After the Ending (20 page)

He glanced at me, then around the table. We all waited in
anticipation.

“Hurry it up, people!” Sanchez called from the doorway.
“Harper, Biggs, I need to talk to you.”

Reminiscing forgotten, we hurried to clean up. I gathered
the dishes from the table and made my way into the kitchen to help Stacey.

I had just set the armload down on a stainless steel
counter when I heard Dave clear his throat behind me—my body stiffened
instantly. I spun and attempted to step around him, spiteful thoughts snarling
in my mind, but he reached for my arm. The moment his unwelcome fingers wrapped
around my wrist, he recoiled like he’d been burned. His mouth hung open, and
his wide eyes glanced back and forth between his hand and my arm.

“Shit, Dave. I’m not contagious!” I blurted.
I can’t
believe I ever had sex with you!

“Sorry,” he apologized hollowly. He was nervous,
frustrated, and filled with regret—his emotions were more palpable than they’d
ever been before.

I was tempted to shout obscenities at him, but he was too
pathetic. Instead, I sighed and rolled my eyes. Part of me, the stupid, kind
part, began to forgive him.

His head was bowed in shame, and he wouldn’t meet my eyes
as he said, “I’m sorry for what I did.” Even though I could feel how truly
sorry he was, I waited for him to continue, finding vindictive pleasure in
watching him squirm. “I was drunk and pissed off. I wasn’t thinking clearly,”
he said, giving me nothing but lame excuses.

My anger flared, stifling the forgiveness that had begun
to take hold in my heart. “You can’t fix this with apologies and excuses,
Dave,” I snapped. “They were going to kill me!”

He breathed heavily, seeming to contemplate what he’d say
next.

Growing impatient, I spat, “Just leave me alone,” and
turned to walk away.

“Zo, I fucked up. I’ve been a mess because of everything
that happened with Sammy and us, and…I was taking it out on you. I’m sorry. I
just…” His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as his eyes darted around
the industrial kitchen. “I just can’t stand the thought of you hating me.”

For the first time since the cabin, I really looked at
him. The old Dave had vanished—his features were drawn, and the egotistical
gleam in his eyes had dulled.

“I don’t hate you, Dave. I just don’t trust you anymore.”
I turned back to the dishes stacked on the counter, wishing he’d just go away.

He stepped up beside me. “Do you want me to help you with
those?”

My palm went up instinctively. “We aren’t friends
anymore, so let’s not pretend we are, okay?” Irritated, I escaped the confines
of the kitchen, making my way outside and heading toward the hospital. Finding
Harper and starting my medical training would be the best way to keep my mind
off Dave.

Having fled from the barracks without a jacket, I pulled
my sleeves over my hands and folded my arms in an effort to insulate against the
cold. It was about noon, and the sun was peeking through ominous, ever-changing
clouds as they sped across the sky.

Clear skies seemed like a distant memory, just like my
life before the Virus. I had to concentrate hard to remember the way some
things smelled, like laundry fresh from the dryer, while others were still easy
to recall
—
Dad’s scent of woodchips after working in his shop and Dani’s
candy-scented perfume.

I found myself wishing I’d done things differently, that
I’d embraced life more.
I used to be a fun person
. Dani and I would
laugh so hard our faces hurt and we nearly peed our pants.
When was the last
time I really laughed?
I thought of Harper and appreciated our flirtatious
friendship all the more.
I used to be adventurous, too
. I searched for
the elusive Big Foot, went white water rafting, and whittled wood with my dad.

But the last five years were a blur of work and horrible
dates.
When did I change?
Between graduating from high school and
leaving for the East Coast, I’d managed to lose myself. Had I known life was as
changeable as the clouds looming above, would I have taken a different path?
Fortunately, I’d reached the hospital—I didn’t have to think about it anymore.

As I entered the boxy building for the first time, I took
in the bleach-white walls, textured ceiling tiles, and chaotically arranged
chairs. Fake plants occupied the corners of the ER waiting room, looking too
lively and out of place. I was glad there was daylight so I could see where I
was going—unlike the barracks, the hospital wasn’t being powered by generators.

