Blood Moon by Gwendolyn Harper (best sales books of all time .TXT) 📗

already have some genetic defense before they could start givin’ it to others.”

Nathaniel gaped. “You mean the people left inside the Arks are lab rats now?”

“Probably,” Caitlin said. “At least the ones in the Iowa camp. If they’re developing the vaccine there, they’ll probably start testing there too to observe the results.”

Scrubbing his hands over his face, Nathaniel muttered under his breath. “This is so fucked up.”

“Yeah. It is.”

Booker cast a glance at her before addressing the others. “Look, if we can find a way past the herd, past the goons with machine guns, and into the Ark… We might have a chance at gettin’ some of y’all’s loved ones back.” He held Nicole’s stare. “Includin’ Scott.”

Max exhaled fully, puffing his cheeks out. “You’re going to need a lot more people than just me.”

“Guess I better work on my rousin’ call t’arms speech,” Booker told him, grinning.

Smiling, Caitlin started to take his hand, but pulled up short, remembering who was still watching.

From outside the tent, heavy foot falls ran past, and worried voices carried.

And then a horrific scream cut through the air.

Chapter Thirteen

“Help! We need help!”

Someone knocked into Caitlin from behind and she stumbled.

“Whoa, I gotcha,” Booker said, holding her steady at the waist.

People blurred by, running towards the far side of the camp. Two women were carrying another, her arms around their necks as they trudged forward. A different woman was clutching at the unconscious girl’s face, crying out.

She must’ve been the one who’d screamed.

Max ran past them and Caitlin called to him.

“What’s happening?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Stay there.”

“Like hell,” Caitlin muttered, already shoving her way into the throngs.

“Meadows, wait!”

Too late. She was already sucked into the middle of the group, running for the injured woman. She could feel Booker catch up to her, pressing against her back as they moved.

Trish and Luna were moving camper chairs and coolers out of the way, giving them space to lay the woman down.

“Carolina, can you hear me?” The one holding her face cried. “Carolina?”

“What happened?” Trish asked the other two.

“Rotters,” one responded.

“We got surrounded,” the other added.

Luna removed her denim button up and folded it under Carolina’s head. “How far out did you go?”

“About twelve miles,” one of the women said, still clutching Carolina’s hand.

“You were only supposed to go eight,” Trish scolded. “Why did you—”

“Carolina wanted to,” the other argued. “We saw a sign for a warehouse. She thought there would be good supplies there.”

Rushing out from one of the other tents, Nathaniel hurried over, carrying a medical kit.

“Francesca, I need some room to work, okay?” He said, tone firm but soothing. “Leslie, can you get some water and a blanket?”

“Sure, Nate,” Leslie said, letting go of Carolina’s hand as she stood.

Caitlin wound her way to the front of the group, watching the terrifying scene in stunned silence.

The lower left leg of Carolina’s jeans was bloody and torn, revealing a hideous wound to her calf and ankle. Muscle ripped, bone exposed, her foot curled under in a sickening bend that made Caitlin think the tendons and ligaments were severed.

Turning to the others, Luna tried to guide everyone back but only managed to convince them to move an inch or two. No one was leaving.

“Nate, please,” Francesca pleaded, cradling Carolina’s head.

They both had dark, wavy hair and similar noses but were too young to be mother and daughter. Sisters, Caitlin guessed.

“I have to see the extent of the injury, okay?” Nathaniel said. “But I’m going to do my best.”

With a pair of scissors, he cut away the fabric up to the knee, peeling it back so he could rinse the wound. As Leslie returned with a bottle of water and a thin blanket, he took the water from her and told her to keep Carolina comfortable.

As he poured the water over her leg, washing the blood away, Nathaniel cursed under his breath. Halting, he set the half empty bottle down, and stared.

“You have to stitch her up,” Francesca cried. “Please, she’s—”

“Francesca,” Nathaniel said, voice tight. “I can’t.”

It was then Caitlin saw the odd indentations at the edges of the wound. She’d seen them before.

“Nate…”

Nathaniel shook his head, starting to reach for her arm. “Francesca, she’s been bit.”

Murmurs sprang up around them as the group registered the news.

A devastated sob erupted from Francesca as she bent over the unconscious body of her sister.

“No, no, no, please,” she wailed. “Please, God, no.”

Leslie sat forward on her knees. “We could…” She swallowed. “We could try to amputate.”

Nathaniel shook his head again. “It’s been too long. Maybe if she’d been closer when it happened…” He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. “But it isn’t a guarantee. Even if she survived the surgery.”

As Francesca wept, Nathaniel dug around in his bag for gauze and bandages.

“I’ll try to slow the bleeding,” he said. “And we’ll get her into the tent. Keep her comfortable.”

Using the blanket as a makeshift gurney, Leslie and Nathaniel lifted Carolina up as carefully as possible and carried her into one of the tents across from them.

The quiet returned to the meadow, heavier and solemn.

Caitlin stared unblinking at the pool of blood seeping into the soil.

“C’mon, songbird,” Booker said softly. “Let’s see if we can be of any help.”

* * * * * * *

Dusk fell, casting everything in a purple-grey that only added to the melancholy atmosphere of the camp.

Caitlin and Nicole made themselves useful carrying extra linen and food into the tent Carolina and Francesca shared. Booker had offered to help as well, but Trish requested he be on perimeter duty as they were now a guard short.

He obliged without question.

Not much was