Sunrise

“You want to join our homestead.”

Zik nodded.

“Everyone works—long days, some nights on guard duty too.”

“We’ll pull our weight and then some, if we can manage it.”

Darla whispered in my ear. “What if they’re spies?”

I thought about that idea—it didn’t seem likely, but it was possible. “You wouldn’t be allowed to leave the homestead without permission. Maybe not allowed to leave at all for a few months. I can’t take the risk that you might lead others to us.”

“We need to look for Emily.” Mary’s voice was freighted with anguish.

“That’s a fair precaution,” Zik said. “But as soon as you see you can trust us, I want permission to go looking for my daughter.”

“You work out, and I’ll do everything I can to help.”

I held out my good hand, and Zik shook it. Suddenly I was responsible for twelve souls. I felt every one of them keenly, weights burdening my already sagging shoulders.

Chapter 40

When I stepped out of the abandoned house where we had been talking, I saw two figures in the distance, trudging down the road toward me. I backed up, reentering the house and closing the door. “Someone’s out there. You all bring any weapons?” “Just knives,” Zik said.

I stepped over to the window. We had already taken all the glass, so the drape flapped in the wind, giving me an intermittent glimpse of the road. When the figures had halved the distance to the farmhouse, I could make out their faces: Uncle Paul and Max. I flung open the door and ran down the road toward them, with Darla hot on my heels.

“Uncle Paul! Max!” I cried.

“Alex!” he yelled and then doubled over coughing. By the time he was able to resume talking, we had reached him. “We were headed to Stockton. Figured maybe Bikezilla broke—” His breath caught in his throat, and he suddenly stopped. After a short pause, glancing back and forth between me and Darla, he said, “My God. Your hands.” “Red caught us,” I said flatly “I’ll kill that mother—”

“Get in line,” Darla said.

“I should never have let you go there,” Uncle Paul said. “No.” I grabbed his arm. “No regrets. We’re alive because of the supplies we got in our raids. If you’d told me before all this started that I’d have to trade my hand to get the homestead up and ru

Max was staring at my stump with grim fascination. “Did it hurt? Having your hand chopped off?”

“No, Max, it was completely painless,” I said.

“Christ,” Darla said to Uncle Paul, “what kind of idiots are you raising?”

“Sorry,” Max said.

“I think we’re both a little rattled,” Uncle Paul said. “Not as much as we were,” Darla muttered.

I looked back—Zik’s family huddled inside the still-open door. “I need to introduce you to Zik and his family. They saved our lives.”

After the introductions, we all trudged back to the homestead together. I asked Uncle Paul to get the newcomers settled in and explain the situation to everyone else. Darla and I headed for our bedrolls. It was just after lunchtime, but we were dead on our feet.

When we next woke, Dr. McCarthy was there, holding a work light on an extension cord and examining my stump in minute detail. “Satan’s teeth, Alex. Would you please quit bringing me unusual injuries to treat?”

“Last time,” I said. “I promise.”

He snorted in disbelief. “Your setup out here is unbelievable. Thought I’d never see working electricity again. I want to switch the light on and off a few dozen times just for the joy of it. Like kids do when they grow tall enough to reach the switches.”

“You’d better not,” Darla said from her bedroll beside me. “Wears out the bulbs faster.”

“I won’t. But I’m tempted to move out here.”

“You and Belinda would be welcome anytime,” I said. “But don’t tell anyone where we are, okay?” I would have preferred it if no one but Rebecca knew, but I could see why Uncle Paul had felt the need to fetch the doctor.

“I won’t. I’m not going to mention your electric lights either. You might wind up with tourists out here if I did.” “What about, you know, our arms?” I asked. “What do we do about them?”

“Other than calling us Mr. and Mrs. Stumpy,” Darla said. “What, are congratulations in order?” Dr. McCarthy asked. “You got married and didn’t invite me to the wedding?” “No . . .” I said.

“Yes . . .” Darla said at almost the same time.

“Sort of,” I amended.

“Well when you figure it out, let me know,” Dr. McCarthy said. “Anyway, your arms . . . I’m not sure.”

Not exactly what you want to hear your doctor saying. “You’ve got burns from the tar Red used to seal your stumps, and normally we’d want the burns to get some air, but if I go mucking around in there trying to get the tar off your skin, I’m afraid I’ll reopen or infect your wounds. Might be best to do nothing.”

“So a bionic hand is out of the question?” I said.

Dr. McCarthy smiled, but his eyes were sad. “Afraid so.” He reached into his old-timey, black leather doctor’s bag and pulled out a bottle of pills, opened it, and counted out ten. “Take one a day each for the next five days.”

“What are they?” I asked as he poured them into my hand.

“Antibiotic. Levaquin.”

I was so startled, I almost dropped the pills. Antibiotics were priceless—I could probably buy twenty weeks’ worth of food with the ten pills in my hand. “Thank you.”

“Mayor’s been buying them. He’s got a source, but he won’t tell me who. I suspect he’s trading with one of the gangs. Medical supplies are about the only thing he’ll trade pork for. And I figure we owe you, even if he doesn’t see it that way.”

“You look at our feet yet?” I asked.

“No. Why?”

“Pretty sure they’re frostbitten. Might be more along the side of my body.” I started taking off my clothing, which was sort of embarrassing given the fact that we were in a one-room longhouse, and I hadn’t really figured out how to undress myself one-handed. But I wanted him to check us both over thoroughly. Frostbite can be deadly.

One of my toes—the little one on my right foot, which had rested against the ground—was completely black and lifeless.

“That toe’s going to have to come off, Alex.”

“Don’t you think I’ve lost enough body parts?”

“Too many. But if I leave that dead toe on there, all the antibiotics in the world won’t help you. You’ll lose the rest of your body parts—all at once.”

I sighed heavily. “Well, get out your hedge clippers, then.”

“I think I’ll use a scalpel, if it’s all the same to you. I’ll need three pans of boiling water and a couple of helpers.” Ed and Max volunteered to help. The four of us lapsed into a tense silence while waiting for the water to boil. When the water was ready and the scalpels sterilized, Dr. McCarthy fumbled around in his medical bag, finally pulling out a leather-wrapped stick.

“I guess you still don’t have any painkillers,” I said. “No. Sorry.” He passed me the stick, and Ed and Max took hold of my leg. I bit down on the stick; the leather was slick and tasted slightly of soap and salt.

When Dr. McCarthy started working his scalpel around my toe, I screamed—I couldn’t help myself. The sound that escaped around the stick sounded more like the trumpet of a tortured swan than anything human. Darla put her hand in mine, and I gripped it fiercely. Then, mercifully, I passed out.

When I awoke, I discovered that Darla had lost two of the toes from her left foot. Dr. McCarthy left us with a long list of things to watch out for around our wounds: redness, streaking, swelling, pus—the usual signs of infection. Darla and I had dealt with it before.

I slept through most of the next five days. Every now and then I would wake and stare at the stump on the end of my left arm. The tar had cracked, and red, burnt skin was visible in the cracks, forming a crazed red-and-black patchwork looking more like an arm that belonged on Sauron the Deceiver than on anything human.