Chapter 6

The day started like any other—dew on the grass, birdsong in the trees, a trail that never quite stayed level. But by early afternoon, something felt off.

At first, it was a slow churn in my gut, a pressure I brushed off as hunger or maybe fatigue. I told myself it was nothing. Just another rough day in a string of them.

But as the sun climbed and then began its slow descent westward, the discomfort sharpened. The air felt too thick. My legs turned leaden. A hot weight settled behind my eyes.

“You’re walking funny,” Lena said, glancing over her shoulder.

“I’m fine,” I muttered. It was mostly pride talking. And maybe denial.

She stopped walking, waited until I caught up, then gave me a hard look.

“You’re sweating and it’s not even hot anymore.”

I didn’t argue—because I didn’t have the strength to.

We found a spot not far from a narrow creek, ringed by rocks and low shrubs. Lena took charge. She cleared a space, laid down my pack for a pillow, and helped me lower myself to the ground when my knees threatened to give out.

“Could’ve been that stream yesterday,” she said, half to herself. “Or one of those roots you picked. I told you not to eat that yellow one.”

I tried to joke, but all that came out was a dry cough. “If I’m going out, at least I’ll go out rustic.”

“You’re not going out,” she snapped. “Don’t say that.”

I saw the worry in her eyes as she fetched water, dug through our remaining supplies, and muttered something I couldn’t make out. Her hands were steady, but her mouth was pressed into a tight line.

By dusk, I couldn’t keep my eyes open. The trees blurred together. My skin felt like fire under a rain-soaked shirt.

I don’t remember falling asleep. But I remember the dark.

I woke up to it—pitch black. My body was soaked in sweat. Every joint throbbed. My teeth chattered, even though I felt like I was on fire from the inside out. I couldn’t tell if I was shaking or the earth was.

“Lena,” I croaked, barely above a whisper.

She was there in an instant.

Her hand touched my forehead. I heard her suck in a sharp breath.

“Lord have mercy,” she whispered. “You’re burning.”

She moved quickly—soothing cloth on my head, water to my lips, her voice low and steady. “Try to drink. Just a sip. That’s it.”

Her palm cradled the back of my neck as she helped me drink. I don’t know how she managed to be both gentle and firm, but she was.

“Don’t close your eyes too long,” she murmured. “You stay with me, Caleb. You hear?”

I tried to respond, but words didn’t come.

Time stretched weird in the dark. I drifted in and out—one moment seeing Lena’s silhouette bent over me, the next just blackness and the sound of her tearing something into strips, whispering something I couldn’t follow.

She hummed at one point. A low tune. Not quite a lullaby. Just a sound to fill the space. To keep death or despair from walking in. Through the haze, I realized I wasn’t afraid of dying—not really. What scared me was leaving her to go on alone.

She wasn’t supposed to be my purpose.

But somehow she had become it.

The next few days came to me in fragments—like torn pieces of paper drifting through water.

There were hours, maybe whole days, where I remembered nothing but fever. Blistering heat behind my eyes, sweat slicking every inch of my skin. I would come to, gasping, only to find my own breath too heavy to bear.

And Lena—Lena was always there.

When the fever wracked my body and I couldn’t stop shaking, it was her arms holding me still.

When my lips cracked and my throat burned, she was the one easing drops of water between my teeth.

When my mind spun into places I didn’t recognize, her voice tethered me.

At some point on the second day, I remember clawing at the blanket and whispering my mother’s name. I don’t know why—maybe some vestige of childhood comfort—but I do remember the warmth of Lena’s palm on my forehead, her murmuring, “I’m here. I got you.”

And once, not long after that, I blinked through the haze and saw her face near mine. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears, her mouth pressed into a line like she was holding back a storm. She didn’t see me looking. Or if she did, she didn’t care.

It scared me, that look. Not because I thought I was dying—but because for the first time, I saw just how afraid she was.

By the fourth evening, the worst of it had passed.

The fever had retreated, not gone, but no longer raging. My limbs still felt heavy and my head swam if I moved too fast, but the edges of the world were coming back into focus.

I opened my eyes to see Lena crouched beside me, squeezing water from a rag into a tin cup. Her sleeves were rolled up, her face drawn with exhaustion. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days.

“Hey,” I rasped.

Her head snapped up. Relief washed over her features, so fast and raw I almost couldn’t meet her eyes.

“‘Bout time,” she muttered, trying to sound stern.

“You didn’t have to stay.”

She scowled. “Don’t say something foolish.”

I smiled weakly. “You’re my angel, Lena.”

She froze. Not from offense—something else. Like she didn’t know what to do with words like that.

“Don’t call me that,” she said softly.

“Why not?”

She looked down at the rag in her hands, twisting it once. “I ain’t no angel. Just someone too stubborn to let you die.”

We were quiet for a while.

Outside, I could hear wind rustling through leaves, the distant chirp of crickets. The world had kept moving while I hovered somewhere between it and nothingness.

“I want to try and get moving tomorrow,” I said.

She didn’t answer right away.

“We’ll see,” she said finally. “Only if you’re stronger. And I decide that.”

“You’re in charge now?”

“I been in charge. You just didn’t notice till now.”

I chuckled. It hurt, but I didn’t care.

“I owe you everything,” I said.

She looked at me again, and for a moment her tough shell wavered.

“Just get better,” she said quietly. “That’s enough.”

The next morning broke clear and cool, with streaks of cloud drifting slow and harmless across the sky. I woke with the unfamiliar feeling of being mostly upright—my body still sore, but no longer made of molten iron. I sat up, dizzy at first, but more alive than I’d felt since the whole ordeal started.