She pulled out a little laminated book, an emergency guide to dealing with injuries. “I’d forgotten that Derek lent me this.”
She started flipping through the pages.
“We may have to do a tourniquet. But that’s a short-term solution. And it can result in the loss of limb. I don’t think I can amputate your arm…”
“Amputate the arm?” said John vaguely. He was feeling stranger by the minute.
The pain seemed to have gone away. Or at least he wasn’t registering it anymore. He didn’t know how much time had passed, and he wasn’t sure where the sun was. It wasn’t as bright as it had been before, but it wasn’t night yet… His mind was full of vague impressions…
“OK, here’s something,” said Cynthia. It sounded like she was trying to keep her panic in check. She was trying to keep her voice calm. “It says sugar can stop bleeding. Do we have any sugar?”
“Sugar?”
“Yeah. John, come on, stay with me. Do we have any sugar?”
“The regular white kind?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know…”
John didn’t think they’d brought any sugar… He didn’t remember anything like that. But it didn’t seem to matter. After all, sugar wasn’t going to stop the bleeding. That was crazy. Maybe it would be better if he just laid down and went to sleep for a while. Maybe that would fix everything.
John felt his eyes closing as he lowered his body to the ground.
“John! What the hell are you doing? Keep your eyes open.”
John opened his eyes. Cynthia was in front of him, rooting through the packs again. “I was carrying some of Sara’s stuff, since she was getting tired easily. Here it is, maybe she had sugar in this bag…”
Later on, John remembered vaguely thinking that there wasn’t any point in looking for sugar, and that there was no way a formerly health-conscious person like Sara would use sugar for anything, even though the four of them had enjoyed some organic instant coffee that Derek and Sara had been fond of from their trail days.
“Look! Sugar! I can’t believe it. Maybe Derek used it. Who cares?”
Cynthia took the book in her hands again, to reread the instructions.
“I don’t think eating it…” said John. “…Going to do any good.”
“You’re not going to eat it, idiot. Now shut up and let me concentrate.”
Her fear of losing him was turning into mild hostility. John was OK with that.
“OK,” said Cynthia, trying to get the idea straight in her head. “I’m going to pour this on your wound, and it’s going to form a syrupy mixture and help the blood coagulate.”
John was feeling detached from the whole thing. Probably not a good sign. He watched with mild interest as Cynthia poured the sugar carefully onto his wound.
“I don’t know if it’s getting on there,” she said. She used her fingers to try to push the sugar into the wound.
It stung, but John had lost too much blood to care.
“It says you need a lot of sugar on there,” said Cynthia, examining the wound before carefully adding more sugar. “Let’s hope this works.”
Suddenly, John realized how serious the situation was. The loss of blood had been affecting his rational thought process. But he knew now that he was close to death. If the sugar didn’t stop the bleeding, it might be the end for him.
23
James and Chad were alone in one of the men’s quarters. James felt pretty good. He was full for the first time in a long, long time. He’d eaten and eaten and eaten, countless portions. They’d told him he could have as much as he wanted, and he couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Max had been brutal with the rationing, allowing them all only certain quantities of food and water.
James was relaxing on his bunk. His gear was partially unpacked from his pack, spread out around him. He was wearing a change of clothes. They were the clothes that he’d kept clean in the bottom of his pack, never putting them on. It was something psychological, in some weird way comforting to know that he had a change of clean clothes.
And now he got to wear them.
There was a weird little rattling noise from Chad’s bunk.
“What’re you doing, Chad?” said James, looking over.
“Nothing,” said Chad vaguely.
“What’s the orange bottle?”
James had only seen a flash of it. Chad had put it away quickly when James had looked over.
“What bottle?”
James knew that he was just a kid in comparison to Chad. But Chad had been acting really weird ever since Albion. James felt that he had some sort of responsibility to take care of Chad, especially since none of the other adults were around.
Where was Max? He’d been gone for a long time. The thought occurred to James suddenly.
Maybe Mandy was right. Maybe Chad was taking something. James was well aware of Chad’s addict past.
James got up and moved swiftly over to Chad. Chad was concealing something in his right hand. His large fingers were hiding whatever it was. Probably the pill bottle.
“Hey!” said Chad, trying to pull his arm away from James.
But James was too fast and strong for him. He seized Chad’s hand and pried his fingers open.
“Give me that!”
James dodged Chad’s slow moving hands, got out of his reach, and moved out to the middle of the room.
“Vicodin,” muttered James. “Isn’t this the stuff you were taking before? This is why you’ve been out of it, putting us all in danger.”
“Whatever,” said Chad. “You don’t know how hard I’ve got it.”
“I know you’re full of shit, that’s what,” said James. He was angry. Chad’s decision could very well have put his own family’s life at risk.
“You’re just a kid. You don’t know shit. Now shut up and let me enjoy this.”
“You’re an asshole, Chad.”
“That’s what they’ve been telling me all my life. It hasn’t stopped me yet.”
“Just wait until Max hears about this.”
“Screw Max.”
“How can you say that? He’s done so much for us. Mandy told me how he risked his own life to save you from that mob.”
“I would have been fine. Max thinks he knows everything. We would have been better off if we’d just stayed at the farmhouse.”
“We’d be dead if we stayed there. You know that.”
“Pffft. It’d be fine. Max thinks everything is like a life or death situation. But it’s not that… You’ve all got to take a lesson from me and try to relax more. There’s no point in worrying about what you can’t change.”
There was a loud knock at the door.
Maybe that was Max now.
“Max?” called James.
“Shit,” muttered Chad. For all his big talk, James knew that Chad was still worried about Max finding out about his little secret.
The door swung open. And with some force.
A man appeared. It wasn’t Max.
It was a tall stranger. He had a big build and towered over James, who was standing there with the bottle of Vicodin.
“What’s that?” said the man. His voice was stern and deep.
“Uh…”
“Hand it over.”
James did.
“Vicodin,” said the man, examining it. “I don’t know what you’re doing with this, but drug use is not permitted here.”
“I was just trying to…”
“I don’t want to hear explanations. This is going to the pharmacy stash.”
The man pocketed the pill bottle. James had a funny feeling about the way the man did it. He had a feeling that maybe the pills weren’t going to a medical stash after all.