Red River Blue
Chapter 91
Harley woke up feeling disoriented. Her face hurt like a bitch. And her throat hurt even worse. Her body was still in fight mode. She stiffened, feigning sleep as she listened to what was happening around her. Two men were arguing. But they weren't yelling. One of them was Rick. The familiar sound of his voice was comforting. Harley slit her eyes open. The man he was arguing with was Morgan. Less comforting. But he was still familiar. And not someone Harley considered a threat. She pushed herself up into a sitting position and reached for the glass of water someone left next to her bed, gulping it down.
Looking around, Harley realized she must be in the medical bay. She didn't feel like her body was injured badly enough for her to be there. As she slowly took stock of herself, she was sure she wasn't hurt that badly. Her legs and arms felt fine. One wrist had a brace on it. And the other was about as sore as her face. Her shoulders hurt. But nothing was broken. She was sure she could at least walk, which meant there was no reason for her not to be at home.
Harley swung her legs off the side of the cot and tossed off the blanket she was covered with. Her movement caught Rick's attention. He immediately stopped his conversation with Morgan and hurried over.
"Are you alright?," he asked. She nodded, though she really wasn't sure. Her head felt weird, like her thoughts were a swirling fog.
"I'll go get River," Denise offered, scurrying from the room. Harley didn't even know she was there. Rick had his hands up, trying to encourage Harley to remain seated on her cot.
"Let me get you more water," he offered. Her throat still felt like dogshit so she nodded her head in agreement. Rick returned with her refilled glass, handing it over to her. She gulped the water down. And then they repeated this process a few times. Until Harley didn't feel like she was swallowing sand anymore. She tried to remember why she was in the infirmary. But nothing was coming to mind. Her face hurt. So she wondered if she was hit hard in the head.
"What happened," she croaked. Rick shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly nervous to answer her question.
"You fainted," he finally said. "Do you remember anything?" Harley considered his question and shook her head. The last thing she remembered was wrestling with her uncle in her living room. She supposed she might have been knocked out doing that. It wouldn't be the first time one of them got hurt. But she didn't think Rick would be acting so sketchy if all that happened was Daryl accidentally knocked her out. "You and Spencer were attacked in the woods," Rick offered, his voice as low and calm as possible.
"Well how come I'm the only one laid up then," Harley asked. She rubbed her face with her hands. Then she took a better look around. Harley nudged Rick out of her way when she noticed that she actually wasn't the only person in the medical bay. Someone else was on the other side of the room, covered in a blanket. Harley immediately assumed the man was Spencer and wondered why Denise had them set up so far apart. The bed right next to Harley was empty. It seemed like they would have put Spencer there. Instead of over in the far corner of the room.
Harley rose from the bed, taking a step forward. The floor was cold against her bare feet. She looked down, suddenly realizing that she was clothed only in a t-shirt and her underwear. Reaching behind her, Harley grabbed the blanket that was covering her a moment before and wrapped it around her shoulders. Then she took another step. Rick was hovering next to her, looking unsure of what he wanted to do. Harley tried to tell herself that he was just worried she might fall. But something tickling in the back of her mind said differently. She wasn't heavy. Rick could catch her easily if she started to collapse. There was no reason for him to look so nervous.
And now that she was quietly observing the room for an explanation to Rick's strange behavior, she noticed that Morgan was acting weird too. She didn't know him as well as she knew Rick. But he looked to be hovering protectively near the other cot. Like he needed to protect Spencer from her. Harley rubbed her face with the corner of the blanket. She supposed it was possible that she and Spencer had a fight and she didn't remember it. But she couldn't imagine it being so bad that Morgan needed to protect the man from her. The idea that maybe Spencer was the one that hurt her face and knocked her out briefly crossed her mind. But that just didn't seem right. Not only was he always gentle and patient with her, he wasn't really that good a fighter. She could take him easily.
Harley took a few more steps, clutching the blanket tightly around her shoulders. The room wasn't cold but a shiver shot up her spine anyway, leaving trails of gooseflesh on her arms. Morgan put his hand up.
"That's far enough," he warned. "Don't come any closer."
Harley stopped, even more confused now than she was before. The fog was swirling faster in her mind. The body on the cot behind Morgan began to stir. Harley heard the clink of metal on metal. The man on the cot was handcuffed to it. And the cot was anchored to the wall. He sat up, tossing the blanket off. When he laid his eyes on Harley, he smiled at her. His teeth were a sickening mix of yellow and brown. The old faded scar on his forehead warped with his facial expression. Harley saw a fresh bandage on his shoulder. And suddenly the fog cleared from Harley's mind.
