Cress

Chapter 27

                 Time passed  in  a  base, dreams  and  reality   blurring  together. Being
               pulled  from her sleep forced to sit up and  drink   some  water. Snips 
                of  muddled  conversations. Shivering  hot   and  sweating  and  kicking  off  
               the   thin  blankets. Thorne   beside her, tying a blindfold around his head.
              Hands holding the water bottle to her lips.  Drink. Drink. Drink. Eat  this
            soup. Drink  some   more. Unfamiliar laughter  making her curl up  into  a
         ball  and  burrow beneath  the  blankets. Thorne's  silhouette in the moonlight,
            rubbing his  eyes  and  cursing. Gasping  for  breath  in  the  hot  air, sure that
           she was going  to   suffocate beneath  the   blankets    and    that all the 
           oxygen would be sucked up into the  dark  night  sky. Desperate  for  water. 
           Itchy  from  the sand still in her clothes and hair.
     Light. Darkness. Light again.
                 Finally  Cress  awoke,  groggy  but  lucid. Saliva  was   thick  and  sticky  in 
          her mouth and she was lying on a mat inside   a  small  tent,  alone.  It  was 
          dark  beyond the  thin fabric  walls  and   the   moonlight  spilled over   the
        pile  of  clothing  at  her feet. She  felt  for  her  hair,  meaning  to  strangle  her
        wrists  with  it, but found  it chopped beneath her ears.
          The  memories  returned,  lazy  at  first. Thorne  in  the  satellite, Sybil   and
        her guard, the fall and the  knife  and  the   cruel desert stretching to  the
          ends  of  the earth.

            She  could  hear  voices  outside. She wondered  whether   the   night   had
             just begun or was  already ending.   She wondered how long she'd  slept.
              She  seemed to recall   arms around her, soft  knuckles   brushing   sand
           off  her  face. Had  it  been  a dream?
                   The tent's flap opened and  a  woman  appeared  with  a  tray, the  older
           woman from the fire. She beamed and set down the  food—some  sort of 
           soup  and a  canteen of water.
              "Finally," she said  in   that  think,  unfamiliar  accent,  crawling   over the  
          mounds of disheveled blankets. "How do  you  feel?" She  pressed  a  palm  to
         Cress's  forehead. "Better. Good."
     "How long was I...?"
       "Two  days. We're  behind   schedule  now,  but  no  matter. It's  good  to  see
        you awake."
     She sat down beside Cress. It was a smug   fit in   the tent,  but  not
         uncomfortable.
       "You will have a  camel  to   ride  when  we  leave. We  need  to  keep  your
       wounds clean. You were lucky we got you before the infection."
       "Wounds?"
        The woman gestured to her feet and Cress bent  over. It was too  dark
   to  see,  but she could feel bandages. Even two days later they  were  sore  to 
                 the  touch  and  her leg muscles tingled from exertion.
   "Where's—" She hesitated, unable  to  remember  if   Thorne had  given
                  himself  a fake name. "My husband?"
    "By the fire. He's been entertaining us with talk of your whirlwind
       romance. Lucky girl." She gave a sly wink  that   made   Cress   withdraw,
     then  patted  Cress's knee. She handed the bowl of soup to  her. "Eat  first.
    If  you're   strong   enough,  you can come join us." She cooked back toward
      the entrance.
     "Wait. I have to—um."
       She  blushed,  and the woman    gave   her   an    understanding   look.
   "I'm sure you do. Come along, I'll show you where to do your business."
There was a pair of boots by the tent's opening that were for too big for
her.  The woman helped Cress  stuff  them  with  cloth  until  they bordered
on   comfortable, though the bottoms of her feet still stung, and   then she 
  led her  away   from the fire, to a hole they'd dug into the sand at the edge
of the oasis. Two  sheets  had been hung up for privacy and there was  a 
   young palm  tree  to  balance  on   while Cress relieved herself.
  When she was done, the woman guided her back to the  tent  and then
left  her alone  to savor  the  soup. Her   appetite   had   returned   since 
  her   first   meal in the oasis. Her gut felt hollow, but the broth soothed her
  as  she  listened to  the chatter of strangers. She tried to pick out Thorne's
         voice, but couldn't.
   When Cress crawled out of the tent again, she saw  eight  forms seated  
   around the fire. Jina was stirring  a  pot  half  buried in  the sand,  and
  Thorne  sat relaxed and cross-legged on one of the mats he had a bandanna
   around his eyes.
"She rises!" yelled the hunter, Kwende.
     Thorne raised his head, and his surprise broke into toothy grin. "My
     wife?" he said, louder than necessary.
    Cress's   nerves    crawled  to   find   so   many   stranger   at   her. Her
  breathing became erratic and she considered feigning a dizzy spell   to
     seek  solace  back  in the tent.
     But  then  Thorne  was  standing,  or  tryin  to,  wobbling  on one  knee like 
   he might tip right over into the fire. "Uh-oh."
   Cress darted to his side. With her  help,  he  heaved   himself  up  to   his
    feet  and grasped her hands, still shaky.
    "Cress?"
   "Yes, Cap—um—-"
    "You're  awake,  finally!  How  do  you  feel?' He  sought  out  her  forehead, 
      his palm landing first on her nose before  sliding  up  to her forehead. "Oh, 
      good,  your fever's gone down. I was   so   worried."  He  pulled  her  into  an
     embrace,  dwarfing her in his arms.
      Cress  squeaked,  but   the  sound  was   muffled  in  the   cotton  of his  shirt.
     He released her just as  quickly  and  cupped her  face in both  hands. "My 
     dear  Mrs. Smith, never scare me like that again."