.
"I believe you," he said, and that was all.
Kai had hoped her run to town could wait till morning, but as afternoon turned into evening his fever spiked despite the Tylenol, and he couldn't hold anything down. He was tucked into bed, stripped down to his shorts, and whenever she left and came back he'd kicked the covers off and was shivering again.
"It can wait," he signed, shaking with chills, when she told him her plans.
"Clearly it can't. I have to get you antibiotics and something more hydrating than just water. I'm not letting you die because I was afraid of the dark."
Not the dark, he thought, but what might lurk in it. And it's a real fear. But he only gave a weary nod and told her to be careful.
"I will," she said. "I won't be gone long. Try to stay in bed if you can, because I don't want you falling and smacking your head. Drink something, too. And—don't worry. I'll be fine."
He managed a weak smile and a thumbs up. "Take the shotgun."
"Planning on it." She hesitated. She didn't want to leave him, and not just because it was getting dark. Finally she rested a hand on his cheek and bent to kiss his burning forehead. "Get some rest. I'll be back soon," she signed with one hand.
He grabbed her hand before she could pull away and pressed his lips to the center of her palm. It seemed like he wanted to say something else, but he only held on a moment or two before he released her with another smile and a little wave.
She closed the bedroom door behind her and stopped at the front door to check the shotgun. She'd cleaned it since the encounter with Booth yesterday, and it was loaded. She pocketed some more ammo, slung the gun over her shoulder, and headed to the car.
The town was about twenty minutes away, smaller than Shoyo but still big enough to have all the basics. The drive there was uneventful: street lights popped on as it got darker, all the traffic lights still worked, and while most homes were dark, stores were lit up like they'd been before everything went to hell.
Her first stop was a clothing store. There was a washer and dryer at the cabin, but neither of them had a lot of clothes and she didn't want to be doing laundry all day. Plus he needed something more comfortable than his usual trousers while his leg healed. She grabbed basics for both of them: socks, underwear, t-shirts; and then sweatpants for him and jeans and shorts for her. She had to guess on some of his sizes, but as long as the pants weren't too short she thought it would be okay. They could come back when he was feeling better to get him more actual wardrobe staples.
Next she hit a grocery store, and luckily it was empty of both customers and employees. She got baking supplies, a variety of broth, and lots of Jell-O. She debated getting perishables, but she knew they wouldn't last much longer, and she could freeze any meat she bought for once Nick could eat again. He'd need the protein to regain his strength.
It was eerie in the silent parking lot as she unloaded her cart into the back of the SUV. The light above her head buzzed. An errant breeze scattered a pile of trash across the asphalt. There were a few cars parked here and there, but she avoided looking inside them. Either they were empty or they were rolling coffins; she didn't need to know which.
The pharmacy was her last stop, and the one she'd been dreading. Of all places to find full of corpses, a drug store during a flu outbreak seemed like a good bet.
She sat in the car outside the store making a list of what she needed so she could get in and out as quickly as possible: Pedialyte or something like it, Tylenol, gauze and bandages, saline, and, most importantly, antibiotics. She hoped there would be some kind of pharmacists' guide behind the counter so she could look up the best ones to get. She also hoped they weren't all gone, because while most people knew the flu was a virus that couldn't be treated by antibiotics, there were some out there who still clung to the old idea of antibiotics equal cure-all.
She locked the car on her way into the store and pocketed the keys. The shotgun hung over one shoulder, and she rested her fingers on it. Just in case.
Inside the store it was as quiet as everywhere else, except for the same buzzing lights and the soft whoosh of the AC. An employee lay slumped across a checkout counter. Someone was sprawled out in the cold medicine aisle. Bodies littered the area leading to the pharmacy counter.
She paused and pressed a hand to her nose. The smell wasn't too horrible, probably thanks to the air conditioning, but it wasn't going to be like tiptoeing through the tulips, either. She tried to breathe through her mouth, and keep it shallow, but as she navigated the obstacle course of sprawled limbs, grasping hands, and bloated faces, she felt her heart rate kick up and her breathing deepen.
"They're dead," she whispered. "They can't hurt you. They're dead." That mantra kept her going until she reached the pharmacy proper. She had to boost herself over the counter, and she only saw the dead pharmacist as she dropped to the other side.
"Fuck!" she cried. She twisted to avoid landing on the body and instead her ass smacked the linoleum hard enough to make her teeth clamp together. Luckily she didn't bite her tongue, but she was sure there'd be a bruised tailbone in her future.
But she hadn't landed on him, and at the moment that was all she cared about.
She sat on the floor, eyes fixed on the corpse, as she struggled to regain her breath. Finally she pushed to her feet and wiped her hands on her jeans.
"Sorry for almost smushing you. Next time say something, okay?" She frowned. "Or, actually, please don't. That probably would've been worse."
Keep it together, D'Arnaud, she told herself. Focus.
She cast around for something other than a computer—they required login codes she obviously didn't have—and finally found a thick tome under the sign Orange Book goes HERE. Okay, she'd make sure to put it back.
Except it wasn't super helpful, because it just was a giant list of drugs. She rolled her eyes. Surely she'd taken enough antibiotics over the course of her life to figure this out. As long as Nick wasn't allergic. Why the fuck hadn't she asked him about that?
