Radiation Point

Twenty Five

Jackson carried the whimpering Miracle into the camp, and I followed him halfheartedly. I knew I was a fool to think that she would survive the bite without changing. But the thought of seeing an arrow pierce her child head was nauseating. I just wished I could go back and change the outcome of what happened to her; held on tighter. Something.
I tightened my grip on the strap of my backpack. At least there was something I could do for Mia. And she had been waiting long enough. I quickened by pace as we walked into the camp.
Without a word, Jackson turned down the hallway, away from the infirmary.
"Where are you going?"
He didn't answer, simply kept up his steady pace.
"Jackson?"
Only then did he stop, though he kept his back to me.
"She needs to be taken care of."
"I know," I said, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. "The infirmary's this way."
"I'm not taking her to the infirmary," he said, finally turning around. His face was an unreadable mask.
"She needs to be seen by a doctor. She could die from blood loss alone."
When he didn't show any sign of having heard me, I raised my voice. "Jackson, she could be dead already for all we know. She needs medical attention-before anything else."
Anger coursed through him at my words, and he hurried back to me in a few quick strides.
"You don't know what you're talking about. She's not going to get medical attention in the infirmary. Those aren't doctors. If she's going to live, it will be because of me. And even then, she's still going to change. Get that through your head."
His words were harsh, and his expression even harsher. I found myself withering away from him.
"Yeah, okay," I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. It was surprising to hear the anger in his voice. Jackson had seemed to be the only person in our group in the woods who was steady and calm. Even the times when there had been a threat, he was calculating and deadly; not angry and cruel.
He gave me a short, sharp nod, and hurried down the hallway, clutching Miracle close to him. I stared after him a moment, still dazed from the encounter. Where could he be taking Miracle anyways?
I didn't have the answers and I wasn't going to get them staring after him. With a sigh, I turned my mind to something I could do and that was help my sister.

The infirmary was still packed when I pushed opened the metal doors. The bodies were gone from the wall though, which was a relief, and the room had a lighter air to it.
I scanned the beds in search of my sister, when I caught sight of Ellen's short brown bob. She was sitting crossed legged on a stark white hospital bed, staring vacantly in front of her. I followed her gaze and saw Mia's small form laying back against a pillow. She looked a pasty pale color, her blonde hair making her looked washed out. Layers of covers were wrapped tightly around her, exasperating her tiny frame and making her look even more frail.
For a terrifying moment, I thought that I was too late. That her frame was so still because she had passed away. I choked back a sob at the thought, and hurried to my sister's side.
Ellen rose from the bed when she saw me, looking relieved.
"Hey stranger, we've been missing you."
I met her soft gaze and felt a flutter of hope.
"Is she okay?"
"She's hangin' in there." She tugged on the strap of my backpack and gave me a small smile. "She'll be even better when she gets those meds though."
Ellen was right. I set the backpack on the floor and began to rummage through it, finally taking stock of what we had brought. All of the bottles looked the same; all small white bottles with sticky labels describing the contents with thick block letters. The names on each bottle seemed foreign, a mixing of letters to make up names of medications I had never heard of. Dumping everything from the shelves was time effective, but now that I was by my sister's side, I had a sinking feeling that maybe we hadn't gotten her the right kind of medicine.
"You need to stop worryin' so much," Ellen said, squatting down next to me. "You aren't the only fighter around here, and I'm telling you that little girl isn't going down without a fight."
"What if I didn't get her the right kind of medication? I don't even know what half of these are!"
"Let me see," Ellen said scooting the bag closer to her. She pulled out bottle after bottle, setting the discarded ones on the floor beside her. "Cefazolin. This is an antibiotic."
I gave her a strange look. How on earth did she know that? None of the names sounded familiar, and especially not the one she said.
"I'm a mother," she said, as if in response to the look on my face. "Us mother's who didn't have a lot of money had to hold onto what antibiotics we could get and use whatever was left for the next time."
Huh.
"But, I suppose we should get the medic over here," Ellen continued with a sigh. "How they even got these jobs is beyond me. Half the medics in here don't have a kind bone in their body. And don't get me started on that blonde one. If it weren't for your sister, I may have given her a punch to the mouth."
"What?" I asked, half gasping, half laughing.
"Miss blondey, didn't think your sister needed extra blankets. That if your sister passed away, then she passed away-a blanket wouldn't help." Ellen said the last lines with a sour, mocking tone.
I felt my face blush with anger and with narrowed eyes searched the room for the blonde medic Ellen was talking about. Maybe I would give her a piece of my mind,too.
Ellen put her hand on my arm. "Hey, I didn't mean to upset you, sweetheart. I took care of blondey. I just don't want her near Shadow again."
I nodded, "I couldn't agree with you more. Who should we ask about this then?"
"Don't you worry about that. You stay here with Shadow and I'll take care of the rest." She gave my arm a final squeeze before turning and darting down the rows of beds.
I turned my attention back to Mia. She looked so tiny and frail covered in-yes, several layers of blankets. Her lips were dry and cracked, and her eyes clamped shut. I took her hand in my own and gave it a squeeze. She didn't stir and her hand felt clammy to the touch. Despite Ellen saying she was fine, I still placed two fingers at the base of her wrist and felt for a pulse. It was faint, but steady; her heart pounding away to fight for consciousness.
On impulse, I gently pulled down her covers and moved to examine her wound. Not that I was, or ever planned to be a doctor, but I had to see for myself if Mia was getting better. A clean cloth bandage was wrapped tightly around her tiny waist. It was clipped in place with a metal piece, which I gingerly unclasped.

I couldn't contain my gasp at the sight of her wound.
Red, angry jags of skin were barely held together with stitches. Slick red blood glistened and mixed with hardened, dry blood caked around the wound. The wound itself had fluid seeping out from it. Her entire midsection was swollen and warm to the touch.
Mia was not better. She was much, much worse.