Jamison

“ANDREW!” I YELL. “ANDREW, WAKE UP!” I shake him as guns continue to fire in the darkness around us. To my right, the dry grass at the edge of the road has created a burning force field to protect us. Daphne calls my name again and I turn to her. She’s pointing behind me.

I spin, expecting to find an alligator sneaking up on me. But she’s pointing at the cars parked beyond the fires.

Daphne yells to Amy, Kelly, and Cara, “Grab as many supplies as you can and get the kids in the truck. Amy, drive them out of here, we’ll follow you. Cara, go grab a car.”

Cara nods and follows as Amy and Kelly corral the kids into the truck. Then Daphne turns back to us.

“Rocky Horror, help Jamie get Andrew to the car.”

He nods and takes Andrew’s feet, and I pull him up by his armpits, then we start moving. Behind me, people continue to shout and shoot. I turn to see Hickey’s back is to us. But Daria is looking right at me. She doesn’t warn any of the others, and instead turns away, pointing the rifle into the grass and pulling the trigger. Then she calls out to the others and points into the darkness, drawing everyone’s attention in that direction.

Daphne opens the back seat, and Rocky Horror and I slide Andrew in. The T-shirt wrapped around his arm is soaked through with blood. Amy starts her truck but keeps the headlights off. I turn to check that no one has noticed our escape yet, but everyone is still preoccupied. The gunshots have gotten farther apart, like a bag of microwave popcorn at the end of its cycle. The alligators must be retreating, scared off by the guns and fire.

“We have to get out of here,” I say. “Before they notice.”

“Wait.” I turn to see Taylor beside me; I didn’t even realize she was there. Without saying another word, she runs off toward the other cars.

“Taylor, we have to go!” I chase after her but stop when I see her slide the bloody knife into the tires of one of the cars. “Oh. Yes! Good job!”

She yanks out the knife, then slashes two more on the same car before moving on to another. While she does that, I run back to our little camp and snatch as many things left behind by the kids as I can. Backpacks, sleeping bags, a stuffed animal. My eyes drift past the dead man with his missing leg, but something catches my eye.

There’s a gun holstered to his waist. I unclip it and take it with me. They took the handgun I left the cabin with, but this one will do fine.

I run back to the car just as Taylor has finished slashing her last tire. Cara pops the trunk for me, and I throw everything in the back. The truck Amy is driving is so far down the road all I see is the red taillights. Taylor, Rocky Horror, and I climb into the back seat, smushing together and trying not to hurt Andrew, who lies across our laps.

Cara does a three-point turn and the wheels screech. When I have a second to glance out the window, I see Hickey and the others have finally noticed our escape. They run after us.

“Hit it, Cara!” I yell.

“That’s not helpful, Jamie!” she shouts back.

But she does punch it—narrowly missing a collision with one of the cars Taylor slashed—and speeds off into the darkness.

Cara follows Amy for about an hour, taking back roads until we finally get to a highway, where they pull over. The sky is turning light blue with the imminent sunrise. While Cara, Rocky Horror, and Daphne discuss which route to take and how long they should drive, I look after Andrew’s wound.

As I pull the shirt away, I wince. It’s still bleeding, but slowly. Andrew looks pale in the car’s dome light, as though he’s lost a lot of blood. I rinse his arm with my bottle of water, and the entire time I can’t stop thinking about all the bacteria that’s probably in these wounds.

He’s going to need antibiotics, and fast. We don’t have any at all, and when I needed them after I was shot, he stopped in every house he could, searching until he ran out of places to search. But we don’t have time for that.

The Keys are chasing us. Fort Caroline is probably on the way, too. Unless the Keys have been trying to keep our escape quiet, which might make sense. Still, our world is getting smaller and smaller.

Andrew wakes up as I’m wrapping the strategically placed gauze pads around his arm. He winces and groans.

“I know,” I say. “I’m sorry, baby.”

He half opens one eye and mumbles, “Where are we?”

“On a highway. We got away from Hickey and the alligators.”

