The Restoration Project

3.05 - Plain-Faced Charley

"I think there's something wrong with him," Righty said, his voice distant.

Charley wasn't really listening. She stared at a large plume of smoke ahead, in the direction of the x marked on the map. At least she thought it was, her sense of direction was shit. She was also trying to convince herself that taking the credits from the two strangers was a necessity. It was spur of the moment, caused by Skillet acting very un-Skillet-like, and the best way to deescalate Skillet's aggression. That was all.

"Uhm, Charley! Earth to Charley," Righty shouted. He sounded further away.

Charley folded the map and turned around to see Righty and Skillet a hundred feet behind her. Skillet crouched on one knee and Righty wrapped his good arm over his shoulder. Charley jogged back to them.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I don't know, big guy just dropped. He's kinda hot," Righty said.

Charley rested the back of her hand against Skillet's forehead. He was burning up. She frowned.

"Think he caught a cold? Or the flu?" Righty asked.

Charley hunched over to study Skillet's face. She held his massive head in both of her hands and looked in his eyes. "What happened?"

"Needle," he said through one big groan. The word created a knot in Charley's stomach. "Shoulder."

She rose to her feet and checked both shoulders, already knowing she wouldn't find anything. Knowing what she would have to do to test her hunch. She  pulled her hunting knife out if its sheath on her back. In one quick motion sliced Skillet's upper arm.

"What'd you do that for!" Righty yelled.

Charley held up a hand to silence Righty as blood poured out of the wound. It was heavy at first, but then trickled to a stop.

"Holy shit!" Righty exclaimed, pulling his arm off Skillet as if he could catch the nanobots by just touching him.

"Marty did this," Charley said, wiping the blade on a rag and sheathing it. "We need to get him Liquid Gold. It'll slow it down."

"And how do you propose we do that?"

"I don't know yet." Fucking Marty. Had to complicate things. Charley paced in front of Skillet, running through their options. There weren't many. "We stick to the plan."

"What? And leave him here?"

"We bring him with us. If there's fire where we're heading then there's something valuable too. We get Marybelle and we can get whatever we want." Charley wasn't a fan of the plan, but she didn't see any other way to help Skillet. The credits they took off the guy weren't enough to cure Skillet, let alone get them into the City.

"I don't like it," Righty said.

"You don't have to. You just have to do it," Charley explained. "Now get an arm under him."

Righty grumbled but did as she asked, resting one of Skillet's arms over his shoulder. Charley joined on the other side and they plodded along the side of the road. Skillet's steps were big—around two for every one of Charley's—but he was slow. His weight compounded as exhaustion set in and sweat rolled down Charley's temples. As they approached their destination, wafts of acrid smoke filled her nostrils, even though the smoke was no  more than a greyish smear above them now, carried away by the wind.

"He's heavy," Righty complained.

He wasn't wrong. Charley's shoulder ached from Skillet's weight. She wasn't sure how much further she could go. "Put him down over there." She pointed to a boulder at the side of the road.