The soles of my shoes squeaked as gray and blue carpet
gave way to taupe, polished vinyl floors. Generic watercolor paintings hung on
the walls
—
a variety of flowers and leaves. I tried to imagine swarms of
people rushing in and out of the emergency room doors, barking orders at one
another, and hustling from one patient to the next. It disturbed me to think
that the facility would never again be filled with so much energy and purpose.

“It’s about time,” Harper teased from the end of a hall.
He was wearing a knee-length lab coat.

“Yeah, I hit a detour called ‘Dave’,” I told him as he
ushered me into a wide-open space filled with a nurses’ station in the center,
a half-dozen curtained treatment bays along the far wall, and a glass-walled
medicine room immediately to my left.

“Here, put this on.” Harper gave me a lab coat of my own.
“I’ve already started sorting through the meds, jotting down what we have.” He
handed me the clipboard he’d been using, pointing out a couple of
hard-to-pronounce terms. “These are the vaccines and compounds we need to find,
if we can. Let’s finish taking inventory today, and we’ll see what else we can
scrounge up tomorrow. Make sense?”

I nodded.

“Thanks, Baby Girl.”

I headed into the medicine room and started sorting
through the boxes and vials in the cabinets, compiling a list of everything we
had.

Morphine
Sulfate Inj. – 5.5mg/mL vials – 7 boxes

Morphine
Sulfate Tablets – 15 mg – 100 count/bottle – 5 bottles

“Hey Doc,” Jake said, his rumbling voice startling me.

I whirled around to find him standing in the middle of
the emergency room. His intense, brown eyes were locked on me, like he was
trying to
will
me away with his mind. As I stared
back, I wished I knew what he was thinking. I waded through my emotions, hoping
to recognize foreign feelings—Jake’s feelings—but my new sensory receptors
seemed to turn on and off as they pleased. Currently, they were off, providing
no insight into the mysterious Jake.

    Suddenly, I realized I’d been looking
at him for too long. I turned back to the open cabinet, surprised by the
mixture of emotions and excited energy I was feeling. I didn’t want to give
either Jake or Harper the opportunity to watch my fair skin grow rosy with
embarrassment. Wiping my sweaty palms on my jacket, I refocused on my task.

“So you’re finally going to let me take a look at those
stitches?” Harper asked Jake, his voice growing louder as he made his way over
to me. He set a tray full of shiny, scissor-
esque
contraptions on the counter near me and asked, “Can you find some extra sutures
and add them to the tray, Baby Girl?” He winked and turned back to Jake.

“Doctor’s orders,” Jake said, sounding unconcerned.
If I’d just been shot, I’d be a little more
than indifferent about it.

Abruptly, Cooper bounded into the room, nails clicking on
the floor and tongue hanging out. I abandoned my clipboard to pet him, and he
leaned against my legs, wagging his tail enthusiastically.
You saved my life
too,
I realized, bending down to rub his belly.

“Zoe, would you bring me that tray, please?” Harper asked
from the nearest treatment bay. He sounded distracted. “Alright, let’s take a
look.”

As I brought the assortment of pointy tools over, Harper
motioned toward the examination table, and Jake settled on the crinkly paper
covering it. Cooper followed suit, situating himself on the floor directly
below his master.

Looking back up from the dog, I started to set the tray
down on top of a waist-high medical cart. “Just hold it for sec, would you,
Baby Girl?” Harper walked over to the sink. In his most inquisitive doctor
voice he asked Jake, “How have you been feeling?” while washing his
hands.  

“Alright.”

Taking a clean roll of gauze from a drawer, Harper
returned to his patient. “I’ve got a feeling the wound’s fine, but playing
basketball with a wounded shoulder isn’t a great idea. I’m concerned you’ve
pulled some of the stitches out.” Harper smiled as he put on a pair of surgical
gloves and said, “Take your shirt off.”

“I’m sure it’s fine
—
it doesn’t hurt,” Jake
grunted, pulling off his long-sleeved shirt effortlessly and exposing the most
toned, masculine body I’d ever seen in person.

There was no way Harper didn’t hear my sharp intake of
breath.
Really?
I felt unbearably uncomfortable.
When was the last
time I got laid?
I wondered, but I couldn’t remember. Swallowing, I blushed
again
.

