The Dead Among Us

20. Predators

 Fabia's POV

I help Eliza inside, and the moment we enter, I can't help but gawk at the inside of the house. It's immaculate. Eliza sure knows how to clean.

We head to the first chair I see when a woman's strained voice reverberates from one of the rooms, hinting at a severe sore throat.

"I'm here, Ma'am!" Eliza yells back and tries to stand up.

"Absolutely not," I scold, putting my hands on her shoulders and forcing her back down. "Your foot is really bad. You need to stay off it."

"I have to help her!" she fights me, forcing my hands off. "I'll be punished!"

"I'll do it!" I declare, my voice firm.

She finally stops resisting but looks hesitant. I grab the bag of medicine and give her a stern look to stay seated.

"I got it," I assure her. Why does it feel like she doesn't trust me? It's just a sick person.

"Everything is 'yes, ma'am.' I don't care how bizarre it is," she warns in a gritted whisper. Her soft face is suddenly severe and intimidating.

I nod in understanding.

"She's down the hall."

My heart starts racing as I step toward the hallway, the bag clutched in my arms. I follow the sound of the woman's voice as she keeps pitifully calling out to Eliza.

I open the door, my feet trembling as I venture inside. She's lying on her back, her face flushed and clammy. She's younger than I expected. Her head turns to me, and her black eyebrows instantly furrow inward.

"Who are you? Where's Eliza?" she croaks out.

"Hello, ma'am... I-I'm Sabin's...s-slave... Eliza is in the living room, and she hurt her foot at the market."

"Market?"

"Commissary... sorry..."

"You're not from here, are you?"

I shake my head, stepping toward her side of the bed, "No, ma'am."

She eyes me with suspicion, her skepticism palpable in the air. I slowly pull out the bottles, unsure of what illness she even has. There's cough syrup, liquid Motrin, rags, a heat pack, orange juice, and anti-nausea tablets.

"Which medicine would you like right now? Eliza got a couple."

"She got somethin' for this fever?"

"Yes, ma'am," I respond quickly, pulling the Motrin bottle out. I pour some into the cap without bothering to read how much she needs. I'm struggling a bit with my casted hand but manage not to spill any. She seems okay with it as she opens her lips for me to serve it to her.

As she swallows it, she says, "My good girl Eliza knew I couldn't take the pills."

Her words make me smile on Eliza's behalf. I don't know how they treat her, but the word slave is terrifying enough.

I crack open the orange juice and bring it to her lips as well, helping her drink some. When she's had her fill, I take the rags into the bathroom. I get one wet with cold water, ring it out, and then place it on her warm forehead. After repeating that for a while, she seems more comfortable, as if the fever had broken. I don't have a thermometer, though, to check.

Her eyes start to close. I think she's about to fall asleep. I quietly clean up the mess and get ready to leave when there's a dreadful crash coming from the living room.