Page 70 of Hollow Valley

Benedict and Clifton had taken anything that even resembled a weapon from me, so I would have to make do with something already in the room.I quickly glanced around until my eye caught on the metal frame of the cot.One of the corners looked like it might be sharp and jagged enough.

I got up and peeled off my jacket.It felt too hot and constraining in the building.The weird thing about the intense cold I’d felt for days was that Icouldstill feel the chill deep inside me, even while externally being overheated enough that sweat was dripping down my brow.

I limped over to the cot and sat down near the sharp corner.As soon as the cold metal point touched the tender flesh of my foot, a burning jolt zapped through me.

But it had to be done.So I gritted my teeth and fought back the bile as I cut a ragged line through the barely healed zombie bite.Working gruesomely but carefully, I tore the wound into something that would never resemble human teeth marks.

Once I finished, my own blood feeling strangely hot as it dripped over my hands and frozen toes, I leaned forward and put my head between my knees.

“What the fuck am I doing?”I whispered to myself.

The door opened a moment later, and I sat up straight and tried to look like I hadn’t been about to pass out or vomit.

A woman entered the quarantine room – the Empath, presumably – and she wasn’t exactly what I expected.It wasn’t only that she was fairly young, maybe twenty or twenty-one at the most.But it was also the way she dressed.Instead of the usual scrubs I had come to expect in a clinical setting, her clothes were flowy and bright.A cozy long sweater made with teal and orange spirals, and a long, quilted skirt made with patches from every color in the rainbow.

Her skin was light brown, and her hair was in long black coils, carefully clipped up on the top of her head.Her eyes were dark walnut framed by long lashes.

“I’ve come in here to give you an examination to make sure you’re well enough for our communities,” she explained, but her eyes were down on my bare foot, bleeding all over the tile.“I see you have some frostbite.Did you try to take the toes off yourself?”

“Something like that,” I muttered.

She carried a wicker basket with her, and she reached in and pulled out a white cloth.

“Wrap your foot for now,” she said, holding the cloth out to me.“I’ll take care of it after the exam.”

“Sure,” I said and wrapped it up as best as I could without causing too much pain.

Next, she instructed me to strip down so she could inspect for any fresh bite wounds.The worst part for me wasn’t being naked, at least not as in showing my breasts or ass.No, it was really the scars that covered up far too much of my body.Mostly on my torso, but my arms and legs had more than their fair share.

People usually gasped the first time they saw the pink lattice of scars across my skin, and this woman was no different.I never looked at them, although I was always acutely aware of their presence.Not just when my hands brushed against the rough bumps, or when the puckered keloids caught my clothing, or when I stretched the wrong way, so the taut scar tissue would cry out in pain.

Somehow, intrinsically, I always knew their exact shape and their precise placement.Each and every one.I had memorized the constellation of trauma that my body carried.

So I never had to look again, and I could close my eyes and keep my head up.

“I have to mark down every one of your scars on a sheet of paper,” the Empath explained, sounding apologetic.“This will take a moment.”

“Do what you gotta do,” I said through gritted teeth.

I refused to look down, but from the corner of my eye, I could see her pull a clipboard and a pencil out of her basket.Then she slowly walked around me, eyeing up every little mark and making little notes on a piece of paper, recording the size and color and location of every single one of my scars.

“Can I ask what happened to you?”she asked, soft and apologetic.

“People can be real assholes,” I said, because it was the easiest explanation I could give out.

“And is that a healed bite mark on your hip?”she asked, referencing a zombie bite I’d gotten nearly a decade ago.

“People can be real assholes,andthey have teeth,” I clarified.

“It seems you don’t want to talk about it so I won’t press any further,” she said.“But I am sorry that happened to you.”

“You’re not the one who did it, so there’s no need to apologize.”

When she finished, she said that I could get dressed, and I hurried to pull on my thermal shirt and my jeans.

“My name is Alphonsine Babineaux,” she said as I dressed.“You can call me Alphie, if you would like.I am an Empath here at the Wellness Center, which means that I help care for those that are suffering from any illness, disease, or other infirmary.”

“And by ‘here,’ what does that mean?”I motioned vaguely around, referencing the town as a whole.“Are you all Revvers?”