Harper cleared his throat and continued, “You’re probably
right.” He was eyeing me like he’d caught me raiding the cookie jar. “But it
doesn’t hurt to check,” he added.

Before he could begin examining Jake’s shoulder, the door
swung open. “Harper, Summer needs you!” Clara said from the doorway. Her
straight, blonde hair was tangled, and her eyes were wide with panic.
“Something’s
really
wrong with her. She’s getting worse, and Tanya
doesn’t know what to do…” Clara’s voice tapered off when her eyes settled on
Jake’s bare torso.

Although only his back was visible to her, Clara didn’t
seem able to peel her eyes away.
Did she forget about Summer already?
 She
looked as dumbfounded as I felt, but her heated stare told me there was
something more between her and Jake. My fingers tightened around the edges of
the tray before I set it down and returned to inventorying.

I remembered the look on Jake’s face the night he’d
pushed me away and the scowl I’d received every time I’d encountered him since
then.
Are they together?
Frustrating jealousy flared-up inside me.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Harper said. “Zoe, check Jake’s
wounds while I’m gone.”

My heart started pounding. “But
—
” I was still
unsure if my
thing
was public knowledge, and I had no idea if Jake knew.
The possibility of seeing his memories and feeling his emotions was enticing,
but it felt wrong
—
like an enormous, unforgivable invasion of privacy.

Harper grabbed his medical bag before coming over to me.
He placed an encouraging hand on my shoulder. “You did a great job with Dave’s
injuries. I’m sure you’ll be fine. Just make sure all his wounds are clean and
the stitches are still tight. I’ll come back when I can.” Registering the
concern in my eyes, he repeated, “You’ll be fine.” And with that, Harper left.

As I locked eyes with Jake, my self-consciousness
resurfaced; it was both disarming and unwanted.

Jake raised an eyebrow expectantly, seeming to say,
“shall we proceed?” When I didn’t respond, he looked away.

It’s the perfect opportunity to thank him,
I
reminded myself, but his impatience and dismissiveness made me hesitate.

Jake resituated himself on the table, making his chest
and arm muscles flex, and my blood suddenly felt like lava coursing through my
veins. Although unexpected, the sensation was thrilling and my body tingled
with excitement.
This isn’t good…
Afraid of touching his skin,
especially in my excited state, I made sure to grab a pair of disposable gloves
from the box beside the sink after I washed my hands.

Cooper whimpered as I approached the duo, his eyes
pleading for more attention. Jake bent down and lovingly stroked the dog’s head
before sitting back up to watch me impassively.

As I began unwrapping his arm, I could feel his eyes on
me. I could almost hear the questions forming on the tip of his tongue, but he
didn’t speak. His eyes—earnest and aware of something I could neither sense nor
see—betrayed his expressionless face, but only for a moment. With one blink,
his revealing stare disappeared.

Knowing I wouldn’t get a better chance, I took a deep,
steadying breath, and said, “I haven’t had a chance to thank you…for saving my
life, I mean.” It was excruciatingly difficult trying to thank a man who could
barely stand to be around me.

“No need to thank me,” he said curtly, looking through
me.

The ridiculousness of his answer triggered my defenses.
“Why not? I know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t—”

“But, I did. So can we just drop it, please?” His rushed,
quiet tone was all I needed to get the point. Whatever the reason, he didn’t
want to talk about that night in the woods.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” I said coolly as I picked up one
of the stainless steel utensils and used it to pull the matted gauze from
Jake’s wound—it came off more easily than I’d expected. “What happened between
you and Bennington?” I asked. Jake’s conversations with Jones and Taylor kept
replaying in my head.

Jake met my eyes. “He thought he could kill me, but he
was wrong.” He watched me closely, waiting for my reaction, but I just shook my
head at his vagueness. I wanted to think of something clever to spit back at
him, but my annoyance vanished as I cleaned the crusted blood from his skin and
took my first good look at his wound.

I must have frozen, because Jake looked at me oddly.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, the baritone of his voice startling me.

“Um…” I didn’t want to sound more foolish than I already
felt, but something clearly wasn’t right. “You needed stitches?”