YesterWorld (Book 2 of the Down World Series)

Original Edition: Chapter Forty-Four

Even pale and free of makeup, a cannula in her nose, her face gaunt from the loss of blood, and her lips chapped with dehydration, Jenny managed to look beautiful. She looked like one of those heroin-chic models from the nineties, all cheekbones and shoulder blades. She held out a long, trembling arm towards Adam when she saw us at the foot of her hospital bed, and Adam obliged by taking her hand in his.

I was surprised, however, when she then held out the other hand to me. I stared awkwardly at it for a moment, misinterpreting the gesture as weakly hostile. But then a strained smile across those whitened lips informed me that she meant for me to come to the other side of her bed and comfort her too.

I did so, and her hands were so cold and bony that it was hard to believe she was still alive.

The military guard who had escorted us here was being kind enough to wait out in the hallway while we visited with Jenny. Adam had been quick on his feet while we were being questioned back at the train track. He seemed to pull every answer out of his head ready-formed, as though he'd been thinking ahead the whole time.

Jenny was a friend of mine from the base, he'd told the MP—a stout, middle-aged man with round glasses who would probably have been a bank manager or a vice principal had the war not come.

We had gone to Jenny's house for brunch, he'd explained, and her boyfriend had attacked her. Shot her in the stomach. No, sir, we didn't know he was a spy until Jenny told us. No, sir, we'd had no idea he'd had a gun. No, sir, we didn't know what was in the canister, just that it belonged to the base.

We were just being good citizens, Adam had explained.

Good Americans.

I had stood silently while they talked, grateful for once that the sexism of the time precluded me having to add much. My voice had been lost somewhere in the hot summer air that had enshrouded us in afternoon heat.

Turning my attention now back to Jenny in the bed, I tried to offer her a sympathetic smile. I tried to think about her, and stop thinking about myself.

"They gave me a transfusion," she whispered now through a dry throat. "Seven bags, the doctor said. He had never used so many before. He didn't think I was going to make it."

"You'll be fine," I insisted, although I had no idea if that was true.

"You're cold," Adam noticed. "I'll find you another blanket."

"Not wool," she called as he walked off.

"Not wool, I know."

She smiled, turning back to me. "Wool upsets my skin."

I nodded, secretly stung to realize how many little things like that Jenny and Adam must have known about each other. Their long history hovered over the room even after he had walked out of it, just as it always seemed to hover just above the surface of every conversation he and I had ever had.

I shook the selfish thoughts away, trying to stay present for Jenny.

"What happened with Alexei?" she asked.

"I stopped him from taking the fuel for the bomb. He got away, but I don't think he'll be able to try it again. Everyone knows what he looks like now."

She nodded, but her face looked pained. "I'm so sorry. I should have never let it get to this point. I should have stopped him myself."

"He just would have shot you sooner."

Her eyes darted up at me, surprised by the frankness of my tone. I flinched, realizing how it had sounded. Bedside manner was never my best quality. I had a dangerous tendency of saying things exactly as I thought them.