Page 49 of Red

“Sorry.” Brodie undoes the wrap job he started.

I need to get answers. “If you don’t mind me asking, what were you running from?”

Brodie and Gretch share a look.

“A killer beast,” says the man with a missing leg behind the curtain.

I drop my mouth open in shock. “He has to be joking. Right?” I glance at Gretch.

“No, he, um, isn’t.” She looks away from me at Brodie and bites her cheek.

I close my eyes and sink into the mattress. A killer beast didn’t kill my brother. They did.

“How banged up are you?” Gretch asks.

“Just some cuts and my head.” I remove the ice pack to show the swelling on the side of my forehead.

“Good. Come with me.” She hops up and tests her ankle, now wrapped in a bright-orange bandage.

I don’t move as I eye Brodie.

“You want to listen to her, or she’ll be dragging you along with her ankle.” He gives a small chuckle.

“Come on. You can walk, can’t ya? You can be my crutch, and I’ll give you a tour.”

“All right.” I slide my legs off the side of the bed and sit up. “If we can just make one stop for clothes . . .” I run my hand over my ripped pants and jacket that are tossed over the side chair on the opposite side of bed, bloodstains lining the arms.

“Of course. You can change in my bunk.” The curls on her shoulders bounce.

We stop at my SUV parked along the side of the building. Someone must’ve bought it over to the med unit, and I pick up the new scuffed-up backpack with a few pine needles stuck to it. Gretch hobbles along using my less-scathed arm for balance. It’s damp and dark, but the place is well lit. Lights shine down at the door of each building, creating a pooling glow below their grated metal stairs. We pass a few rows, and I start to count. There’s at least twenty of them, all in various sizes.

“This is the one.” She stops at the bottom of a set of stairs illuminated in the glow of a small light by the door.

“Want help to get up?”

“I got it.” She uses the gray railing as a guide, letting her left leg touch each step for only a split second.

Right inside the door is a small couch along the wall, and a low table in front of it. To the left, she leads me down a mini hallway to a door at the end. “This is me. I get my own unit since there’s only so many of us girls out here.” She pushes her door open and moves aside so I can see.

“It’s cute.” The space contains a small bunk bed tucked into the corner, a large pile of clothes stacked on the chair, and a collection of small woodsy trinkets on the nightstand. The white walls are bare and rough textured. Nothing about this is cute. It’s a war camp, and it lacks any emotion.

“It’s all I got. You change, then we’ll go meet a few people. I need to go report what happened still.”

The door clicks shut behind her, and I unzip my bag. I grab my new fleece pants to pull over the thick bandages, then add a loose long-sleeve T-shirt before topping it with my sliced-up winter coat. I roll my shoulders back, thankful I never need to wear layers. It’s like I’m drowning in fabric.

Before I go back out there, I take a deep breath and prepare to play my role again. Gretch is just the thing I needed.

Gretch stands there, leaning against the wall with a gun strapped over her torso. I freeze where I am and watch her. She can’t suspect, can she?

“Aly?” she asks.

I force my lungs to take air and answer, “Yeah?”

“We should go.”

I tip my head and take her open arm, avoiding any contact with the gun.

Gretch leads me toward one of the longest trailers at the edge of the cluster of them. We pass a few other members of the group on the way, all carrying guns. A few men stand outside, lit cigarettes hanging from their fingers and mouths.