Chapter 7

"What in the hell were you thinking going out there alone? Grace? Grace!"

The voices were distant. The arguing. She wasn't there, she was back in the woods, watching Jimmy get impaled on that tree. The skitter slamming him across the clearing, skewering him on that branch. Her, powerless to stop it. Again and again and again.

"Grace?"

The touch of Tom's hand on her shoulder jolted her back to the present. She blinked hard, focusing on the concerned and disapproving faces of Captain Weaver and her father as they interrogated her away from prying eyes.

"I...I'm sorry," she stammered. "It's my fault. It's all my fault. I knew that they were hunting and I...I let them do it. I let that skitter hurt Jimmy. I let it happen."

There was a short silence as the two men glanced at each other. Weaver sighed.

"Your brother is full of so much hate," he said regretfully. "I don't blame him for wanting to take things into his own hands. I never should have let them go out on patrol three nights in a row."

"I'm his father," Tom snapped. "I didn't even know he was on patrol!"

"I should have been paying better attention," Weaver argued, his jaw clenched.

Grace watched her father lean over the table, shaking his head. She had never seen him so defeated. "I can't protect them anymore. We can't protect them. All we can do is prepare them for the world that's in front of them, and it's a world where kids have to grow up too fast. And there's gonna be consequences and there's gonna be casualties."

Weaver frowned. "I wish that gave me some comfort, Tom. But it doesn't."

Grace breathed shakily through her nose, the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. She couldn't stop picturing Jimmy's lifeless features as Ben carried him all the way back to camp, how limp his body was as they lay him down in the med bus. Anne and Lourdes were working on him right now, trying to save his life. She didn't want Jimmy to be 'just another casualty.' She didn't want to feel this powerless.

"No. Me either," she sniffed.

Tom straightened up and frowned. "I know." He looked over at Grace and smiled somberly. "It wasn't meant to." He approached her again and put his hands on her shoulders. "Grace, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that to you."

"No," she said quietly. "It's true." She was too old to be shielded by Tom's classic optimism. She was the one who saw him vulnerable, who saw him question things. She wasn't just his daughter now, she was his confidante. Her brothers hadn't been exposed to their father's weaknesses quite like this. Intentionally or not, Grace appreciated his honesty. She swallowed back her tears. "Over the past few months I've learned that I can't always protect the people I love," she admitted. "They're gonna get hurt, no matter what I do. I guess that's just the way it is," she mumbled, avoiding their gazes. She was staring at the table, but all she kept seeing, all she kept hearing was Jimmy. His cry as he hit the tree. The blood. His terrified face as he blacked out.

She felt Tom's hand on her cheek, centering her vision onto him. "I want you to get cleaned up. Stay with Ben and Hal until we hear something about Jimmy's condition. The Berserkers and I will make sure the area is secure."

She shook him off. "I'm fine," she insisted. "I can help."

"No, he's right," Weaver said. "You can't be seen walking around like that." He indicated to the blood on her clothes and skin. "You're better off here with your brothers."

She looked between them, knowing she had no other option. "Yes, sir," she muttered.

Grace scrubbed at the blood on her arms with the freezing cold water in the airport's bathroom. It seemed like Jimmy's blood had gotten everywhere. In her hair, in her clothes. She looked down, seeing those reddish brown stains on her shirt. Her friend's blood. She felt it all over, seeping into her skin like tattoo ink.

She ripped the shirt off, throwing it on the floor. Her leggings too. They all reeked of it. That smell of death, reminding her of her failure. She kept thinking about Jimmy on that table, fighting for his life, going through all that pain and suffering. It made her feel ill.

Splashing the cold water on her body, she took another rag and ferociously started rubbing her skin raw. Then she moved onto her hair, which was so dry and tangled, her fingers kept getting caught in the knots. She let out a frustrated cry, thumping the mirror with her fist before giving up and collapsing to the floor, hugging her knees to her chin.

A knock at the door pulled her from her anguish. She looked up to see Maggie enter the bathroom with a fresh pile of clothes.

"I thought you could do with these," she said gently.

"Is there any news about Jimmy?" Grace asked, ignoring Maggie's kind gesture.

Maggie shook her head. Grace frowned and went back to resting her chin on the top of her knees. Maggie closed the door behind her and placed the clothes beside the sink.

"You know this isn't your fault," she said softly.

"Of course it is," mumbled Grace. "Jimmy's probably going to die because of me."

"Don't say that. Jimmy's strong."

"He's a kid," Grace snapped. "A kid who had to grow up way too fast. It should be me in there instead of him." She swiped at her eyes, sniffing. "I'm sick of watching the people I love get hurt while I just sit here, trying to get their stinkin' blood off of me."