She knew this man. He tried to rape her. She shot him in the knee and left him for the dead. He took Wren hostage. Harley shot him in the shoulder with an arrow. The memory of what happened next flooded through her. This fucker killed Spencer. And he didn't just shoot him. He slashed Spencer's guts open and made her watch while a walker ate him alive.
Rick was still hovering close by. He was ready in case Harley tried something. Rick didn't care about protecting the man on the cot. He didn't want Harley to get hurt. But even with her only an arm's reach away, she still moved too fast for him to nab her in time. She dropped the blanket she was clutching around her, letting it slump to the floor near her feet. And before the fabric even settled, she was halfway across the room. Denise had a small towel full of sanitized implements drying near the sink. Harley snatched up a scalpel, the item that looked like it would do the most damage out of the small assortment of tools. Her moment of indecision gave Rick enough time to reach her. He grabbed her around the waist, trying to pull her back or at the very least, keep her from charging at the man on the cot.
"Let me deal with it," he said. But Rick could tell she was far past the point of listening to reason. He was honestly a little concerned that she might carve him up with the scalpel. But she didn't. She just swung her elbow hard into his ribs, making the air woof out of his lungs.
"Harley! Stop!"
Rick hollered at her. But she either didn't care or didn't hear him. Morgan moved, placing himself between Harley and the man she intended to slash to death. His palms were up and facing out, but his body was coiled for a fight.
"Get the FUCK out of my way," Harley ordered. Morgan didn't move. Not until she came at him, intending to shove him out of her way and kill the man behind him. Harley was expecting Morgan might try to push her back. Or stop her. She wasn't prepared when he grabbed her already sore wrist and twisted. She yelped in pain, dropping the scalpel to the floor. But Morgan didn't stop. He spun her, twisting her arm behind her back painfully. Harley screamed.
'Get your fuckin' hands off her!," Rick hollered. He was already about done putting up with Morgan's bullshit. The man on the cot needed to die. Morgan was refusing to let them kill him. Which was bad enough. But now he put his hands on Harley. Someone Rick trusted and cared for. Maybe more than he realized. Because the surge of anger that welled inside him when he heard her cry out in pain was intense. He charged at Morgan, knocking him to the ground. They grabbed and punched at each other, kicking over a nearby cot.
Harley grabbed the scalpel, picking it up from the floor and gripping it in her hand. The man on the cot wasn't smiling anymore. Instead, he looked ready for a fight. His wrist was still shackled to the cot. But he had a pillow gripped in his other hand. His intent was clearly to use the item to deflect her. What he planned to do next she didn't intend to find out. Harley changed her grip on the scalpel, holding it like one of her throwing knives. She took aim and let it fly. The man moved the pillow to deflect it, but he was too late. The sharp implement was already sticking out of his throat. A rivulet of fresh blood was running down his front. He dropped the pillow and grabbed at his neck, trying to pull the scalpel out. When he finally managed to grip it and yank it out of his throat, blood gushed from the wound. He was gagging, choking on his own blood. Harley advanced on him, easily snatching the scalpel from his one free hand. She stabbed him in the gut next, twisting the small blade to make the cut as painful as possible. The man slumped to the floor. She knelt down and stabbed him again, this time in the crotch. She later wouldn't remember where she stabbed him next, only that she brought the scalpel down into his body over and over and over again. Until Rick grabbed her and pulled her away. He held her against his chest, both of them kneeling in the man's expanding pool of blood. He didn't let go until Harley's mother came for her. Which was really only a minute or two but felt like much longer.
River gathered her daughter up and took her home. She and Carol forced Harley into the shower. And then into the bathtub. River didn't trust her alone. So she climbed into the tub with Harley and washed her hair, the way she used to when her daughter was little. River put Harley to bed in her bedroom. The bed in there was bigger. Wren and Beth climbed into the bed with her, snuggling in on either side and lying with her until she fell asleep.
Harley slept the rest of the day. And through the night. She woke up in the early hours of the morning. Beth's back was to her. And Wren's head was resting on her shoulder, the girl's slim arm wrapped around Harley's waist. Her father was asleep in a recliner chair near the door, his arm piece long since discarded on the floor next to him. Harley cringed. Seeing the jagged and poorly healing flesh on his stump was like seeing him naked and exposed. Easing out slowly from Wren's grasp, Harley climbed over the girl and out of bed. She tiptoed to her room and changed out of the pajamas her mother dressed her in the night before. Unlike the day before, her mind was no longer clouded. She remembered everything that happened, the pain stabbing her like a knife in her chest. Her first instinct was to go for her guitar. Losing herself in her music had been a comfort to her all her life. Her guitar was laying on top of her dresser. When she reached for it, she saw one of Spencer's t-shirts had been tossed there, crumpled up and lying half across the instrument. Harley jerked her hand back. Instead of grabbing for her guitar, she grabbed a bag. And then she started packing.