Amy nodded, fanning her face with the cardboard again. “All of the above. My head feels like it’s going to burst, and I’m so thirsty.”
“Let me look at your head.” Alex parted her hair with gentle fingers and sucked in a breath.
“Is it bad?” Amy asked with alarm.
“It’s infected. Those filthy, disgusting zombies. I don’t even want to know what’s under their fingernails.” Alex stepped away. “The soap didn’t help much.”
“What now?” Amy asked, as fear sprouted in her chest. “We don’t have any medicine down here.”
“No, but I did find a bottle of whiskey among the supplies. We can use it to clean the wounds.”
Amy winced. “That’s gonna hurt.”
“Yes, but it’s better than getting septicemia.”
“Septicemia? That’s blood poisoning, right?” Amy asked.
“Sort of. It’s a very severe infection that affects all of your inner organs, causing them to fail one after the other. Not long after that, you’re dead.”
Amy shuddered. “Bring that whiskey.”
Alex fetched the bottle, admiring the label. “Such a shame. This is premium stuff. Real scotch. Saul had good taste.”
“I don’t care. Just get it over with,” Amy said.
“Here,” Alex said, cracking the seal. “Take a few sips. It will numb the pain.”
“Really?” Amy reached for the bottle with hesitant fingers.
“These are special circumstances, Sis. Go for it.”
Amy tipped the bottle of golden liquid into her mouth and took a big gulp. Immediately, the liquor burned through her mouth, throat, and sinuses like liquid fire. She choked and sputtered, gasping for breath.
Alex struggled to keep in his laughter, not wanting to alert the zombies above to their continued presence. He rubbed her back and took the bottle from her limp fingers. “Not all at once, Sis. Little sips. This stuff is strong.”
“It’s not strong,” Amy said, her eyes watering. “It’s vile.”
“Maybe to you,” Alex said with a sigh of regret. He soaked a piece of cloth with the alcohol and dabbed it onto the cuts.
“Ow, ow, ow,” Amy cried, biting on her fist. Even that light touch caused fiery pain to lance through her head.
“Sorry, Sis, but I’ll have to dig in there if we want to clear out this infection. It’s going to hurt a lot, but you can’t scream.”
“Do it.” Amy squeezed her eyes shut and bit down on her balled up hoodie.
Alex dived back in, scraping the liquor-soaked rag across each scratch. Amy groaned into her hoodie, her hands balled into fists. It felt like he was peeling away her skin with a dull butter knife. Every nerve in her body was alight with sheer agony. Tears ran down her cheeks and soaked the hoodie. Just when she thought she’d pass out, he stopped.
“It’s done,” Alex said, taking a sip from the bottle of whiskey. His face was pale, and it looked like he wanted to throw up. “Want some more?”
Amy grabbed the bottle and swallowed several mouthfuls. The burning in her mouth echoed the pain in her scalp, but she didn’t care. Fifteen minutes later, the potent liquor kicked in. Her head buzzed pleasantly, and the pain faded to a manageable level.
“Better?” Alex asked.
Amy nodded. “Yup. Can I have some more?”
“Uh, maybe not. You don’t want to know what a hangover feels like,” Alex said. “Besides, you’re already far beyond tipsy.”
Amy pouted, but her eyelids dragged, and she didn’t have the energy to argue. “Whatever.”
Alex snorted. “The mantra of teenagers everywhere.”
Amy ignored him and curled into a ball on the couch. She tucked her knees to her chest. “Goodnight, Alex.”
“Goodnight, Sis,” Alex said, “but you know it’s just after nine in the morning?”
“I don’t care,” she mumbled, watching him through slitted eyes.
He folded up her hoodie and tucked it underneath her head before draping the jersey across her shoulders. “Do you want my jacket too?”
“No, it’s okay. I’m not cold.”
“Alright, get some rest then. I want you to wake up infection-free, okay? And here’s some water for when you wake up,” he added, placing a bottle next to the couch.
“Thanks,” she replied, drifting off.
Amy slept like a log, only to wake up hours later with a stabbing headache. Her joints ached, and her tongue clung to the roof of her mouth. She uncurled her body from the couch but paused when a wave of dizziness hit her. “Ugh, I don’t feel so well. What’s the time?”
Her watch told her it was past midnight. They’d now been stuck in the basement for just over a day. Remembering the water Alex had left her, she picked up the bottle and took a few sips. Her stomach twisted into knots, and she was afraid of vomiting. “Alex?”
Amy looked around and spotted him sleeping on the floor with his head tucked into his arms. She didn’t want to wake him and walked on silent but unsteady feet toward the toilet. After doing her business, she washed her hands before picking up the sliver of mirror.
Sweat beaded her forehead, and deep hollows sat beneath her eyes, the color of ripe plums. Her body radiated heat like a furnace, burning up from the inside. With shaking fingers, she lifted a lock of her hair and nearly puked on the spot.
The whiskey had been for nothing.
All that pain for no reason at all.
The scratches were red and swollen. Green pus oozed from the wounds, and it stank. The lightest touch caused extreme agony, and she had to fight to hold back her tears. The infection was a lot worse than either she or Alex had suspected.
Without realizing what she was doing, Amy walked up the steps leading to the barricaded door. She stared at it for a second, her hand resting against the stacked pallets. They were holding, too heavy for the infected to move.
The short walk had sapped her strength, and she sank onto the top step. With her eyes closed, she leaned against the concrete wall behind her. It felt cold, a
