Grenwood packed my dad’s wound with gauze to stop the bleeding. The man meandered to the front of the platform, totally at ease. “You’re a trusting town. I need you to trust that our guns
do
have bullets, and that we aren’t afraid to use them.”
“We … we have food stores,” Mr. Sances stammered from his seat on the platform. “We’re willing to share everything we can.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what we came for. We want your antibiotics.”
Whispers filled the room.
Mr. Sances glanced at Mrs. Beckinwood as Joey helped her to a chair, then at my dad, who lay on the platform, wincing as Dr. Grenwood pressed on his leg. “Our Ameiphus? It didn’t grow well this year, and our latest batch isn’t finished. But we can offer you food or other supplies.”
Mickelson’s voice was calm and controlled, yet somehow filled every inch of the gym. “You don’t know the value of Ameiphus, or how rare it is, if you’re offering food and supplies in its place.”
Mr. Sances looked around, as if searching for confirmation that he was hearing right, or answering right. “Is someone hurt? Does someone have Shadel’s? Tell your men to put down their guns and we’ll talk about getting you help. Maybe when the new medicine is finished, we can give you a few doses of Ameiphus.”
The scarred man ignored Mr. Sances and walked straight to my dad’s side. I wanted to scream at him to stay away from my dad, but my mouth wouldn’t work. My lungs wouldn’t work. Aaren and Brock still held on to me, even though my legs wouldn’t work.
Mickelson crouched down across from Dr. Grenwood and said, “No. I want it all.”
My dad suddenly looked like he was in a lot more pain, and Dr. Grenwood scowled. She met Mickelson’s eyes and said, “It’s not ready.”
Mickelson stood up. “Explain.”
“It takes weeks to turn the mold from Ameiphus into an antibiotic in a usable form,” Dr. Grenwood said. “It’s not finished yet.”
Mickelson waved his gun in the general direction of everyone seated in the gym. “So tell me, Doctor. How long will me and my men be the guests of the good people of White Rock while we wait for the antibiotics to be ready?”
Aaren’s mom stopped working on my dad’s leg and bit her lower lip. “It’s in the refining and purifying stage. If Icould get enough stabilizers and bulkers in powder form to press the medicine into tablets, I might be able to finish in three days.”
Mickelson narrowed his eyes at Dr. Grenwood, like he was trying to guess if she was overestimating. “You have until sundown two days from now. I suggest you get him patched up quickly, because if you don’t meet the deadline, you’ll need to worry less about finding that bullet and more about finding coffins.”
The smell of vegetable soup and baking bread wafted from the kitchen. Aaren and Brenna sat beside me on the wooden bench where my mom usually sat for town meetings. I rocked back and forth with my arms wrapped around my knees and waited for news of my dad. My fingers were numb from the cold, but I couldn’t seem to make myself move—even to get closer to the hearth fires.
Before Mickelson let Dr. Grenwood have men carry my dad down the hall to the clinic, he demanded the town’s records so they could make a list of everyone age fourteen and over. In the last two hours, Mickelson’s men had gathered anyone who’d stayed home from the council meeting and brought them to the community center to be counted.
Now every member of White Rock huddled in the gym or in one of the classrooms. The bandits even put people in the library. This building was designed to house everyone in White Rock in an emergency, but we didn’t have much space. With bandits in every room, at least it meant there were only six in the gym with us, instead of thirty-four.
“Is it supposed to take this long?” I asked Aaren for easily the twelfth time as his dad walked toward us.
Mr. Grenwood put his hand
do
have bullets, and that we aren’t afraid to use them.”
“We … we have food stores,” Mr. Sances stammered from his seat on the platform. “We’re willing to share everything we can.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what we came for. We want your antibiotics.”
Whispers filled the room.
Mr. Sances glanced at Mrs. Beckinwood as Joey helped her to a chair, then at my dad, who lay on the platform, wincing as Dr. Grenwood pressed on his leg. “Our Ameiphus? It didn’t grow well this year, and our latest batch isn’t finished. But we can offer you food or other supplies.”
Mickelson’s voice was calm and controlled, yet somehow filled every inch of the gym. “You don’t know the value of Ameiphus, or how rare it is, if you’re offering food and supplies in its place.”
Mr. Sances looked around, as if searching for confirmation that he was hearing right, or answering right. “Is someone hurt? Does someone have Shadel’s? Tell your men to put down their guns and we’ll talk about getting you help. Maybe when the new medicine is finished, we can give you a few doses of Ameiphus.”
The scarred man ignored Mr. Sances and walked straight to my dad’s side. I wanted to scream at him to stay away from my dad, but my mouth wouldn’t work. My lungs wouldn’t work. Aaren and Brock still held on to me, even though my legs wouldn’t work.
Mickelson crouched down across from Dr. Grenwood and said, “No. I want it all.”
My dad suddenly looked like he was in a lot more pain, and Dr. Grenwood scowled. She met Mickelson’s eyes and said, “It’s not ready.”
Mickelson stood up. “Explain.”
“It takes weeks to turn the mold from Ameiphus into an antibiotic in a usable form,” Dr. Grenwood said. “It’s not finished yet.”
Mickelson waved his gun in the general direction of everyone seated in the gym. “So tell me, Doctor. How long will me and my men be the guests of the good people of White Rock while we wait for the antibiotics to be ready?”
Aaren’s mom stopped working on my dad’s leg and bit her lower lip. “It’s in the refining and purifying stage. If Icould get enough stabilizers and bulkers in powder form to press the medicine into tablets, I might be able to finish in three days.”
Mickelson narrowed his eyes at Dr. Grenwood, like he was trying to guess if she was overestimating. “You have until sundown two days from now. I suggest you get him patched up quickly, because if you don’t meet the deadline, you’ll need to worry less about finding that bullet and more about finding coffins.”
The smell of vegetable soup and baking bread wafted from the kitchen. Aaren and Brenna sat beside me on the wooden bench where my mom usually sat for town meetings. I rocked back and forth with my arms wrapped around my knees and waited for news of my dad. My fingers were numb from the cold, but I couldn’t seem to make myself move—even to get closer to the hearth fires.
Before Mickelson let Dr. Grenwood have men carry my dad down the hall to the clinic, he demanded the town’s records so they could make a list of everyone age fourteen and over. In the last two hours, Mickelson’s men had gathered anyone who’d stayed home from the council meeting and brought them to the community center to be counted.
Now every member of White Rock huddled in the gym or in one of the classrooms. The bandits even put people in the library. This building was designed to house everyone in White Rock in an emergency, but we didn’t have much space. With bandits in every room, at least it meant there were only six in the gym with us, instead of thirty-four.
“Is it supposed to take this long?” I asked Aaren for easily the twelfth time as his dad walked toward us.
Mr. Grenwood put his hand
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