Of course it wasn’t sterile saline. It wasn’t ideal. It was risky. But all she had was cold running water and the memory in her hands of how it was done. Then she lowered herself to the ground.
She unwound the dirty dressing and looked at the wound. The edges had darkened badly. The smell was stronger. The infection had gone deeper into the muscle. Carefully, one by one, she placed the larvae directly onto the wound.
Her fingers did not shake, because she would not let them. She spread them evenly along the darkest portions of the wound, where the dead tissue was worst. Then she tore a strip from the old canvas cover and folded it several times.
She laid the dressing loosely, leaving enough air for the larvae, and wrapped the thigh. She secured it with the last bits of medical tape and climbed back into the SUV. Then she lay down and closed her eyes.
Under the makeshift dressing, something immediately began to move. Valerie clenched her teeth and counted silently. One, two, three…
She counted to one hundred. Then again. By the evening of the third day, her temperature had not risen. For the first time in twenty-four hours, it stayed down. The fourth day began with steady rain.
Warm, fine rain drummed on the metal roof of the SUV in a soft, even rhythm. Valerie lay curled on her left side in the back seat. It was the only position that didn’t crush her abdomen or send a bolt of pain through the injured leg.
She reached one arm out the window and held her empty bottle under a stream of rainwater running off the roof. Clean water felt like a gift. After drinking, she carefully unwrapped the dressing.
The wound had changed dramatically. The dark, rotting edges that had smelled so awful the day before were lighter now. The natural little surgeons had done their work.
The dead muscle tissue was gone, as if an invisible scalpel had trimmed it away. In place of the foul necrosis was a healthy pink, moist surface. Living tissue. Clean.
The inflammation around the wound had gone down. The swelling had eased. Even the smell was different now—not heavy and rotten, but more like wet earth.
Valerie leaned back against the seat and let out a long breath. For the first time in days, something like hope stirred in her chest.
She couldn’t smile. She was too exhausted for that. But the white-knuckled grip she had kept on the edge of the seat finally loosened.
She carefully removed the larvae that had already dropped away from the cleaned wound—fat, still, finished—and set them aside. The ones still moving she left in place.
They were still working along the edges where tiny bits of dark tissue remained. Valerie rewrapped the leg with a fresh strip torn from the canvas cover, again leaving it loose with an air gap.
“Thank you, Dr. Ellis,” she said hoarsely into the empty car.
By noon the rain had intensified, and the water level in the gully had risen a little. Not enough to threaten the vehicle yet, but enough to notice. Valerie moved her empty medical kit and duffel onto the roof of the SUV and covered them with the waterproof canvas.
Then she climbed back inside and shut the windows, leaving one cracked open for air.
She had almost no appetite, though the last crumbs of crackers had been gone since the day before. But she found a few low blueberry bushes near the edge of the gully. Bending for them hurt terribly, but she managed to gather a small handful.
The berries were tart and gritty with sand, but they were calories. For now, that was enough. The baby moved more that day than the day before.
She could feel him rolling, pressing against the wall of her belly with an elbow, a knee, maybe his head. She laid a hand there and counted the movements. One clear kick in a minute, then two, then three. Good. He was alive and fighting.
“Hang on, sweetheart,” she whispered. “Just a little longer. They’ll find us.”
And she truly believed that. Not because she was sentimental, but because she had thought it through. Ruth Miller knew exactly when she had left town.
She also knew the route. Valerie had told her plainly: “I’m taking the old forest road.” Once a day or two passed beyond her expected arrival, people would start looking.
They would find the SUV. It wasn’t far from the road. You just had to look over the bank. All she had to do now was not give up.
The fourth night was the hardest. The fever returned—not high, but persistent, humming through her body, making her head swim.
She forced herself to sip rainwater slowly and fought sleep. Every time she began to slide into that thick, sticky half-consciousness, panic hit her: What if I don’t wake up? In those long hours she thought constantly about her mother.
