Dusk had set in, and soon it would become dark, with only the light of the moon to see by.
While waiting for herself to recover, watching the scene from her Inner Temple frustrated her because she couldn’t do anything for Vin. But now she could, and, ignoring the cold and the itch as the bullets protruded out her skin, she hurried over to his body.
Dried blood stained the asphalt to the side of his abdomen. She turned him over, which took more strength than she expected. His eyes were closed and she was glad she didn’t have to deal with any glassy look. While his wound on the side below his rib cage did not actively bleed, when she lifted his sweatshirt, she saw a large amount of bruising surrounding the wound. Plus, blood leaked out of the corner of his mouth. All this led her to conclude he bled internally.
She could do little for him. Sadness overwhelmed her. Could she even get him into the van? He must weigh over 200 pounds. And then what? Find a hospital not overrun by draugar? Did such a place exist? Would they be able to treat him in Colorado Springs? That seemed his only hope.
He groaned.
“Vin, can you hear me?”
He nodded, smacking his bloody lips. “I’m not going to make it.” He winced. “Am I?”
She grabbed his hand. He squeezed weakly. “There’s hope if I can get you in the van.”
He tried to pick himself up, but he only got two inches above the ground before he collapsed. “I can’t make it.” He opened his eyes. “I must have passed out. Where are the others?”
“Gone. The marauders took them.”
He nodded. “At least they didn’t kill us.” He laid back his head. “But I’m not going anywhere.”
“I can drag you into the van.”
He spit out blood and gave a soft laugh, rolling his eyes. “You can try. Maybe you have super-zombie strength.”
Despite his weight, she resolved to get him into the van. She was stronger from being a half-draugar. Who knows? She grabbed him by the ankles and dragged him toward the rear of the van while he kept his head up off the asphalt, but she realized she had no chance of lifting him into it. Maybe she was weak from having recently been dead. Maybe even being a half-draugar wasn’t enough.
But she would try anyway. She opened the barn doors and climbed in the rear of the van.
“Meeow.”
There was Janice’s cat, still in its carrier.
The cat could wait.
She reached down and grabbed Vin by the armpits, but she couldn’t get his head up to the floor of the van. She set him back down again and tried to help him up one last time, but his arms and legs were too weak.
Frustrated and devastated, she desperately thought about what to do for him. One option would be to leave him by the side of the road, and perhaps people from Colorado Springs would be able to get him into the van?
But they had never encountered anyone from Colorado Springs. Would they even roam this far? Would it be worth it to them? And given he bled internally, how much longer could he live without medical treatment?
Rescuing Vin from death seemed a super long shot.
Except . . . “There’s one last thing I can try.”
“And what’s that?”
“I can give you some of my blood.”
He chuckled. “I thought . . . you’d suggest that.” He winced again.
“You wanted me to try it on Janice and Emily.”
He nodded and sighed, then coughed and spit out more blood.
“Hell . . . I always wanted.” Deep breath, cough. “To be a zombie.”
“You might become like me. That’s the hope.”
“I know . . . go ahead, try it . . . before I change . . . oof!”
She thought about the risk of him becoming a draugar. What would he do to her? Would he leave her alone, as Alexander guessed? She felt responsible enough for Vin’s fate that she would accept the risk.
She would need something sharp, like her knife on her multitool, and to her surprise she found it on her belt. The marauders must have never touched her body, and so her multitool was hidden from their view.
She slashed her arm and wiped her fingers over the wound, placing some blood on Vin’s gunshot wound and in his mouth.
“Swallow,” she said.
He did as directed and grimaced.
“I’m so tired . . . and so cold.”
“Don’t pass out on me.”
“It’ll either work . . . or it . . .”
He closed his eyes, and his head fell to the side. She felt a faint pulse.
Now what should she do? The wind picked up, and she shivered. She went into the partial shelter of the van to think. By now darkness had set in. She had two choices: try to rescue her companions from whatever the marauders had in mind for them; or press on to Colorado Springs and maybe be a human guinea pig for their military research. In either case, she might have the wherewithal to send some people back for Vin, but Colorado Springs seemed her best bet for both him and her new friends. Who knows? Maybe the military could rescue them all.
First, she needed to revive the van. She exited out the side door, walked around to the driver’s door, and climbed into the driver’s seat. She pressed on the brake and hit the start
