The City Of Death

Chapter Twenty-Seven- Macy

I pace back and forth in front of the cell door, trying to think. Every now and again I glance back over at Atlas, making sure he's still asleep. He is, and so is Israel. I'm the only one awake, the only one with something weighing on my mind so heavily I can't sleep. Atlas is getting worse. We've been down here for five days, and the conditions are taking their toll on him. Earlier, when I changed his bandages, I could see it. The area around the arrow was getting red and inflamed, and when I pulled the bandages off, I could see the greenish pus leaking out of the wounds. 

Infection is setting in. 

As I pace, I try to think of what to do. I can remove the arrows and try to drain the wounds, but I'm nervous to do that until I have proper bandages. The wounds may be infected now, but what will they look like when they're completely open? When there's no arrow left to keep dirt and debris out? And the damn bandages. I'm trying to keep them clean, but the water we're being given isn't enough to do so. Not without giving up my water completely, and I have to stay at least a little hydrated. 

But it may be time for that. Isn't that what a good doctor would do? Give up her own water to make sure her patient was cared for? But if I die of dehydration, there's no way Atlas will live. Israel is smart as hell, but I haven't seen any medical knowledge from him except for basic first aid, and we're far past that. 

I sigh as I crouch down, putting my face in my hands and trying to keep the tears at bay. Is this how it ends? With Atlas dying because the guards refused to give me proper bandages? I don't care about anything else anymore. I just need those bandages, but the guards refuse to give them to me. They'd finally revealed that yes, the Vultures wanted them to give me the supplies, but they won't do it. They want the leader of the Renegades to die, and they assume that the Vultures secretly want that, as well. 

A pained groan breaks the silence of the cell, and I look over to see Atlas shifting uncomfortably against the wall. My heart breaks for him. I have no way of easing the pain right now. All I can do is make him as comfortable as possible until he drifts back off to sleep. I grab the last of my water and the rags I made by cutting off my sleeves and the bottom three inches of my pant legs. I hate that Gemma's work is getting destroyed, but desperate times call for desperate measures. 

I walk over to Atlas, dampening the rags with the last of my water. We'll be getting more soon, and I'm not that thirsty, anyway. The water isn't cool by any means, but it's a small comfort against the fever raging through his body. I kneel beside him, pulling the old rag off of his forehead. It's still damp, but the smell of it tells me that it's not damp with water, but sweat. The fact that I can see the sweat soaking through his clothes corroborates that fact. 

I press my hand against his forehead, sighing sadly when I feel the way he's absolutely burning up with fever. If the guards don't take pity on us soon, we won't even have to worry about the infection. The fever will take Atlas out before sepsis can. For right now, all I can do is try and lower the fever in any way possible. When the guards come back around, I'm going to beg them to give me the bandages. For now, though, all I can do is switch out the rags and hope it makes him a little more comfortable. 

"Skye? Is that you?" Atlas's whisper takes me off guard, and I look down at him with confusion. I didn't even hear him wake up. He's staring up at me, eyes unfocused but filled with so much emotion. That's when I understand. Sometimes fevers come with hallucinations, and it seems in this moment, he's not seeing me. In his fever delirium, he's seeing Skye. And with how much I look like my sister, that's not a huge leap to make. "Skye..." 

"Hey, Atlas." I look over at Israel, seeing if he's awake. He is, and he's looking at me with a raised eyebrow. I meet his gaze with a raised eyebrow of my own. I'm not entirely sure what to do in this situation. Hopefully he'll either go back to sleep or realize that I'm not Skye. Until then, though, I'll keep my silence and try to keep bringing the fever down. I place my hand gently on his cheek to continue monitoring his temperature, forcing myself not to cringe at how the fever is setting his skin aflame. He leans into my touch, before he sucks in a pained breath, tears already starting to slip down his cheeks.