A World Apart

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Stella

For a second I think I'm mistaken, beneath the grime it's hard to tell, but when his eyes open, strikingly blue even down the back of a dusky pharmacy, all doubts are erased. He croaks out a sound I think might be my name and starts raising a shaky arm into the air.

"Joey?" I say again, a note of disbelief still ringing in my voice. I drop down to the ground and hover over him.

If he's bleeding anywhere, there's no way of knowing. He's that filthy. From head to toe he's covered in . . . in what? In the dark it could be anything. Blood, paint, dirt, you name it. If I had to bet I'd put my money on it being a mixture of everything. Because of this, I hesitate to touch him.

"Joey are you hurt? Have you been bitten?" I ask.

He tries croaking out another sound. When he finds he can't, he begins to shake his head.

Movement to my right catches my attention. I look up to find Gale standing beside me. He's taken off his glasses to look down at Joey, as if checking to see he's not just a smudge on the lens. Once he finally accepts that he's not imagining things, he puts his glasses back on and mutters something so quietly even I can't hear what it is.

"Help me get him outside," I say to Gale.

I grab onto Joey's forearm and start pulling him up from the ground. I'm surprised by how heavy he is. It's as if he's stuck to the floor or something. I have him about half-way up when I realize Gale is still trapped in a state of shock. I punch him in the shoulder to snap him out of it and he quickly begins to help.

Once we've got Joey up on his feet, Gale and I loop an arm each over our shoulders to help him walk. We haven't even finished balancing him before he's groaning loudly in pain. If he says he's uninjured, he's either acting tough or just hasn't moved in awhile. Luckily it turns out to be the latter. After just a few steps he's already hobbling more confidently.

Towards the front of the store where it's brighter, I can see that most of what he's covered in is blood, dried into a glossy shade of scarlet with a few hazings of dirt here and there. At least none of it seems to be his. In fact, besides a few scratches and a couple of bruises he's managed to do alright for himself. I've been so concerned about whether or not Joey is injured, that I didn't even think to dread Logan's reaction.

As soon as we step outside, shock, confusion and finally rage all flit across Logan's face. "What the hell?" he asks. We've barely managed to set Joey down against a wall before he's swooping down on us. "What the hell is this?" he asks again.

"It's Joey," Gale tells him matter-of-factly.

"No shit, I can see that," Logan growls back at him. "What the hell is he doing here?"

"Just back off and give him some space," I say, shooing the both of them away while I crouch down beside Joey.

Thankfully, he doesn't seem ill. Just underfed and dehydrated. It takes some goading, he keeps mumbling something about not wanting to be a burden, but eventually I convince him to nibble on some fruit, and soon he's taken down two whole bottles of water. By the time he's finished, a bit of color has returned to his cheeks.

It's hard to believe the state he's in, how sickly and weak without having any physical injuries. It hasn't been that long since we last saw him. A week or two at most. But times have changed, and so has the passage of it. Two weeks may as well be two years now for what it's worth.

About ten minutes pass until he stops sipping on his water or eating anymore food. Still, I wait a few more minutes, partly so he can recover but also because I'm not looking forward to what's next. Confronting him about what happened. About why he's alone. He must know that it's coming though because ever since we brought him outside he's been proactively avoiding eye contact with everyone. Eventually I manage to spit it out.