She rubbed at her already stinging knuckles, the tears running down her cheeks.

"It won't come off!" she cried, still scrubbing. "That red...I just keep seeing it!"

She pictured the red around that skitter's eyeball. She shivered. The red on the tree bark, the red on Jimmy's shirt.

"It just won't come off!"

She barely noticed Maggie sit beside her, the damp cloth in her hand. Very gently, she started washing the blood away from Grace's skin and hair. Although the water was like ice, the soft motion of the cloth on her flesh was almost comforting. Grace choked back the rest of her tears, accepting Maggie's help.

"You're not the only one with blood stains," Maggie said, handing her the reddened rag. "Most of it comes off, but not all of it. I think we take it with us as a reminder." She looked down at her hands thoughtfully. "I used to want to forget, but sometimes I think maybe I shouldn't. The things that have happened to me and the things that I've done are part of me. I can't change that. No one can." Grace watched her get to her feet. "Now get dressed," she added. "Your brother needs you."

A few minutes later, Grace had changed into fresh clothing, her damp hair tied up in a bun. It was no warm shower, but she was as refreshed as she could be. She had washed away the blood, but she couldn't wash away the dread she felt whenever she looked at the med bus.

She glanced towards it as she followed Maggie over to the cafeteria area. Ben, Hal and Weaver were all sitting on separate picnic benches, drinking coffee and waiting to hear something about Jimmy's condition. They joined Hal, though she couldn't help but notice Ben sitting on his own, staring into emptiness.

He seemed to notice her gaze on him. "What?"

Catching herself, she shook her head and looked away. "Nothing."

"You're staring."

"I wasn't."

"Well, he is."

Grace looked across the table at Hal who appeared to be fixated on Ben as he leaned over his empty coffee mug.

"I'm not staring," Hal muttered.

"Yeah, you are," Ben scowled at him. "You got something to say?"

"Yeah, I do." Hal got to his feet.

"Hal, stop it. Both of you! Stop!" Grace hissed.

"Easy now, Masons," Weaver's composed voice warned them from the other table.

Grace leaned over the table whilst Hal and Maggie decided to grab some coffee.

"Why do you have to antagonise him like that?" she asked Ben.

Ben leaned back in his lawn chair, nervously tapping his fingers against the table. "He started it."

"Seriously?"

"He can't wait to give me another lecture on how I disobeyed orders. To tell me how badly I screwed up - again."

Frustrated, Grace got up from her seat to join Ben at his table. "This isn't about you, alright? We can play the blame game later. Right now, we just need to focus on Jimmy."

Ben avoided her gaze, clenching his jaw. She could tell he was in a world of pain. Angry, scared, guilt-ridden. She knew because she felt exactly the same. But she couldn't break down in front of him. She had to stay strong, for him and for Jimmy.

"Any news?"

Tom appeared behind them, a concerned look on his face.

"He's still in surgery," answered Hal.

Tom nodded, walking over towards Weaver. "Hey, we ran into a skitter patrol but they were heading the other direction. I think we're safe."

"But for how long?" questioned Weaver pessimistically, taking a sip from his coffee cup.

"I don't know."

Grace looked down at her fidgeting hands. She figured wherever they were going, they would have to leave soon. But with Jimmy in the state he was in, he wouldn't be going anywhere.

"Hey."

Grace looked up to see her father placing something on the table in front of her. Jimmy's compass. She and Ben looked down at it, surprised. Jimmy must have dropped it.

"Give it to Jimmy when he wakes up," Tom said, patting Grace on the shoulder.

Grace took the old compass and examined it. It was a little scuffed and bloody, but she could clean it up in time to return to Jimmy. Previously the compass had been Weaver's, but after Jimmy got lost from camp a while back, the captain let Jimmy borrow it so he could always find his way home.

She swallowed back tears, placing the compass back on the table. It was at that moment she saw Anne approach to update them on Jimmy. Instantly, Grace got to her feet as they all perked up to hear what she had to say,

"I've done everything I can," she admitted softly. "It's up to Jimmy now."

"Jimmy's a fighter," Weaver asserted. "Always has been."

Grace took a few steps towards Anne. "That's it?" she asked. "We just wait?"

Anne nodded gently. Grace wasn't reassured by the worried look on her face. She knew Anne would have done her best, but damn it, she wanted a miracle.

It was then she heard a chair scrape behind her. Ben had run off, taking the compass with him. Now where was he going? She locked eyes with her dad, as if reading his mind.

"I'll go after him," she offered.