She was hardly aware of Blue beside her. She noticed, in a detached sort of way, that she had blood smears all over her. She walked to a sink wedged in the back corner and mechanically washed off. The red on her skin faded away, ran down the sink, but remained on her skirt. His blood.
Blue sat on the bunk, scrolling on the phone. Charity sank onto the opposite bunk, wrapped her arms around her knees,and waited. The world was spinning like a roulette ball, and she could only wait and see where it landed. See if everything turned black.
A few minutes later, Enzo strode through the door, carrying a pile of clothes. He handed them to Blue and Charity.
“What’s happening with my father?” Charity asked.
“The doctor is giving him something to restart his heart. They’re hoping he’ll remain stable while they tend to the wound. They’ll know more once he regains consciousness.” Enzo didn’t add:ifhe regains consciousness, but the word seemed to be there, hanging at the end of his sentence.
She put on a sweatshirt with numb hands. Enzo stood nearby with a strained, uncertain expression. Was he thinking about Schmitt and wondering if he had survived? Enzo hadn’t been willing to shoot the man, but she’d done it. “Are you angry I shot your boss?” she asked.
“Are you angry I didn’t first?”
A little, although that wasn’t fair. “You told me all along you wouldn’t shoot anyone.”
Enzo sat beside her and put his arm around her. She leaned against his chest. “Why didn’t my father tell me to shoot the man beforehand?” Before Enzo could answer, she supplied her own reason. “Maybe if he had, I wouldn’t have been able to shoot someone unprovoked, and my guilt would be even worse now. Or I would’ve shot Schmitt first, and then you would hate me for just shooting a civilian without cause.”
“I don’t think that’s why,” Enzo said. “I don’t know a lot of people who would take a bullet to ease their daughter’s conscience or help out her marriage.”
She shut her eyes. It was hard to make sense of anything.
An hour and a half later, Charity’s mother walked into the room carrying a bag of food. By that time, Charity was pacingback and forth, convinced her father had died and her mother simply didn’t know how to break the news to her.
Her mother looked exhausted, and blood spotted her shirt and pants. She handed the bag to Charity. “He’s alive. The good news is he can speak and respond so we have high hopes for his cognitive function.”
Charity went limp with relief, and a sob burbled from her lips. She had to sit down on the bed so she didn’t collapse. He was alive. He could speak.
“What’s the bad news?” Enzo asked.
“Although his brain and organs received sufficient oxygen, his muscles weren’t equally protected. The lack of oxygen affected his extremities the most. The doctor doesn’t know how much use he’ll have of his hands and his feet. Right now, he can’t move them much. That may change with time and therapy. But even if it does, recovery will be a long road for him.”
He was crippled. Her father who’d always been such a hard worker, so active.
Charity put her hand to her throat. “It’s my fault for giving him that shot, isn’t it?”
“He might have bled to death if you hadn’t,” her mother said. “You did your best to help him. If I’d been in your place, I probably would’ve done the same thing.”
Charity wasn’t sure whether her mother was telling the truth, but her words felt like forgiveness.
“Unfortunately, you can’t stay here,” her mother went on. “The government is broadcasting your pictures along with a reward of 60,000 credits for your capture. It’s making Mr. Whitney nervous about having us here. You can fill your car with gas, but then you’ll have to leave. We’ll follow you as soon as your father is able to travel.”
From the bunk, Blue gasped, her attention riveted to the phone screen. “She’s right about the reward. There are picturesof us and the car too.” She flashed the phone at Charity. Their faces shared the screen with the headline:Dangerous Empowereds on the loose.
“Mr. Whitney left hats on the porch,” Charity’s mother said. “They’ll help hide your hair, but I’m not sure how much good that will do as long as you’re driving that car around. I’d have you switch, but Mr. Whitney won’t allow a government car to stay here. Perhaps now that your father is awake, he’ll have a vision that directs us what to do.”
And now Charity would have to disappoint her mother again. She suddenly felt as though she’d stolen her father’s gift. She swallowed hard. “When Dad’s heart slowed and he thought he was going to die, he transferred the gift to me. I don’t want it.” She hurriedly added, “I’ll find a way to return it.”
Her mother’s face froze in shock. “You … what?”
Charity had to repeat herself, to tell her mother exactly what had happened. “I’ll give it back,” she reiterated.
“Is that possible?” Enzo asked. “I thought you had to be near death to do that.”
Charity had to give it back. It wasn’t hers. “I’ll get a hold of another shot and give it to myself. When my heart slows, I’ll be able to return the power back to Dad.”
Her mother frowned. “Even if that worked, and I don’t know that it would, your father needs time to recover.” She scrubbed a hand over her face. “What visions have you seen about the future, about what needs to happen next?”
Charity felt worry twine with the tension already gripping her stomach. She should have had at least one vision about what to do next, shouldn’t she? They were still in danger. “I haven’t seen anything past reaching you.”