So beautiful, she must be real.
“Hi,” my mate whispers.
Her eyes shimmer like the swamp's surface on a hot summer day.
“Hi,” I reply in a croak. I can’t bear more strain on my throat.
“They aren’t clean, but they’re wet,” Ruth says from behind a stack of cloth.
“They will have to do. Thomas, take him to the kitchen and lay him on the table. The sheets are to protect him in transport, but once he’s on the table, gently peel them away from the wounds. If they stick to him, leave them.”
“Ruth, in the upstairs laboratory, there is a bottle of carbolic acid spray—never mind, I’ll have to get the bottle because only I can read the label.”
“I read,” Ruth snaps. “I read all the storybooks in the nursery. Finding the letters to Car Bowl A Sin Spray won’t be difficult.”
“It’s a brown bottle with a pointed, black lid,” Hairy calls after Ruth as she runs out of view again. The scratchy sheets don’t bother my wounds because her slender hands place them on my body. Oh, I didn’t think I deserved one more touch! What a gift!
Her little mumbles tempt my smile, but it would pull my cracked jaw. “I’ll set a kettle to boil for clean water, grab the whiskey… I’ll need some of Leopold’s surgical instruments. Maybe I should set these sheets to wash before we wrap him again. No, there’s no time. The swamp’s not clean, but we can’t stay here.”
She kisses the space between my eyes before covering my head with an itchy sheet. I’m tossed and bumped. The fabric rubs every wound like I’m consumed by fire. My screams of agony fill my ears.I’m burning from head to toe. It’s too much for my simple mind to bear. My mouth tries to yell for Hairy, but I can’t force her name through the inky dark that consumes me. My mind shuts down with regret flooding my soul as I prepare to die without saying goodbye to my greatest love.
Phin
I don’t know this room. Bright and yellow, like buttercups. It’s comforting and promises happy times. I don’t trust it. There are no happy spaces in this house.
“He’s waking—” Thomas’s anxious face appears inches from mine. “—you must go faster.”
“Any faster, and the stitches will break open when you carry him,” my love scolds. “He must be stable for travel. Ruth, give him the whiskey.”
Ruth’s frown replaces Thomas’s face. She lifts a bottle to my mouth and tips the liquid into my dry throat. I scream with the burn, but it comes out as a drowning gurgle. My friends roll me to my side to let the fire waterdrain. Hairy curses. My moving must have interrupted her.
“Phin, my love, you must drink the whiskey, or this will hurt too much. I know it burns a little, but that’s nothing compared to stitches below the—oh hell—under your skin.”
“Dry, forest fire, burn for you,” I mumble as I fight to stay with her. My mind can’t keep up with her words.
“Here,” she says at the end of a string of words I can’t piece together. She tips a glass of clear liquid into my mouth. The cool rush of water! I gulp greedily until it’s nothing more than an echo of my slurping. Hairy smiles as she tips the bottle of firewater into my mouth. Does it burn less because I’ve had water or because she smiles as I drink? I’d drink the whole bottle if I could watch her face as it burns a trail to my stomach.
“That should do it,” Hairy says, dabbing a cloth on my chin. “More water?”
I groan in hopes she agrees to give me more.
“Ruth,” Hairy asks over her shoulder. “Will you refill the water cup and hold it for Phin? I need to finish these stitches.”
I sip from Ruth’s clumsy pouring. Why isn’t Hairy in my view? Somewhere far away, my bones scream in pain, but I don’t seem to care. Dandelion fluff invades my brain. I’m already slow, but now I fight through white puffy clouds to gather my thoughts.
The screams fade into the background. Hairy and Thomas chatter, but I can’t understand the words. Her voice pulls my face into a smile, which spills water over my chin. It’s pink. Ruth scolds me. She looks funny, yelling with no sound emerging. I can’t laugh, or I’ll choke on the water.
Why didn’t Hairy feed me water? It tasted better then.
Where am I? Why is it so bright? I hate this room.
Harriett
Phin’s busted smile warms my heart as he glides in and out of consciousness. His expressive, intelligent eyes take in my small kitchen like an explorer discovering a new world. Then they roll back into his head as his pain consumes him once more. I’ve closed the wounds over his large femoral artery, carotid artery, and every other major vessel I can remember. He can’t bleed out in transport.
Being the daughter of a botanist, I’m adecent surgeon, but I have no idea what I must fix within Phin’s body. My hope is that my mediocre skills, Leopold’s equipment, and all the prayers of the hybrids are enough to keep Phin in this world.
“His feet,” Thomas whispers over my shoulder. “The cuts on his feet will hurt the worst. He’ll want them healed first…if there’s anything you can do to help.”
