Eli Weatherby couldn't believe his eyes when he saw some poor soul stumbling out of the rain like he'd just climbed out of his own grave. The old farmer's been working this land for fifty years, and he's never seen anyone look that wiped out. He's in his kitchen, sipping coffee, when he notices the guy heading for his barn.
"What the heck?" he says to himself, but something about the way this fella moves—careful and calculated—makes him put down his cup and grab his coat.
By the time Eli makes it to the barn, Grey's barely alive, lying there with his bag clutched to his chest like it's all he's got left.
"Hey, you okay?" Eli asks, but Grey's only just with it enough to whisper, "I'm sorry."
Eli knows a combat vet when he sees one, even if the kid tries to play it cool. The barn's not much these days—just a place for old farm junk and hay that's seen better days. But it's all he's got, and it's better than the storm.
The nights go by, and Grey's condition goes from bad to worse. He's got a nasty infection from shrapnel in his leg that's been giving him trouble, and he's burning up with fever. The doc in town doesn't want to help, so it's up to Eli to patch him up.
The poor guy's stuck with fever dreams, mumbling some song that gets under everyone's skin. It's like his mind's stuck on repeat, playing a tune that's part of him now.