“Yaaaay. Hickey and the Alligators? That’s a terrible band name.” He sounds so weak and tired. “Is the Kid okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine.” Though I haven’t seen him since Kelly was lifting him into the back of the truck. He could be traumatized for all I know. I wouldn’t blame him. Taylor walks over to the other side of the car, looking through the open door.

“Is he awake?”

“Yeah.” I cut off the last bit of bandage, tucking in the loose end, and Andrew exhales with relief.

“Someone was asking about you.” She moves aside and lets the Kid step forward.

“Hey, Kid.” Andrew tries to act more awake and even sits up, but he gasps. Now that he’s not lying down, I can see how his left shoulder slumps; it’s popped out of its socket. He leans against me and his eyes flutter as if he’s getting light-headed. I reach around and brace him, holding his good hand with mine, which he squeezes gratefully. Then he tries his best to smile at the Kid. “How you doing?”

“I lost Bobo.”

“Shit.” Andrew actually sounds disappointed, not like he’s faking it for the Kid’s sake. “I’m sorry, Kid.”

“Who’s Bobo?” I ask.

“His hippo.”

The stuffed animal. “Oh, wait!” I jump up and open the trunk. The handgun is right on top of the stuff I grabbed. I take it, making sure the safety is on, and tuck it into the back of my jeans. Then I move around the sleeping bags and find the blue stuffed hippo that had been lying on the road. But the arm I grabbed it by is stained with Andrew’s blood.

Sorry, Kid, but at least Mr. Bobo is still alive and with us. I carry it around to him and his eyes light up.

“You rescued him from the alligators!” He reaches for the hippo and hugs it tight.

“Of course he did,” says Taylor. “I mean, he’s the guy who fought off a pack of lions.”

“Wait, what?”

In the car, Andrew snorts and starts to laugh but immediately cries out, wincing. He puts a hand across his heart, his chest muscles probably sore as hell from his arm being pulled from its socket.

Taylor sees Andrew’s pain and says to the Kid, “Why don’t we let Andrew rest for a bit.”

The Kid holds up Bobo’s arm. “He’s bleeding.”

I open my mouth to tell him it’s Andrew’s blood and Mr. Bobo is okay, but realize it’s Bobo’s left arm. Just like Andrew. I reach into the car and grab the scrap of gauze.

“This should help,” I say. “It helped Andrew, see?” I wrap the gauze around the hippo’s arm, and there’s just enough to cover the blood. “There. Brand-new, right, Mr. Bobo?”

“Bobo,” the Kid says, like he’s scolding me.

“Sorry. Right, Bobo?”

“You have to kiss it to make it all better,” Taylor says, smirking. “Everyone knows that.”

I look up at her and she hides her smile behind her hand. So I take Mr.—sorry, just Bobo’s—arm and give it a loud kiss.

“There. All better?” I ask. The Kid nods and Taylor laughs as she escorts him away. I put my head back into the car and Andrew is grinning despite his pain.

“What was all that about me fighting off a pack of lions?” I ask.

He snorts again but tries not to laugh. “Yeah, the kids were wired one night after too much sugar at a monthly social, so I told them about DC and the lions.”

“And just made up the part where I fought off an entire pack of lions?”

He nods. “It was more interesting than ‘big cats hate water and it started to rain.’”

So much suddenly makes sense. How all the kids looked at me like I was some awe-inspiring giant, how they were so scared of me at first. And No-Filter Frank asking why I didn’t have scars.

“You’re such a liar,” I say. But I can’t help but laugh now; of course these kids would be intimidated by a tall guy who could take on an entire pack of lions without a scratch. And now they have alligators to add to the myth.

“I prefer the term storyteller.” I grunt and give him a side-eye. Then he slowly holds up his arm, wincing a bit. “You forgot to kiss mine and make it all better.”

I lean across the back seat and gently kiss him. I don’t let my hands touch him because I know he’s in pain. One kiss. Two kisses. Three.

“How’s that?” I ask.

“Good enough for a down payment. But I might need more later.”

“As many as it takes.”