The Host (The Host #1)(110)

Ian glanced around the room. “Hold on a sec,” he said, and then he grabbed the cot closest to him. It wasn’t heavy—he lifted it easily and slid it into place next to Walter’s. I stretched my arm to the limit, trying not to jostle Walter, so that Ian could arrange the cot under it. Then he grabbed me up just as easily and set me on the cot beside Walter. Walter’s eyes never fluttered. I gasped quietly, caught off guard by the casual way Ian was able to put his hands on me—as though I were human.

Ian jerked his chin toward Walter’s hand clasped around mine. “Do you think you can sleep like that?”

“Yes, I’m sure I can.”

“Sleep well, then.” He smiled at me, then turned and lifted Jamie from the other cot. “Let’s go, kid,” he muttered, carrying the boy with no more effort than if he were an infant. Ian’s quiet footsteps faded into the distance until I couldn’t hear them anymore.

Doc yawned and went to sit behind the desk he’d constructed out of wooden crates and an aluminum door, taking the dim lamp with him. Walter’s face was too dark to see, and that made me nervous. It was like he was already gone. I took comfort in his fingers, still curled stiffly around mine.

Doc began to shuffle through some papers, humming almost inaudibly to himself. I drifted off to the sound of the gentle rustling.

Walter recognized me in the morning.

He didn’t wake until Ian showed up to escort me back; the cornfield was due to be cleared of the old stalks. I promised Doc I would bring him breakfast before I got to work. The very last thing I did was to carefully loosen my numb fingers, freeing them from Walter’s grasp.

His eyes opened. “Wanda,” he whispered.

“Walter?” I wasn’t sure how long he would know me, or if he would remember last night. His hand clutched at the empty air, so I gave him my left, the one that wasn’t dead.

“You came to see me. That was nice. I know… with the others back… must be hard… for you… Your face…”

He seemed to be having a difficult time making his lips form the words, and his eyes went in and out of focus. How like him, that his first words to me would be full of concern.

“Everything’s fine, Walter. How are you feeling?”

“Ah —” He groaned quietly. “Not so… Doc?”

“Right here,” Doc murmured, close behind me.

“Got any more liquor?” he gasped.

“Of course.”

Doc was already prepared. He held the mouth of a thick glass bottle to Walter’s slack lips and carefully poured the dark brown liquid in slow drips into his mouth. Walter winced as each sip burned down his throat. Some of it trickled out the side of his mouth and onto his pillow. The smell stung my nose.

“Better?” Doc asked after a long moment of slow pouring.

Walter grunted. It didn’t sound like assent. His eyes closed.

“More?” Doc asked.

Walter grimaced and then moaned.

Doc cursed under his breath. “Where’s Jared?” he muttered.

I stiffened at the name. Melanie stirred and then drifted again.

Walter’s face sagged. His head rolled back on his neck.

“Walter?” I whispered.

“The pain’s too much for him to stay conscious. Let him be,” Doc said.

My throat felt swollen. “What can I do?”

Doc’s voice was desolate. “About as much as I can. Which is nothing. I’m useless.”

“Don’t be like that, Doc,” I heard Ian murmur. “This isn’t your fault. The world doesn’t work the way it used to. No one expects more of you.”

My shoulders hunched inward. No, their world didn’t work the same way anymore.

A finger tapped my arm. “Let’s go,” Ian whispered.

I nodded and started to pull my hand free again.

Walter’s eyes rolled open, unseeing. “Gladdie? Are you here?” he implored.

“Um… I’m here,” I said uncertainly, letting his fingers lock around mine.

Ian shrugged. “I’ll get you both some food,” he whispered, and then he left.

I waited anxiously for him to return, unnerved by Walter’s misconception. Walter murmured Gladys’s name over and over, but he didn’t seem to need anything from me, for which I was grateful. After a while, half an hour maybe, I began listening for Ian’s footsteps in the tunnel, wondering what could be taking him so long.

Doc stood by his desk the whole time, staring into nothing with his shoulders slumped. It was easy to see how useless he felt.

And then I did hear something, but it wasn’t footsteps.

“What is that?” I asked Doc in a whisper; Walter was quiet again, maybe unconscious. I didn’t want to disturb him.

Doc turned to look at me, cocking his head to the side at the same time to listen.

The noise was a funny thrumming, a fast, soft beat. I thought I heard it get just a little louder, but then it seemed quieter again.

“That’s weird,” Doc said. “It almost sounds like…” He paused, his forehead furrowing in concentration as the unfamiliar sound faded.

We were listening intently, so we heard the footsteps when they were still far away. They did not match the expected, even pace of Ian’s return. He was running—no, sprinting.