radiated zone.
Somehow, they have managed to creep on us. We are outnumbered, and I see all the weapons in their belts, the guns in their hands. We have no chance.
“You’re in our territory now,” he continues. “Why shouldn’t we kill you ourselves?”
“Please,” I plead. “The slaverunners took my sister. I have to get her back.”
“We don’t like slaverunners any more than you do. They ride their buses through here like it’s their territory. IT’S MY TERRITORY!” he shrieks, his face distorted, his eyes bulging. “DO YOU HEAR ME? IT’S MINE!”
I flinch at the sound of his voice, so distorted with rage. I am delirious with exhaustion, with pain, and can hardly even stand.
I see him take a step towards us, and brace myself for an attack. But before I can even finish the thought, suddenly my world starts to spin. It spins, again and again, and before I know it, I am falling towards the ground.
And then, everything is black.
TWENTY-NINE
I open my eyes with an effort. I’m not sure if I’m dead or alive, but if I’m alive, I didn’t know life could feel this way: every muscle in my body is on fire. I am shaking and shivering and have never been so cold my life-yet at the same time I am also burning up, a cold sweat running down the back of my neck. My hair clings to the side of my face, and every joint in my body hurts more than I can describe. It is like the worst fever I’ve ever had-times a hundred.
The epicenter of pain is my calf: it throbs, and feels like the size of a softball. The pain is so intense that I squint my eyes, clench my jaw, and pray silently that someone would just cut it off.
I look around and see I’m lying on a cement floor, on the upper story of an abandoned warehouse. The wall is lined with large factory windows, most of the glass panes shattered. Intermittent breezes of cold air rush in, along with gusts of snow, the flakes landing right in the room. Through the windows I can see the midnight sky, a full moon hanging low, amidst the clouds. It is the most beautiful moon I’ve ever seen. It fills the warehouse with ambient light.
I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder.
I lift my chin and manage to turn it just a bit. There, kneeling by my side, is Logan. He smiles down. I can’t imagine how bad I must look, and I’m embarrassed for him to see me like this.
“You’re alive,” he says, and I can hear the relief in his voice.
I think back, trying hard to remember where I last was. I remember the Seaport…the pier…. I feel another wave of pain run up my leg, and a part of me wishes that Logan would just let me die. He holds up a needle, prepping it.
“They gave us medicine,” he says. “They want you to live. They don’t like the slaverunners any more than we do.”
I try to register what he’s saying, but my mind is not working clearly, and I shiver so much, my teeth are chattering.
“It’s Penicillin. I don’t know if it will work-or if it’s even the real thing. But we have to try.”
He doesn’t have to tell me. I can feel the pain spreading and know there is no alternative. We have to try.
He reaches down and holds my hand, and I squeeze his. He then leans over and lowers the needle right to my calf. A second later, I feel the sharp sting of the needle entering my flesh. I breathe sharply and squeeze his hand harder.
As Logan pushes the needle in deeper, I suddenly feel the burning liquid enter. The pain is beyond what I can take, and despite myself, I hear myself shriek, echoing in the warehouse.
As Logan takes it out, I feel another cold gust of wind and snow, cooling the sweat on my forehead. I try to breathe again. I want to look up at him, to thank him. But I can’t help it: my eyes, so heavy, close on themselves.
And a moment later, I am out again.
It is Summer. I am thirteen years old, and Bree is six, and we skip hand in hand through the lively streets of the Seaport. They are jam-packed with life, everyone out and about, and Bree and I run down the cobblestone streets, laughing at all the funny people.
Bree plays a sort of hopscotch game on the cracks, half hopping and half-skipping every few steps, and I try to follow in her path. She laughs hysterically at this, and then laughs even harder as I chase her around and around a statue.
Behind us, smiling, hand-in-hand, are my parents. It is one the few times I can remember their being happy together. It is also one of the few times I can remember my father actually being around. They trail behind us, watching over us, and I’ve never felt so safe in my life. I feel that the world is perfect, that we will always be as happy as this moment.
Bree finds a seesaw and she’s ecstatic, beelining for it and jumping on. She doesn’t hesitate, knowing that I will jump on the other side and even her out. Of course I do. She is lighter than me, and I make sure not to jump too hard, so that she can balance with me.
I blink. Time has passed, I’m not sure how much. We’re now at a waterfront park somewhere. Our parents are gone, and we are alone. It is sunset.
“Push me harder, Brooke!” Bree screams.
I look over and see that Bree is seated on a swing. I reach over and push her. She goes higher and higher, laughing hysterically.
Finally, she jumps off. She comes around and hugs me, wrapping her little hands tight around my thighs. I kneel down and give her a proper hug.
She leans back and looks at me, smiling.
“I love you, Brooke,” she says, smiling.
“I love you too,” I answer.
“Will you always be my big sister?” she asks.
“I will,” I say.
“Do you promise?” she asks.
“I promise,” I say.
I open my eyes, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I am out of pain. It is amazing: I feel healthy again. The pain in my leg is mostly gone, and as I reach down and feel it, the swelling has shrunk to the size of a golf ball. The medicine really worked.
My aches and pains have also reduced dramatically, and I sense that my fever has, too. I don’t feel nearly as cold, and I’m not sweating as much. I feel as if I’ve been given a second chance at life.
It is still dark in here. I look up and can no longer see the moon, and wonder how much time has passed. Logan is still sitting there, by my side. He sees me and reacts immediately, reaching over and brushing my forehead with a damp cloth. I see he’s not wearing a coat, and look down and see he has draped his over me. I feel terrible; he must be freezing.
I feel a fresh wave of appreciation for him, feel closer to him than ever. He must really care for me. I wish I could tell him how much I appreciate it. But right now, my mind is still moving slow, and just doesn’t seem to form the words.
He reaches down and puts a hand behind my head and lifts it.
“Open your mouth,” he says softly.
He places three pills on my tongue, then pours bottled water into my mouth. My throat is so dry that it takes a few tries to swallow-but finally, I feel it go down. I lift my head a bit more and take another long sip.
