Mandy had kept her eyes on the road as much as possible, but when she’d glanced in the rearview mirror, she’d seen nothing but bloodied hands and a sweating Georgia, her face contorted in pure pain.
Somehow, Max had gotten the bullet out. James had been fishing through the gear constantly, finding things for Max, acting as the dutiful and silent doctor’s assistant.
And there in the backseat, Max had performed the procedure, in silent concentration, with only a few words here and there to James.
Sadie hadn’t been able to turn around and watch. She’d sat there with her eyes closed, her knees pulled up to her chest, shaking in fear of losing her mother.
Eventually, the Bronco had simply run out of gas. There was nothing there except the trees. No nearby towns. Nothing. They had no idea where they were.
They stayed in the Bronco through the night. A sleepless night. Mandy kept her hand on her gun the entire time. Unfortunately, most of their ammo had been stolen. They’d had it all with them in their packs—none of it had been left in the Bronco, for fear of it getting stolen. So all Mandy had was what she’d taken from the guard Georgia had shot.
If it hadn’t been for Georgia, they’d all have been dead. They’d never have made it. Not even Max. Because he would have busted into the compound no matter what, and Max would have died there if Mandy and the others hadn’t been alive when he’d come in.
As the sun rose, Max finally stepped down out of the Bronco and joined Mandy at the rear bumper, which she leaned on.
“How’s she doing?” whispered Mandy.
“Not good,” said Max. A grim look was on his battered face.
“Is she going to make it?”
“I hope so.”
“That doesn’t mean much.”
“No. It doesn’t. I got the bullet out, but she’s sick. She’s running a high fever.”
“What can we do?”
“Nothing. Nothing I know of.”
“What do we do?”
“Wait.”
Mandy nodded in the early morning light. There wasn’t anything else to say about Georgia. Either she’d live or she wouldn’t. It was out of their hands. They could bring her water and stay by her. They could give her antibiotics. They could hope for the best. But after that, it was out of their hands.
Mandy hoped she’d live, but she didn’t dare say it out loud.
Max and Mandy stood there, staring off into the sky together, side by side, not speaking. They’d been through so much that it seemed to have taken all the words right out of them. It’d taken more than words, but it was hard to say exactly what.
Several minutes passed.
“You think we’ll make it?” said Mandy, finally.
Max didn’t answer. Instead, he turned his face towards her and looked her right in the eyes.
His eyes were bloodshot as hers probably were, from too many nights without sleep, from too many days without food. Viciously dark circles hung under each eye. The injuries on his face, rather than looking better, were now looking worse than ever. He’d been drenched in sweat and blood, a thin film of grime building up over the bruises, never getting washed off.
But in his eyes… there was something. Something powerful. It wasn’t hope. No, it wasn’t anything like that. But in his eyes Mandy saw Max’s drive. She saw his will to live. To continue.
And that was all Mandy needed. That was her answer.
Max hadn’t lost it.
And, as Mandy now realized, neither had she.
They’d make it, whether or not Georgia made it.
“We’re going to have to make camp here,” said Max. “Did you figure out where we are yet?”
Mandy shook her head. “We might have crossed into West Virginia. I don’t know. But we went west, as far as I can tell. Unless I took some crazy switchbacks and didn’t realize it.”
“You did good with the driving.”
Mandy nodded. She wasn’t so sure she’d done a good job, but at least she’d done it.
“We need to get the Bronco off of the road, out of view, in case anyone comes by.”
“We’re going to camp with the Bronco? Why don’t we just leave it and hike to a new spot, away from it?”
“We need to keep Georgia in there, I think,” said Max. “I don’t think we should move her. It’s getting cold at night, and it’s going to be better shelter than anything we’ll be able to build.”
“How are we going to get it into the woods, though?”
Max surveyed the surrounding area briefly. “Push it, I guess. We can push it over some of the saplings. I’ll try to find a path without any big trees in the way, wide enough for the Bronco.”
“If you say so.”
Mandy knew now that Max’s instincts were… well, they weren’t always right. But they were worth following. No one, after all, could be right all the time. Not since the EMP. There were too many unknowns.
“Check on Georgia, will you?” said Max, starting to walk off in search of a path for the Bronco.
“Max,” said Mandy.
She reached out and grabbed his torn coat sleeve.
“What is it?”
Mandy held on to Max. She didn’t want to let him go, even though he’d be back momentarily.
But she didn’t know what to say. She wanted to tell him how she felt about him, but she couldn’t get the words out.
“Nothing,” she said.
“You OK?”
“I guess.”
Max nodded, turned, and headed off. In their current situation, “I guess” was about as good as it was going to get.
Mandy stood there for a moment watching Max’s back. He walked with a slight limp now. Obviously the leg was still painful. But it was amazing he was walking at all.
The air had a bite to it, and Mandy put her hands into the pockets of her coat, only to find that they’d torn, just like the rest of the coat. A strange memory came flooding back to her. It was just a fragment, really. A fragment of a poem she’d had to memorize back in high school for French class. She couldn’t remember the French, but the English translation she remembered went something like, “I put my hands in my torn pockets. My overcoat, too, was becoming ideal.”
The author was Rimbaud, some French poet who she couldn’t remember anything about.
For Mandy, the poet had been trying to say that he’d like the adventure of life, the turmoil and the insults, the hardships and the lean times.
It was pure romanticism.
Mandy had liked the poem. She’d even had a brief phase as a teenager of wearing torn jeans, mostly because of that poem, and partly because it looked cool and was stylish at the time.
But now that times really were lean, the romanticism meant nothing to her.
No, she didn’t long for the times before the EMP. But that wasn’t because she wouldn’t have preferred them. It was simply because that world was gone. Probably never to return. There wasn’t any point in thinking about it.
Mandy, along with the others, had been transformed. Transformed into a person she never would have recognized before the EMP.
Mandy didn’t have time to stay lost in daydreams. There were things to be done.
“How’s she doing?” said Mandy, opening the back door to the Bronco.
Georgia lay there, on her stomach. Max had stopped the bleeding by suturing the wound. He’d done it somewhat crudely. After all, he wasn’t a doctor. But it had worked.
“Better,” said James. He sounded tired and worried. But he was keeping it together. “But she’s still got a fever.”
Mandy nodded.
Georgia wasn’t unconscious, but she wasn’t speaking either.
“The antibiotics will work,” said Mandy. “You need some rest, James. Let me take care of your mom for now.”
James shook his head.