Chris had emptied all of the boxes of antibiotics onto Ed's kitchen table. He had taken many of the pills from the foil trays, sorted them in piles, and now he was using a mortar and pestle to grind and mix them.

"Next step is measuring out the doses and filling the capsules with the powder," he explained. He brushed off his hands. "But first let me have a look at those feet."

I sat at the table beside Chris. "Ed said he'd ask one of the Undergrounders to bring me a pair of boots," I said. "I guess one of them has feet close to my size."

"You really tore them up, didn't you? How did you lose your shoes?"

I didn't answer.

"Right," he said. "Don't ask. Fine."

He pulled my feet onto his lap. They were filthy. Most of the dried blood had worn off, but now all of the cuts were filled with dirt and grime. Chris started washing the cuts out with a disinfectant pad. I winced whenever he cleaned out a particularly deep cut.

"So what about you? Are you coming to the cliff dwellings?" I asked.

Chris shrugged. "Where else am I going to go? After that crazy stunt we pulled at the pharmacy today, you and me are probably at the top of the Home Guard's most-wanted list. I can't stick around here. I guess you'll have to give me horseback lessons."

I was relieved to hear this. I didn't want to have the responsibility of bringing a whole group of infected refugees way out to the middle of nowhere alone.

"Normally this wouldn't be any of my business," Chris said quietly. "But is it true that you, uh, slept with Bryce Tripp . . . ?"

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