Warren looked at the bat. He didn’t want to be hit. George was powerful and the bat was hard. Even if the bat didn’t break his bones, it would tear his flesh. He still didn’t know if he was healing or merely lingering on the edge of death. He also didn’t know if the pain was leaving or if he was growing more accustomed to it.
“Don’t…hit me,” Warren said, sitting up. He focused on George, willing him to listen to him.
A crazed look gleamed in George’s eyes. Before the invasion, he’d truly been the fair-haired boy. Where Warren, Dorothy, and Kelli had barely gotten by, George had grown up in a world accustomed to wealth. He’d turned his back on his father, who had wanted to groom him for the family business. George had insisted on a career in art.
As it was, George was usually the one who mishandled his money. He’d never had to manage money, and he didn’t feel the same pressure as the rest of them because in the back of his mind he could always go back to his father and his father’s money. He wouldn’t have to live out on the street.
“Why shouldn’t I hit you?” George demanded.
“Because…I don’t…want you to.” Despite the fear that quivered through him, Warren met George’s gaze.
“I don’t care what you want.” George’s nostrils flared. He took a fresh grip on the cricket bat.
He’s scared, Warren realized. Of me. The feeling that went through him was curious. George had always been disrespectful and standoffish to him. Now George was afraid.
“You can’t stop me from hitting you right now,” George declared. He took a step forward.
Warren almost dodged back. Only thinking that sudden movement might rip open some of the burns kept him still. “Don’t,” he said.
“Why not?” George yelled.
Movement at the curtain let Warren know someone was out there. He thought it was probably Dorothy, mousey Dorothy who worked at the bakery and babysat for professional parents. She didn’t like confrontations, but Kelli and George sometimes made her ask Warren for extra money for the rent and utilities.
“Because,” Warren said softly, nonthreateningly, “I don’t want you to.” He tried to put more energy into the force he was directing at George.
George hesitated. He looked panicked and confused. “What have you done to Kelli?”
“Nothing.”
George cursed. “You’re lying, mate.”
“I’m not.”
“Kelli never cared about you, Warren. She hated you. She thought you were creepy and disgusting. And she hated the way you looked at her with those calf-eyes.”
That announcement hurt Warren. He’d always known he’d never stood a chance with Kelli, and most of the time he wouldn’t have wanted to. They had nothing in common. But every now and again, he’d thought she was humorous and attractive. And every now and again she’d treated him like he’d been a real person instead of just a flat mate who had extra money when they needed it.
“Before you got burned,” George said, “she wouldn’t have given you the time of day. Now she’s waiting on you hand and foot. It’s hard to get her out of the flat to go scavenge for food. And we need food, Warren. Water, too.”
Warren hadn’t known that. He hadn’t been conscious much for—for however long he’d been in bed. The sheets were littered with blood and stray bits of burned flesh that had torn free. The stench was suddenly noticeable too.
“I…asked her…to watch over me.”
“She’s acting like she’s been possessed. Won’t leave the flat.” George’s eyes hardened. “You did something to her.”
“No.” Warren’s voice sounded firmer and stronger. Some of the pain fell away as he concentrated on George. “She just…wants to help.”
George shook his head. “Not you, mate.”
“You want to help me, too.”
For a moment, George hesitated. Then he took a step back and cursed. “Stop.”
“What?” Warren tried to sound innocent.
“Just shut up!”
Warren sat still and silent.
“You should have died,” George snarled. “Burned up like you were, you should have died. Anybody else would have.”
“I didn’t. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
George laughed bitterly. “Yes it is. You’re disgusting to look at, you are. A proper fright.”
“What do you want?”
“If you’d died, I wouldn’t have minded you wasting the water, mate. If it didn’t take too long. But it doesn’t look like you’re going to die any time soon. Now you’ve done something to Kelli.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong.”
George attacked without warning, swinging the bat off his shoulder straight at Warren’s head.
Self-preservation warred within Warren. If he didn’t move, he knew George would take his head off with the bat. But he was afraid if he did, he might fall to pieces right there on the bed.
Before he knew it, he reached up with his left hand as he wrapped his right arm over his face to protect himself. He caught the bat and stopped it.
Surprised, Warren looked at the bat. His left hand, still sausage-fingered and burnt black, had curled around the bat. Even though a meaty smack filled the room, there was no pain. There wasn’t even any blood.
George tried to yank the bat away. Despite his strongest efforts, he wasn’t able to. Not to be deterred, George lifted a big foot and tried to plant it in the center of Warren’s chest.
Warren shifted, sliding to the side far more quickly than he would have thought. He caught his attacker’s trouser leg, shoving it up and away. At the same time, Warren yanked the bat out of George’s hands.
George stumbled backward and got his feet under him again. Warren moved at once, sliding off the bed and getting to his feet. He swung the bat, hitting George on the side of the head.
Without a sound, George sprawled to the floor.
Breathing hard, trembling from fear and physical exhaustion, Warren looked down at his vanquished foe. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. Gazing at his left hand wrapped around the haft of the cricket bat, he was surprised to see that his flesh hadn’t torn open.
With
