The woman's gaze lingered on Iyisha until she finally spoke. Her voice was calm, low, and edged with command.
"No sudden movements."
An older man beside her stepped forward, his rifle loose at his side. His eyes locked on Malcolm. "You too. No sudden moves. If you raise that gun, we shoot her down before you blink."
Malcolm's jaw flexed, but he gave a short nod, lowering his weapon a fraction. His body stayed taut, like a coiled spring.
The woman crossed the short space between them, boots soundless on the soil. She stopped at Iyisha's side, eyes flicking to the soaked bandage.
"How long since the shot?"
Malcolm hesitated, then answered. "Five days."
The woman's mouth pressed thin. She clicked her tongue. "Too long." Her eyes shifted to Iyisha's pale face. "You won't last without treatment."
Iyisha swallowed hard.
The woman straightened, lifting her chin toward the trees. "You'll come with us."
The men grumbled at her words, muttering in their own tongue, but none dared to argue aloud.
Their rifles lowered, but their eyes stayed sharp, resentful.
Malcolm glanced at Iyisha, then back at the armed line.
At the woman's sharp gesture, the men turned, forming a rough escort along the shadowed path.
Some fell in behind them, rifles low but ready, their presence prickling the back of Iyisha's neck and making her nerves twist tighter with each step.
Malcolm started the ATV, its growl low in the night.
He followed, the machine rolling forward into the dark, each turn of the wheels dragging them deeper into the unknown.
The world blurred as they were led forward, deeper into the dense woodlands.
Iyisha wanted to speak to Malcolm, to share her unease, but the silence hung heavy.
Iyisha noticed there was no clear trail, every tree seeming the same, no markings to follow. If this was the medical school Malcolm mentioned, there was no way they could have found it on their own.
They passed through trees until walls rose ahead.
Steel sheets welded together, guard towers braced by sandbags, barbed wire coiled like thorns.
Voices carried from within.
The gates creaked open with the push of many hands, and for the first time in days, Iyisha felt something other than fear.
Hope.
Inside, the air smelled of woodsmoke and cooking. Families moved among rows of houses patched together from lumber and tin, though many of the newer buildings were cleanly built from fresh-cut wood, practical and sturdy.
Light glowed from inside, proof that somehow this place had current. The ground was swept, the rows straight, the whole settlement shockingly clean and organized.
Children ran across the packed earth, their laughter thin but real. They looked happy, as if living a normal life within these walls, and the sight struck Iyisha with a mix of wonder and unease.
Armed men and women stood at corners, rifles slung, eyes always watching.
People paused to stare at Iyisha and Malcolm with open suspicion.
This was a community.
They were led deeper, toward a large building with white paint peeling down its sides.
Iyisha's breath caught.
Malcolm cut the engine, its growl falling into silence, and rough voices ordered them to get down and enter on foot.
The air struck her at once—sharp antiseptic, alcohol, sweat. Beds filled the space wall to wall, IV bags hanging from bent steel rods, boxes of supplies stacked against chalky walls.
Iyisha caught fragments, enough to know she was being triaged.
Malcolm stayed close, one hand on his weapon, the other steadying her arm as she was lowered to a cot.
He did not speak, but his eyes followed every motion, watching the nurse's hands, the tools, the bottles.
Iyisha was guided toward a woman in a plain white shirt who had been watching them closely. The woman leaned in, speaking to another elder in hushed tones.
They were led into a small room with a narrow bed against the wall and a single chair beside it. The door clicked shut behind them and locked, the sound sharp in the quiet.
She leaned closer to Malcolm, her voice weak.
"Is this… the safe zone? The one you were looking for?"
His gaze swept the walls, the barred window, the guard outside. "Yes," he said finally, though his tone was wary. "This is it."
The door opened again. Ester entered, her face set in calm authority.
"First, we check for bites. Always." Malcolm's jaw tightened, but he gave a short nod.
Iyisha's breath quickened; she knew she could not bear to remove the grimy shirt she had been wearing for days, suddenly aware of the stench clinging to her.
Malcolm moved first, stripping off his clothes under Ester's inspection. Iyisha turned her face away as Ester carefully checked his skin.
"You're lucky Mario spoke for you. We don't usually take in outsiders. Most times we turn them away."
Malcolm's eyes narrowed, his voice low.
"Then why us?"
Ester gave a shrug, her lips twisting. "Mario was a soldier. And you—" her eyes flicked to Malcolm— "were smart enough to use our language."
Then she looked back at Iyisha.
"Your turn. Take off your shirt."
Iyisha froze, conscious of how she might smell. She heard Malcolm's clothes being put back on but did not move until he came closer.
"Don't move," he murmured. "I need to slice the fabric."
Cold metal touched her back as he cut through the shirt. She closed her eyes and wished it over.
When he tried to lift it away she whispered, "I can do it myself."
Malcolm paused, glancing at her face, but stepped back without a word.
Ester arched a brow, a faint smirk on her lips as if she knows what's on her mind which made Iyisha redden more. "I'll help you."
The woman assisted her in peeling away the filthy fabric.
Iyisha knew Malcolm went to sit, not directly watching her, but keeping her in his peripheral view, unwilling to turn his back completely.
The awareness made her cheeks burn; she was fully naked under Ester's inspection, and though it was not the first time he had seen her like this, she could not help the self-conscious heat that crawled through her.
Every second under his partial gaze made her chest tighten, caught between safety and shame.
Ester checked every inch of Iyisha's skin, even parting her hair and tilting her head to inspect the scalp.
When she was satisfied, she straightened. "No bites. Good. But you'll still be isolated for three days," she said firmly.Ester handed Iyisha her clothes back, and with the woman's help she slipped into them, pulling Malcolm's sleeveless shirt over her frame for modesty.
Then the woman from the lobby entered.
Behind her came five teenagers, young men and women with wide eyes, their arms full of gauze, bottles, and IV bags.
Iyisha froze, a strange ache rising in her chest.
She remembered this scene, years ago, on her clinical duty rotations in medical school, the smell of antiseptic filling the classroom, her own hands trembling as she tried to steady a syringe.
She remembered what it was like to be them, learning under the sharp eye of an instructor.
The woman's voice cut through her thoughts. "I am Mary," she said simply. Her eyes softened for a moment as they met Iyisha's. "Once a nurse. Now I teach." She turned, motioning to the others.
One by one the students shifted, murmuring their names like roll call.
Mary's voice grew steadier, more commanding. "As we practiced. Assess, then act. Remember your order. What's first?"
The teens looked at each other, then spoke almost in unison, as if repeating a drilled lesson.
"Check the wound."
"Start the line."
"Hydrate."
"Antibiotics."
"Monitor vitals."
Iyisha closed her eyes, a weak smile tugging her lips. It was exactly what she had once said, years ago, as a student herself. The rhythm was the same, even here, even now.