HOTSPOT

6

I spend the rest of the day helping around the garage to repair the damage caused, which mostly involves cleaning up the attackers we killed and preparing burials for those of our group who died. Ama finds me on my knees on the second floor, scrubbing at the continent of blood left on the asphalt.

"Hey babe."

I lift my head. "What's up?"

She crouches, morning light from outside getting caught in her dark hair. She has it tied back today, the way she used to when we fought the mutated to secure the garage.

"Colton's still on bed rest, so Winona and I are going to see what we can learn from Lucy."

"Lucy?" I sit back on my heels, brushing the back of my hand against my forehead.

"It's all Lora got from her before she put her out. Winona wants you to join us." She manages a smile. "Apparently you're scary."

"Winona's scary too."

"Well, I'm not."

I set down my brush and lean towards her, placing my hands on her knees as I tilt my head. "You're a little scary."

She laughs, then recoils as I try to lean in for a kiss, wrinkling her nose.

"Ew, Teddy, no. You still smell like blood."

I groan but get to my feet, knees protesting after an hour of kneeling on the pavement. "Alright, let me get changed and I'll meet you there."

—

"The anaesthetics haven't completely worn off yet—I probably used the equivalent of a horse tranquilizer," Lora says, smiling sheepishly. Her eyes are bloodshot; I can't imagine she got much sleep with all the injuries that need to be tended to. "She'll probably still be a bit out of it."

"Alright. Thank you, Lora." Winona touches her shoulder briefly. "Go get some rest, okay?"

She nods gratefully and sets down the first aid kit she's been carrying, stripping off her latex gloves. Winona holds back the tent flap, gesturing Ama and I in. I duck inside, enveloped by a dim red light that falls over us as soon as Winona steps in and lets the nylon flap fall behind her.

The woman has been laid on a makeshift bed, kept off the concrete by two inches of foam and a few blankets. She looks like shit, too—pale and harrowed, with dark shadows under her eyes. Lora's changed her into a clean white tank top, but already the wound beneath has started to seep through the bandages, leaving a small red spot on the sweat-drenched fabric. Her eyes flutter open when we enter, her upper body propped up slightly.

I see red. The feeling of Ama's hand on my arm is the only thing that keeps me grounded.

Lucy shifts, pushing herself up onto her elbows. Ama hurries to her side, firmly pushing her back down.

"You're not supposed to be moving around."

"Fuck you." Lucy's voice is a rattling cough; every syllable requires effort.

Winona folds her arms and waits until she's sapped the rest of her strength, slouching back down to the blankets. The spot of blood on her torso has started to spread.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I got shot in the stomach."

"Great," I mutter. "She thinks she's funny."

Winona elbows me. Hard. I hold back a pained grunt.

"Well, Lora expects you to make a full recovery." Winona stares at her with a gaze that could bore holes through steel. I should know; I've been on the opposite end of it plenty of times. "If you let yourself get enough rest."