Radiation Point

Twenty

I had a hard time sleeping that night. It seemed like every time I closed my eyes, images of the contaminated swam before me. Images of my dad being dragged away. The teeth of the one in the woods.

Then the images began to change. Suddenly, it was my mom as a contaminated. Her soft eyes going wild. Her foaming at the mouth and using her hands to steady herself as she lunged. Not at me, but by me-because I had changed as well.
My eyes fluttered open in shock. Sweat stuck to the back of my neck and I sat up, gasping in fear. It had seemed so real. My mom. Her loving face swam before my eyes once more. The raw feeling of losing her mixed with the fear of my dream. I took a steadying breath and looked around my tent.
I was safe. There were no groans of the contaminated. The only sound was the soft chirping of birds waking up in the morning. I sighed, it had to be early.

I crawled out of my sleeping bag and gently lifted the flap of my tent. Everyone else was still sleeping, except for Bubba, who had taken the last watch. Bubba sat in front of our low burning fire, carving that piece of wood again. He didn't look up when I emerged from my tent. It was strange, in that firelight he looked sad, almost haunted, instead of cruel and angry. Just as quickly as the thought fluttered into my mind, he glanced up at me and shot me the same angry glare.
"Well, well, look who joined the land of the living," he muttered, more to himself than to me and went back to carving that piece of wood. I'd have to ask Tyler what it was he was working on. There was no way I would ask Bubba-the-jerk, that's for sure.
Instead, I began rummaging through my bag. I stopped when I found a granola bar and began munching on it thoughtfully, ignoring Bubba-the-jerk across from me. It seemed he had the same plan, as he didn't look up at me again, just meticulously cut that piece of wood.
"Look who's getting along out here," Tyler said with a smile as he exited his tent.
Bubba snorted. "If you say so, boss. I still don't like the hussy."
I stopped chewing and narrowed my eyes at Bubba-the-jerk.
"Will you stop calling me that? I didn't do anything to you, so calm your tits."
The words slipped out before I could stop them. I instantly regretted them, my face burning in embarrassment.
Bubba stopped his knife mid cut, and slowly lifted his gaze to me. His eyes were narrowed, his expression unreadable.
"The hell you just say to me?"
"It's just an expression," I said, silently cursing myself for not controlling my temper. My dad used to call me his little spit fire, warning me that my words would get me in trouble some day. Looking at the sharp end of Bubba's knife, it seemed that he had been right.
Bubba frowned and leaned closer to me, his eyes glinted dangerously. "Listen here, hussy," he said, emphasizing the word mockingly. "I'll call you whatever I want, because I can. If it wasn't for your little boyfriend over there, I would have gutted you like a pig. That's all your worth for all the trouble you caused."
He held his knife up, the firelight bouncing off its sharp edges. My insides went cold at his words. The man was crazy. I had no doubt about that. And I had made myself the object of his wrath.
"Bubba," Tyler said, his voice dangerously low.
"No, he's right," Jackson said, coming out of his tent. "Bubba could have said it differently, but he's right. She's caused us a lot of problems. I mean, why are we out here?"
"For antibiotics. I thought I made that clear," Tyler said, his voice hard.
"For her," Jackson said, frustration in his voice. "Our plan has gone to hell because of her. She's made you weak, man." He shook his head, and started to walk away. Stopping abruptly, he turned to face Tyler, his eyes full of sadness. "Everyone who died back there is on you. Their blood is on your hands. For what? A girl?" He threw his hands up, swatting them at Tyler like he was an insect, and disappeared into his tent.
The crackling of the fire was the only sound. Bubba shifted restlessly in his seat a moment. Without looking at Tyler, he shoved his wood piece and knife in his pocket and walked to the edge of the woods.
"Let's just get this done," he muttered. "Call me when you're ready." Then he walked farther into the forest, his lean frame disappearing into the tree line.
I felt utterly stunned. I knew Bubba hadn't liked me but to threaten to kill me? And Jackson had joined in with him. It didn't make sense. I didn't ask for the renegades to get involved. I didn't ask for any of it. I shook my head in confusion, and turned to Tyler, who had slid down next to me.

"You okay?" He asked softly.
I glanced sideways at him. He looked troubled, his eyes clouded over with regret. It seemed he had aged years since the bomb dropped, and even more since our conversation began.
"What did they mean?" I asked, ignoring his question. "What did Jackson mean about the blood on your hands?"
Tyler shifted uncomfortably, staring forward into the forest. I didn't think he was going to answer me, he sat there so long, his face stoic.
"Tyler?"
As if saying his name had broken a damn, he turned to me, a flood of emotions across his face. He struggled to keep from crying or screaming, I couldn't tell. He took several deep breathes and shook his head.
"They were right. It is on my hands," he finally said, so softly I had to lean in to hear him. He looked defeated. "We hadn't planned on taking over the camp yet. We had our spies set to watch the camp for at least another month. But then, news came back that the commissioner was planning on publicly killing a girl in the camp. It was you, Nessa. It was you."
His words hung heavy in the air, fear and regret in every word.
"I couldn't let that happen. So I changed our plans. We moved up the day to take over the camp by more than a month."
"But wait," I interrupted. "I met up with your men in the woods. Why didn't you just stop me from leaving?"
His dark eyes found mine then, and he shrugged. "I didn't have the chance. You ran."
He was right. I thought we were in trouble. When the contaminated attacked, Mia and I didn't wait to make sure Tyler was okay-we just ran. When a thought hit me, and I turned to Tyler, "What about the men in the woods? The blonde man? He was going to kill me for sure."
"Evan? I don't think he liked being hit by a girl. He was convinced you were a threat and he could get a little," he paused, chewing on his lip a moment. "A little over vigorous about things. He wasn't always the easiest to get a long with, but he was loyal."
"Over vigorous?" I exclaimed. "You call that over vigorous?"
Tyler nodded somberly. "He was still a good man. One who shouldn't have died. If we had waited until the spies gave us the okay, none of my men would be dead."
"But you didn't wait because of me?"
"Yeah."
A wave of guilt swept over me. No wonder Tyler's men hated me. They thought I was just some bratty child. Maybe I am, I thought dejectedly. They had lost enough men and time because of me.
I straightened my spine and gave Tyler my best determined look, "Well, let's get this over with and get back. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can stop putting your men in danger."