Voracious - Alice Henderson [87]
Mucus streamed from his nose, mingling with tears. Only occasionally he’d suck in a deep breath, shuddering, wheezing, and another great wail would explode from him. It was the kind of crying she hadn’t done herself since she lost Ellie, the day she learned for the first time what death was.
She rose and retrieved a big wad of toilet paper from Noah’s backpack. Placing it down by his hand, she stood over him, concerned. He pushed it away, mucus already soaking into the bedspread, streaming down his cheek and lips. His crying grew so loud she began to wonder if neighbors would call in complaints.
Then she sat down again, watching him. She sat there for a long time, and his crying only got worse. She didn’t think it was possible for someone to cry for that long. She remembered how much her lungs and stomach had ached that day she’d cried for three hours straight.
She tried to talk to him, soothe him, murmur to him, hold him. Nothing helped. He stopped pushing her away and just lay there helplessly, limply, sobs convulsing his body. She lay down beside him. And then, after four hours, he simply stopped. He lay limply, his back to her. Madeline thought he might be asleep, but when she peered over his shoulder she found him staring fixedly at some point in the distance, his mind a million miles away.
“Noah?” she asked softly.
No response. He was far away.
Each breath shook his body, his lungs not yet recovered from the weeping. She continued to lie next to him, her arm cradling him, body spooning him. Soon she drifted off to sleep.
A little later she startled awake, lying next to Noah. He still lay in the same position, still staring at some fixed point in the distance. Her outburst hadn’t even made him stir. His eyes, dry and bloodshot, didn’t even blink. “Noah?” she asked.
No response.
She looked at his watch. Five hours had passed. Beyond the curtains, light gleamed.
“Noah.” This time she shook him gently. His eyes slowly closed, but he said nothing. She decided she should leave him alone for a while, give him some space.
She rose, straightening her rumpled clothes. Quietly she picked through Noah’s clothes and grabbed a clean turtleneck and a fresh pair of Noah’s jeans. They were big on her, hanging low on her hips, but it was the only pair of clean pants she could find. In the front room, she scrubbed up as much of the creature’s dried blood as she could, using a towel and water from Noah’s water bottle. She couldn’t get it all up, though, especially where it had seeped into the wood, creating a dark stain.
She was careful not to touch any of it.
After a brief, lukewarm shower in the camp bathroom, she stood in front of the steamy mirror brushing her teeth. Her cut looked a lot better, and she didn’t think she needed a new bandage. She gently touched the cut and thought about Noah. If he was still lying there motionless when she finished, she’d go out and get them some food. Then she’d have to think of a plan.
They may have lost Noah’s weapon, but she still had her ability to sense where the creature might be heading next. Was she no longer in danger? He certainly could have killed her yesterday, but he hadn’t. Maybe he was just playing games as Noah said.
She rinsed, gathered up her things, and returned to the cabin. In the bedroom, Noah still lay motionless, his eyes still closed. But the rapid rate of his breathing let her know he wasn’t sleeping.
She stared at him worriedly. Was he having a nervous breakdown? Or just a moment of futility? Maybe food would help. She didn’t think he’d eaten since breakfast the day before.
She looked at his watch: 1:30 p.m. Grabbing the cabin key, she left, locking the door behind her. The store lay just a quarter mile away on the narrow campground road. For a moment she stood on the porch, eyes darting nervously from side to side. But she was tired of being terrified, and now that they’d lost the weapon, she didn’t know how they could kill the creature, anyway. She was in just as much danger trapped inside the cabin as she was on the move out