I can’t help but blush, but I don’t think he notices. But the blood leaves my face when I hear a scream behind me. I turn sharply and see a greyskin on top of Hank, teeth sunken into his wrist. Ethan and I run toward him, but it is too late. Others have already taken out the greyskin by the time I reach Hank. He sits up, blood flowing from his mangled wrist, dripping off the tips of his fingers. His eyes search through the group, seeking me out.
He has only one question: “How did you know?”
There isn’t much time before the virus sets in and it’s too late. All of us decide to keep Hank in the gymnasium since his screams would likely carry through to the halls when they cut off his arm. One of the men returns with a clean hatchet and Hank’s eyes go wide. Others come in at the top of the gym, no doubt hearing about Hank’s injury. Gilbert is one of the spectators.
A shirt is tied securely around Hank’s arm at his elbow. The man with the hatchet apologizes to his friend, but Hank just shakes his head. “It’s the only way to save my life.”
“It might not work,” the man says.
“Well, try it!” Hank says, lying flat on his back and extending his bitten arm.
The man swallows hard and kneels next to Hank. “I don’t know if I can do it.”
“Would you rather I die then?” Hank says. His face goes from a grimace to a smile as he looks at his friend. “You’re doing me a favor. It’s my left hand anyway. I don’t need it.”
The man attempts to laugh at Hank’s joke, but his face turns very serious as he looks away from Hank’s face and at his arm.
I don’t want to watch as the man grips the hatchet tightly and raises it into the air, but I can’t look away. He brings the hatchet down as hard as he can and the snapping bone is almost as loud as Hank’s screams. It isn’t a clean cut.
I feel sick. I want to turn away.
Hack! Another scream, but the tendons and muscles are so thick.
Hack! This time there is no scream, and I’m only slightly relieved to know that Hank doesn’t feel the pain of the fourth and final Hack! that cuts off the infected part of his arm.
Blood pools out onto the gym floor all around Hank. Someone wraps a shirt around his stump to try and stop the bleeding. It takes four men to carry him up the stairs and out of the gymnasium. Gilbert meets us in the hallway.
“Okay,” Gilbert says, “what was that all about?”
“Leave her alone,” Ethan says. “I’m sure she doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“Back off, Ethan. I think we deserve an explanation as to why someone so close to us can predict the future. That’s a pretty convenient gift. Wouldn’t you say?”
“Lucky guess,” I say.
“Sounds pretty unlucky to me,” Gilbert says. “That’s pretty specific. The wrist? The fact that you said it would happen.” He looks at Ethan who wasn’t stopping his questions.
I’m cornered.
“It started just the other day. When Lucas died. I grabbed his hand and I saw what was about to happen before it actually did. I don’t know why, but it just happened.” I look at Ethan. “And you remember when you killed that greyskin last night? Remember that I touched your hand? I was able to see that you would be okay. So, then I just saw that Hank would be bitten by a greyskin on the wrist. This time I tried to stop it, but I wasn’t able to.”
Both of them look at me as though I just grew a tree out of the side of my head.
“I can’t explain it,” I say.
“So, you can’t change what you see?” Ethan asks.
“I haven’t been able to,” I say. “But to my regret, this was only my first time to try.”
He nods at me and looks away as if he’s deep in thought.
“Seems like a pretty useless ability if you can’t change what you see,” Gilbert says. “If you’re telling the truth, that is.”
“What?” I say. “First you’re grilling me about how I might have known it was going to happen, and then you act like you don’t believe me when I tell you? What is wrong with you?”
“Just sounds a little far-fetched is all,” Gilbert says. “I don’t know what I believe.”
I don’t have to argue with anyone, but now it’s out in the open. If they want to believe me, fine. If not, fine. I don’t care. Despite my feelings, what Gilbert says rings true in my mind. If I can’t change it, then why does it happen? Or maybe I can change it, but I just didn’t do it right this time.
I hadn’t seen myself in the vision, and I know now it is because I wasn’t anywhere near Hank. I went to try and rescue Ethan. Because of that, Hank was left alone and he was bitten. But if I had just decided to stay behind altogether, then Hank might not have been bitten, right? Did I actually cause him to be bitten? Was all this my fault somehow? If I hadn’t said anything to Hank, then maybe he would still have his left arm.
A pit in my stomach grows as I think more about it. Cutting off a limb that has been bitten is not a certain way to save a life. The virus can spread quickly so it might already be too late for Hank. And it would be my fault.
Chapter 12 – Remi
I feel like I’m in one of those old movies where the townspeople are about to burn the witch at the stake. All that these townspeople lack, however, are the pitchforks and…oh yeah… anger. I swear the people here don’t even know why they’ve been assembled, much less why there’s a woman standing in the middle of the street with Paxton and the other elders on a platform, perched taller than everyone. I’m surprised that the two guards at my side decided to tie my wrists together. Do they really think I’m such a risk that I need to be restrained? I stole a gun, it’s not like I killed someone.
Everyone seems confused, especially when they look at me. I try not to look into their eyes, but it just seems to happen. I know the more I look at the ground, the more I will seem guilty. I suppose it doesn’t matter. I am guilty. I’m just not so sure that the punishment fits the crime. As I stand here, I’m suddenly aware that our old judicial system would be nice about now. I might get community service…a record. But I’m pretty sure the judge wouldn’t send me out into the wilderness full of once-human, flesh-eating greyskins, or lock me up for very long.
I see Gabe standing to the side of the platform, his rifle slung over his shoulder as usual. I stare at him long enough that he should have looked at me by now, but it seems that his eyes are avoiding me. I haven’t spoken to him since last night when he came in and told me that the elders had decided to throw me in jail. I know he couldn’t have told Paxton of his involvement, otherwise he would be standing here next to me. I wonder what he did say, or if he simply took my advice and said nothing. Maybe that’s why he’s not looking at me. Maybe he feels guilty that he’s letting me take the fall completely.
I’m surprised that I don’t feel any sort of resentment toward him. I think it’s because I know that finding a place like Crestwood is special for anyone. Getting caught was my fault. Besides, being locked up for a few months isn’t so bad. It’s better than being sent away like they had talked about doing to me. At least while I’m locked up I’ll be safe. Later, we might all look back on this and laugh.
Remember when you were new here? someone will say. You know, when you stole that gun because you were too scared to sleep at night?
Hey Remi, you’ve come a long way since your imprisonment here. I can’t believe you are lead scout now.