She flipped the book shut and went for the shelves of medication. It didn't take long to find amoxicillin, and after thinking it over, she grabbed the entire bottle. Obviously he wouldn't take this much, but it never hurt to have a supply for the future. There were plenty of other bottles left on the shelf if anyone came along after her. She also pocketed a thick stack of Z-Paks, because that was what Sarah had prescribed for Kai's second and third ER trips, the burn and the cut. They could start with this, and then switch to the other if it wasn't working.
She climbed back over the counter and started to work her way through the store collecting the other items on her list. First she grabbed a basket and tossed in several candy bars and packs of gum and mints. On the pain killer aisle there was a body slumped directly in front of what she needed, and she stood for a moment, undecided. They had Tylenol…just not a big bottle. She wanted to make sure there was plenty, in case Nick's fever lasted a while.
Finally she shuffled closer. Swallowed around the lump in her throat. And reached toward the bottle she needed. The smell this close was nauseating, and she realized that what she'd thought was the buzzing of fluorescents was actually flies. So goddamn many flies.
She jerked back, knocking into the shelf as she did, and the corpse slid toward her. Maggots crawled where its eyes should be, and what remained of its face was frozen in a rictus of pain and horror.
Kai let out a little cry and skipped away, barely avoiding the body's slow drag to the floor. A cloud of flies rose and some kind of fluid created a puddle on the linoleum.
"I'm sorry!" she gasped. "I'm so sorry!"
She sprinted from the aisle and grabbed the rest of what she needed at record speed. Luckily the other aisles were empty, but over the sound of her own panting she could still hear those goddamn flies, buzz buzz, and she thought, maybe, something else. A scuttling. Of small animals, probably, but her overwrought brain imagined those blackened fingers clawing at the floor, clawing and scratching and crawling.
There was something in here with her, she could feel it. Hiding in the dark. Watching her. It laughed and cavorted and oozed from the shadows with a sentient malevolence. She had to get the fuck out of here, she had to get out before it found her, before it touched her, because if it touched her that would be it she would lose her mind and Nick would die and—!
She burst out onto the sidewalk and ran for the car. The door wouldn't open, why the fuck wouldn't it open?!
It was locked. She fumbled in her pocket for the keys and managed to hit the button despite nearly swooning from fear. She could taste it in the back of her throat, an acrid burn that tried to choke her.
She threw the basket and the shotgun into the passenger seat, locked the doors, and hit the ignition button. The hybrid's electric engine always started first, and it was so quiet that for a second she thought it wouldn't start at all, but then the gas engine rumbled to life and she sobbed in relief. She clamped shaking hands around the wheel and tried to breathe.
Her reflection stared back at her from the rearview mirror, wild-eyed and pale. She rubbed the tears off her cheeks, and it was as she reached to adjust the mirror she noticed it staring back at her from across the parking lot.
She twisted in the seat to look over her shoulder, and sure enough. A fucking coyote. Just one. Its golden eyes reflected the streetlight and its gaze was too knowing, too sentient.
The coyotes are his.
She didn't need to stick around for an interview. Throwing the car into gear, she backed out of the parking place and streaked out of the lot. She needed to get back to Nick. They were more vulnerable separated, and he was sick and weak.
As she drove the night seemed to fold itself around her. A fog rolled in off the lake and she had to slow down to a creep on the narrow, unfamiliar roads. The streetlights that had guided her into town seemed to have gone out, and the only illumination came from her own headlights.
"Fuck!" she cried and slammed on the brakes. The basket of drug store stuff slid off the seat and into the floorboard. She grabbed the shotgun to keep it steady and squinted out into the fog where a lone coyote stood in the middle of the road, staring at her like he'd been there waiting just for her.
As she watched several others trotted out of the mist to form a little semi-circle around the original one. The stood silent as ghosts, and Kai shivered. Weren't coyotes known to be loud? They "talked" to each other as they hunted, she thought. So did that mean they weren't hunting now? Just…watching?
They would be kind of cute if they weren't so fucking creepy. She rested her hand on the shotgun, but she knew she could never shoot them. They looked too much like dogs.
The coyotes are his.
"I know! I know that. Doesn't mean I have to kill them, does it?!" She tapped the horn and they didn't move. She leaned on it, a long blast, and a couple of them jumped a little, but none of them ran away. The lead one just blinked, long and slow.
"I'm sorry," she said with a scowl, "am I boring you, Wile E?"
She grabbed the shotgun and shoved the door open. Stepped out onto the road and aimed the gun at the leader. "Go on!" she said. "Get! I know who sent you, and I'm not afraid of him."
None of them moved.
"Goddammit." She aimed the gun into the air and squeezed the trigger. The blast was deafening in the close night, and a few of the coyotes scattered. The leader cocked its head like it was curious—or amused.
She strode closer. "I am not your road runner, asshole. Get the fuck out of my way. I'm not afraid of you!" she cried. "Do you hear me!? I'm not afraid of you!"
She trained the gun on it again and wondered if she could shoot it after all.
The coyote stood a few moments longer until it finally gave a little chuff. It turned slowly and sauntered off, the others falling in behind it. She didn't move until she heard them in the underbrush along the road, and then she hurried back to the car.
If anything else got in her way she was just going to run the fuck over it, because she had a fear all of this was just a distraction. Delaying tactics to keep her away from the cabin and away from Nick.
Nick was who mattered. He was the important one, the good one, the one with a purpose.
Kai was just the bitch with the gun watching his back. And she wasn't about to let him down.
this is, after all, a fic based on a horror story, so I tried to get a lil scary here. hope I succeeded! I don't write horror much, generally, but I read it all the time.