“Not for these.” He draped the jacket over them. “Stitches are good for pulling skin together when the inside of the cuts are clean. These are not, and stitches will only trap dirt inside. Better to let them scab over and heal that way.”
“Right. Okay. So…”
Dorran’s healthy hand landed over hers as she riffled through the kit. His eyes were tight, but he smiled at her. “I know this is worrying you, but I am fully able to treat it. What about a compromise? You drive, and I’ll patch myself up during the trip.”
“Will you be able to?” She bit her lip. “I mean, if the car is jostling you—”
“That will be fine. Besides, we have limited daylight hours. I would feel happier with the road passing beneath us.”
“Okay.” She gave him a final, reluctant glance then shuffled back to face the road and started the car. The engine ticked over without catching, and a stab of terror hit Clare. She turned the key a second time and it rumbled to life. Gravel crunched under the wheels as they rolled forward. She exhaled, and Dorran echoed the sound beside her.
“I did my best to repair the car,” he said. “I hope it will last the trip. But the job was… well, temporary, to put it lightly.”
“As long as it gets us to Beth’s. She has her own car; we can drive it home.” The road outside the forest was straight and clear of debris, and Clare pushed the hatchback to go faster. The driver’s door had been damaged by hollows during the initial crash, and air whistled through a gap between the window and the roof. The faster Clare drove, the higher the whistle became. A rattling noise joined it. Clare eased off the accelerator.
As he’d promised, Dorran cleaned his cuts. He worked with his usual efficiency, swabs and antiseptic dabbing across the marks. Fresh sweat beaded over his forehead, and he took sharp, jagged inhales, but was otherwise silent. Clare couldn’t stop glancing at him. The jacket he’d used to wrap his wrist was drenched with blood, and the cuts seemed deep. She didn’t know enough about first aid to guess how serious they were, and it was hard to trust Dorran’s self-diagnosis when he incessantly downplayed any injury he got. But she didn’t think he would be so calm if the same bite had landed on her.
The empty fields were a relief after the forest. Long grass, brown and ragged after its imprisonment in ice, shivered in the wind. There were trees—thin, straggly ones with kinked trunks and sparse branches—but they were infrequent. The area was sometimes used for cattle grazing, though Clare couldn’t see any trace of cows that day. In the far distance, so small that it barely registered as a smear of grey halfway up a hill, was a farmstead. Clare wondered whether its occupants might have found their way into the forest. She could have very well looked the land’s owner in the face and not known it.
The road carried on through the countryside for a while. The turnoff to Marnie’s property was half an hour ahead, and Clare’s stomach tightened at the thought. They would be passing the exit, though, and driving on until the rural road merged onto the freeway that took her to Beth’s.
Less than four hours now. You made it this far. Keep your eyes on the road. Less than four hours, and you’ll know what happened to her. One way or another.
Chapter Twenty-One
Air created a faint, breathless whistle as it whipped over the damaged door. They were driving fast, but Clare wanted to go faster. Any time she increased the speed, the rattle returned, and she didn’t trust it enough to live with it. For the time, the car was moderating their speed.
Dorran snapped the first aid kit closed. She peeked at his bitten hand. He’d wrapped bandages around the cut, looping it over his thumb like a half glove. A hint of pink tinged the white wrappings. She hoped it would be enough.
“Where did you put the radio?” Dorran asked.
“Uh… it’s back there. I can’t remember where exactly. Why?”
Instead of replying, he turned to reach into the back seat. Clare slowed as Dorran braced his elbow on the back of her chair and used his good hand to sift through the supplies. It only took a few seconds for him to return, the black radio and a small leather pouch clutched to his chest.
“Be careful with your wrist,” she said.
He smiled as he opened the pouch and took out a small screwdriver. A moment later, the radio’s back popped off. He placed the machine on the dashboard and bent over it, screwdriver tip probing as he looked through the nest of cables.
“Do you think you can fix it?”
“Perhaps. I can try.”
Clare swallowed. If they could get in contact with Beth, they might be able to breathe a little more easily for the rest of the drive. They would at least know whether she was safe or not. How long she thought the air would last. Whether they needed to hurry. Whether they could afford to be cautious. Whether she’s still alive.
Dorran made a satisfied noise at the back of his throat, and a soft click echoed from the radio. “Do you have the batteries?”
“Yeah.” She fished them out of her pocket.
Dorran fed them into their slot then pressed a button to turn on the radio. Deafening white noise blasted through the car, and Clare flinched, squeezing her eyes closed as though that might save her eardrums. The noise faded to a low crackle as Dorran turned down the volume.
“It was just a bad connection.” He reattached the back then placed the radio onto the dashboard facing Clare. “Would you like to try calling her?”
One eye on the road, Clare checked the settings to ensure it was on Beth’s frequency. Then she activated the microphone. “Beth?
