Chapter 129

The lower basement was alive with voices. Edward and Blaine were back from their search of the city and with them they brought the wounded, the barely-alive and the walking dead. Each face echoed the last as they filed in, carrying with them the stench of death and despair. I went among them, silently tending wounds but without any clean running water and with limited medical supplies on hand, the best I could do was bandage them up and leave them to bear the pain. One young woman refused to let me help her. Clutching at her side where a ragged tear ravaged her flesh and blood had saturated her torn shirt; she shook her head vehemently, staring at me with wide, terrified eyes. Her companion, a slightly older-looking man, his hair tied back into a loose pony-tail and greying at the temples, laid his hand gently on my arm but withdrew it quickly as if touching me burned his fingers. "You smell like those devils," he said by way of explanation, smiling apologetically. The shame made my fa