Boondocks

Chapter 53: Mother

WILLOW

Croc survived one war only to be thrown into another. A war against death. I stayed by his side night and day with little sleep. I'd doze off for seconds at a time before I'd jolt awake and check to make sure he was still breathing. For weeks, I prayed, begging any being who would listen to heal him.

Fern used boiling water and rum to keep the wounds clean. We constantly swapped out rags to keep his body cool.

Croc fought hard, further proving his claims that he could survive anything. His fever broke, and he slowly managed to stay awake for longer each day. The infection subsided. The swelling went down. The skin on his leg returned to its normal color, and he sat up in bed, then stood with assistance, then limped across the ship, using the rail as a crutch. With each day that passed, he got a little better. They called him a miracle, but I knew the truth. It wasn't magic or divine intervention that pulled him from the abyss. It was strength. It was the same thing that kept him alive as a child. It was what kept me from breaking down and losing hope. Never again would I doubt him: not now, not tomorrow.

We were sitting on the deck, watching the sun set over the horizon as the children played somewhere behind us.

"Tex says we'll spend as long as we can back at camp so the prisoners can get stronger," I said.

Croc chewed his lip, nodding once. He'd been so quiet since he woke up. Always lost in thought. It worried me. He'd been all alone, out in a world he still didn't fully understand. It didn't take much to imagine the horrible things he would have seen. It was exactly what I'd feared would happen the day we left the swamp; his wholesome purity had been tainted. He wasn't innocent anymore.

And I had no idea what he was thinking. I sighed. "Did you run out of words while you were asleep?"

He looked at me, his brow pinching. "Huh?"

"What are you thinking about?"

He hesitated, then looked back at the horizon. "I was thinking about my mother."

I blinked. Of all the things I'd expected him to say, that hadn't been one of them. His mother? He'd never mentioned a mother. There'd been no pictures. "You remember her?"

"Not exactly," he said. "Pappy mentioned her."

My brows lifted, and for a full minute, neither of us spoke. "You mean when you were a kid?"

"When I was asleep."

"Croc—" I closed my mouth. How could I tell him it was just a dream? What purpose would it serve? Better to let him have his moment, the same way I'd had mine with Julia. "What did he say about her?"

His lips twitched, and he shook his head. "Nothing all that great."

"Oh. . .Well, then."

He met my gaze and held it, and for the first time in weeks, I had his full attention. "Do you remember that day in the garden, when Julia said there could be information about my past in the town near the swamp?"

My heart clenched at the mention of her, and I swallowed, already knowing where his mind was going. "Yeah."

"Pappy took me there. We were looking for my mother."

"When you were a kid. . .or in a dream?" I asked cautiously.

Croc seemed to think on that for a moment. "Both? I'm not sure, but I think he wants me to go there."

"By yourself?" What about his leg? Sure, he was better, but he wasn't healed. And what if something happened, and we had to run again? "I don't—"

"Not by myself. With you and the kids. Maybe even Merle and a couple others. We could take a boat and be back in less than a week."