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PJ placed a hand on his arm and leaned close enough to Judge to whisper, “Don’t draw attention to yourself. Nothing good ever happens to those who discredit Augustus.”
Judge’s body stiffened beneath her fingers. “That kid won’t make it if he doesn’t get to a medical facility ASAP. You saw him; his skin was pale, he’s weak and he passed out while they were carrying him off.”
Again, he started to rise.
Her hand halted him a second time. “They won’t take him to a hospital,” she said in a tone so low that Judge had to dip his head to catch her words. “It would open TCW up to investigation.”
“We can’t say nothing,” Judge insisted. “He has to get to a hospital.”
Her hand pressed down on his arm to keep him from rising. “We don’t say,” she insisted. “We do.”
Deep lines creased Judge’s forehead, his gaze on the infirmary building where the two men had taken Mud. “As long as we do it soon.”
PJ shook her head, her mind already speeding through scenarios. “Don’t count on that. Timing will be everything.”
“You got that right,” Judge said. “For Mud, timing could be the difference between life and death.”
Chapter 8
Mud’s situation consumed PJ.
By the intense frown on Judge’s face, it was heavy on his mind as well. They had to come up with a plan to get Judge out with the teen.
PJ wasn’t sure what kind of diversion she could orchestrate to allow the two to escape the camp, but blowing up a propane tank wasn’t an option this time. She’d used that tactic to get Fly and her daughter out. If she used it again, they’d surely know Fly hadn’t managed to escape by herself.
Thankfully, a storm blew in, cutting Indoctrination Day shorter than the all-day affair it usually was. It also forced everyone inside. Some went to the barracks, and some scattered among the other buildings, including the mess hall, supply hut and the motor pool.
Leaving Judge in the barracks with strict instructions to stay there until she returned, PJ ran through the driving wind and rain to the infirmary under the pretense of needing a bandage for a minor cut.
The medical building was an old house with three bedrooms, a living room and a kitchen. The largest bedroom had been converted into a makeshift hospital room with two cots set up for patients.
Mud was the only patient in the room. His pale face of a short while ago was now flushed a dull red.
PJ pressed her hand to his forehead. It was hot and clammy.
“He’s not doing so good,” a voice said behind her.
She turned to find Bones, TCW’s medic, the closest person they had to a doctor. He was a big guy with a barrel chest and thinning white hair.
PJ had been to him for cuts that had needed stitches. Since they weren’t allowed to talk about their pasts, she had no idea if he’d had any medical training. He’d managed to stitch her cuts and treat infections with topical ointments and antibiotics.
“Is he going to make it?” she asked, her gaze meeting Bones’.
The big man shrugged. “He’s been unconscious since they brought him back. I put in the IV.” Bones looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “He needs a hospital.”
Her heart pinched hard in her chest.
“He’s a good kid.” Bones’ voice dropped to a bare whisper. “They’re going to let him die.”
PJ shook her head. “Will you be with him all the time?”
Bones’ eyes narrowed, and he was silent for a long moment. “I’ll step out for chow if the storm doesn’t blow us away.”
Dinner was served each day at five-thirty. It was mandatory that all recruits and staff were present except those on guard duty.
PJ had been careful not to do anything that would make the TCW leaders doubt her loyalty. But a boy’s life depended on getting him to a hospital. She met Bones’ gaze and held it. “It would be a terrible thing if your patient disappeared during your trip to the chow hall.”
Bones’ eyes flared and then narrowed. “Especially if someone broke into the infirmary to help him get out. I’d report it as soon as I discovered him missing.”
