Born 01 - Born

beets was what her doctor told her."
    "Well, that would explain it." I feel crabby. My leg hurts.
    I look at the huge white bandage on it.
    "Who did this? Did you get the bullet out?"
    Jake limps back to his bed on the couch. "Anna did it. She did exactly what you did for me. Only you weren’t awake for it."
    I catch the bitterness dripping from his statement.
    "Stop being a baby. I saved you. What about the man?"
    Anna brings me a glass of water. "No one else has come but at the same time, we haven’t exactly been leaving the cabin."
    Leo is sleeping beside the loveseat I am stretched along.
    I reach my fingers down and let the tips slide through his fur, "Someone will come looking for him. I think we should go to one of the other houses." I can't believe I've said it. I've never helped anyone. The words feel unnatural for me.
    Jake laughs. "You have other houses?"
    "Supply houses where I've hidden the food and the supplies. They're all farmhouses with bunkers or shelters and cellars."
    Jake whistles softly. "You are an amazing girl, Emma. How long have you been alone?"
    Visions of my father creep in, but I'm too tired to fight them. My lips move on their own. "The whole time. When the panic hit the cities and everyone fled, my father died then. I was alone then, in the beginning."
    I don't tell them he was the first person I left. The first one I ignored.
    I see the pity cross Jake's face. "You were nine?"
    I nod once.
    "How have you made it this far?"
    "I don't help people. I haven’t helped anyone. He told me to run. Always run. Don’t look back, Emma; just run. Then hide."
    Anna sits on the couch beside her brother and beams at me. "Until us."
    I look at her and think terrible things about being shot and the fact the man no doubt followed them to my cabin. Instead I smile. "Till you."
    Jake reads my thoughts. "And look where it's gotten you. I think you're right. As soon as we get back on our feet, we should get moving."
    I need to look at the wound on my leg. I need to make sure she did it right.
    I lift the leg and ignore the pain. I tear the tape, wincing and slowly peel the layers away.
    Blood seeps through the closer I get to the wound. I feel nauseous seeing my own blood filter through the cotton. It's stark compared to my blood that has made an image of a flower appear.
    The top bandage is soaked. She hasn’t stitched me up properly.
    I want to get angry with her but I speak softly, "I need the water boiled and the needle and floss."
    She looks hurt. "Did I do it wrong?"
    "Yes." I grit my teeth and speak through them. "But you tried."
    She passes everything to me on a plate. I want to chuckle at the fact I've been downed by a sniper, but I can't. I should have noticed him, instead of daydreaming about Jake.
    I glance up at him. He looks worried.
    "How's your leg?"
    "Fine. It itches but my fever is gone. It looked really red and angry when Anna changed the bandage earlier."
    I point to the bathroom. "Anna, I have tea tree oil in the cupboard. It's antiseptic and antibacterial."
    She returns with the small blue bottle. My father had left bottles of it in here when he was stock piling his supply cupboards.
    She passes it to me. I dump it all over my wound. It doesn’t sting. It feels like nothing, but the smell burns my nose with mint freshness.
    I put the lid back on and toss it to Jake. He is sitting in his underwear on the blankets. He undoes the bandage and smothers his leg in the oil.
    I shake when I pour the whiskey over my hands to wash them. I know how much it's going to hurt.
    I try to thread the needle with floss but I can't. I close my eyes and sigh. I feel the cool nose of Leo press against my ankle. I open my eyes and thread the needle. It's the smallest needle we have.
    I grit my teeth and remember the day my father took me to the San Francisco Pier.
    The wind was warm and filled with exotic smells. My stomach rumbled as the breeze lifted my dark blond hair up into the air. People shouted and squealed in joy at every turn. I had never seen a two-story carousel before. I remember the magical feeling of climbing aboard my horse. It had a dark golden mane that matched my hair. I ran my fingers over the warm, hard mane and imagined it was real. My father took pictures and waved at me as the ride started up. He knew I loved carousel rides.
    I press the needle into my skin. I am somewhere else. I am the girl on the carousel. Her smile becomes forced as tears slip from her eyes and land on her