Waifs and Strays [Larry Stylinson]

Chapter Forty

So it's been a while. Sorry for that. But I've just been super busy.

Whatevs, I'm not going to bore you any longer. Here's the update.

He's still not better. He still looks as sick and sweaty and agonized as he did before. I wish I could help him, I wish I knew what I can do to make this better. It hurts me to see him like this and I am terrified that we might not be able to help him.  But there is still hope. The Grey Skin's suicide has given me hope.

Right after we carried that guy a fair way off the camp site, I sent the other four boys out to scan the forrest for anything that could belong to him. If he really followed us all the way from the cave, he had to have some kind of vehicle. I can't believe nobody noticed him the whole time.

My hope is that they will find something that can help healing Harry. There has to be something. Of course I could be wrong and there isn't an antidote after all, but right before the Grey Skin killed himself, he said something like "You will never get the answer from me". He made sure of that by killing himself. To me, that sounded like there is an answer, a solution, anything that can save this boy right next to me.

I could've gone and searched the woods myself, but I couldn't bare the thought of leaving Harry behind. I need to be with him. I won't leave him alone.

I haven't left his side ever since I entered the tent about two hours ago. It has gotten cold and dark by now but the boys aren't back yet. I wonder what takes them so long. I can't stand seeing Harry like this anymore. All I want is to swop places with him. He doesn't deserve this. He didn't deserve anything that happened to him ever since we kidnapped him.

He looks sick, so sick. I keep petting his damp hair and gently caress his face in hopes that he will feel it and relax, or wake up, or... just feel better. But I'm not surprised that he doesn't show any reaction. Still, I keep on caressing his cheeks and slowly run my fingertips along his jawline. He's my boy, my Harry. I can't accept his fate, I can't come to terms with the fact that he is dying.

"Please, don't leave me, Hazza," I whisper to him, "Please."

 For a second, I think about sucking the wound out but that would probably not help anymore, at this point. I should've done that right after he got shot, not hours later.

"Don't you leave me, you hear me?" I find myself mumbling, even though I know it's no use.

Suddenly, I hear something. Sounds like a motorbike. And soon enough, I can see a light approaching the tent. Who can this be? We don't have any motorbikes. Horrible pictures of more Grey Skins torturing me but keeping me alive to make me watch while they are killing the boys, and ultimately Harry, are crossing my mind, until the tent is zipped open and a blushed Evan steps in.

"Oh, it's you," I say and start breathing again.

"Sorry that it took so long," Evan apologizes and gives Harry a worried glance, "That's why I decided to leave the others to walk back here on their own and took the motorbike to get here faster."

I furrow my eyebrows. "Oh, yeah that makes sense," I joke before adding, "Where did you get it from?"

"It's the vehicle that the Grey Skin used," Evan answers eagerly and steps closer.

"Really?" I sit up straighter. Of course it is, how didn't I realize that right away? "Where did you find it?"

"About a mile from here," Evan says and kneels down next to us, "We went searching for it in the direction he ran, after he shot Harry. I'd figured he was running back to the spot where he left his vehicle. It turned out to be right. And he was clever, too. He hid it far enough away so we wouldn't accidentally come across it while we're hunting."