Chapter 148: Taran

Only the muffled screams of my friend as she endures the agony of the Turn breaks the silence. The rest of us don't speak. As far as we know, nothing like this has ever been done before. A crude attempt to transfer immunity from one person to another. As the seconds tick by everyone in the room remains motionless, breathlessly watching and waiting.
I stand in the shelter of Diogo's arms, grateful for his strength. I don't think I could stand on my own right now. I continue to watch fixedly as the blood moves through the tubing. Her only chance of survival hinges on the success of this procedure.
I start to despair as she continues to shriek, twist and turn on the bed, the metal frame grating from ill use as she bounces on it. I bury my face against Diogo and wait. It feels like hours but is likely only minutes. Then something happens, something extraordinary. Emery relaxes. She settles into the bed and stops moving.
I hold my breath and peek past Diogo, worried that maybe we've killed her.
"What's happening?" Diogo demands, looking toward Bishop for an answer. I'm wondering the same. Is it working? Or are we killing her? I hadn't thought of the second possibility before, but maybe my immunity will kill Primitives instead of curing them.
Bishop shakes his head and approaches the bed cautiously. "I don't know."
He removes part of the cloth covering Emery's face, careful to keep it firmly wrapped around her mouth. It sticks a little to the deep gashes she's gouged in her forehead. I gasp. She's as pale as death, her eyes shut, the angry gashes livid against her skin.
"Is she... is she..." I can't bring myself to finish the sentence.
"Not dead," Bishop assures me, checking her pulse. He looks down at her curiously then lifts her hand, the fingers are relaxed, no longer curved to claw at herself and other people. "I've never seen anything like this before. I think it's probably unprecedented."
"Do you think it's working?" Skye approaches the bed too and touches Emery's arm. "She's so cold."
"Taran's blood is definitely doing something." He pauses, deep in thought and then continues. "If I had to guess, I would say the antibodies in Taran's blood that make her immune to the Death Kiss are attempting to overwhelm the Primitive disease, erasing it from her system."
"So fast?" Diogo sounds sceptical. "Don't these things take time? I've never seen anyone recover from disease this fast."
"Not necessarily. Necrotitis Primeval is fast-acting, turning its victims in a matter of minutes. There are very few viruses that have that kind of power. Most incubate within the patient until they overwhelm the immune system. Perhaps it makes sense that the cure, if this is a cure, will work almost as fast."
"You think she's recovering then?" My voice shakes as I ask the question.
"I don't know," he replies simply. "But you need to be prepared for any possible outcome. We've never seen anything like this before. It would be reckless to assume we're watching a recovery in progress. We might have simply slowed it down."
I refuse to believe there's no hope, especially when I've been through the impossible over and over again and survived. If I can do it, then so can Emery. I lift my eyes to meet Skye's and see a similar sentiment. She gives me a half smile and moves her hand down Emery's arm to wrap her fingers around Emery's, giving her comfort I can't. I feel a rush of gratitude that my bond with my sister didn't diminish over our years apart. We can still read each other.
"With your permission I'd like to unwrap her entire head," Bishop says to Diogo.
Diogo nods. "Do it."
His body tenses against mine and he holds me tighter as the doctor gingerly unwraps Emery's face. One of Diogo's men takes a step closer to the bed, raising his gun in case he needs to make a quick move to protect us.
As her face is revealed I feel my stomach lurch. In the seconds before they'd managed to grab her arms, she'd dug deep furrows across her forehead and cheeks, one of the first acts of a freshly turned Primitive, stripping the flesh from their own body. Her mouth is unwrapped next. Her lips are still pulled back in a snarl, but as the doctor continues to draw the cloth away, her jaw relaxes and her mouth shuts. She looks almost peaceful. As though she's sleeping off a sickness.
"How much blood do you need?" Diogo demands. "I don't want Taran to lose too much."
I roll my eyes but maintain my silence. I'm not even dizzy from blood loss, I don't think I'm at risk.
Bishop confirms my thoughts. "No, she'll be fine. The human body has about five litres of blood and can easily lose a litre without ill effect. I'm only going to take about half that from Taran."
Diogo narrows his eyes at Bishop. "Take a drop more than necessary and we'll be having a talk."
Skye laughs from the other side of the bed. "No blood drops, no hair, not even a nail clipping. Every precious piece of Taran must remain completely intact or her Warlord protector will be having a talk that you probably won't come back from."
The tension in the room releases and we all laugh, even Diogo. His eyes meet mine, a warm glow in them. He knows how overprotective he is. He struggles daily to find a balance for his obsessive need to keep me safe. He often goes overboard, but it's part of his personality. He's built to protect, especially those he has an investment in.
"Taran..."
The thin, shaky sound of my name coming from the bed has me jerking from Diogo's arms and rushing around him to Emery's side. He lets me go. I reach for her hand, wrapping my fingers around it the way Skye was doing on her other side.
"I'm here!" I say excitedly, looking up at Bishop.
Primitives don't talk and they especially don't say the names of the people they care about.
"I'm here," I say again, reassuring her.
She licks her lip, a trickle of blood escaping from her mouth. I wince when I see it. She must've bitten herself during the Turn. I reach up to wipe it away with the cloth lying next to her head. Diogo growls and snatches my wrist jerking my arm back.
I sigh and turn my head to look over my shoulder at him with a raised brow, giving him a look that clearly says, this is overboard Warlord, and besides I'm goddamned immune. If she bites me, it will be my third time. Hell, I'm practically collecting Primitive bite scars now.
He releases my hand but his own hovers over mine as I wipe up the blood and then gently touch her cheek where she hasn't scratched it.
"I... I can't move," she mumbles.
Hope rushes through me as she speaks again. She's making sense, not something a Primitive is capable of.
"You're strapped to the bed, Emery," I say softly.
"Why?" she asks. Her eyes remain closed and she seems to be having difficulty, as though struggling to stay awake.
"For your own protection," I tell her, not telling her it was for our protection too. She doesn't need to know that she would've attacked us if left unrestrained.
"Wh-what happ...." her voice trails off.
I speak before she tries to force more words than her current energy level is capable of. If Primitives are filled with adrenaline, then it makes sense that the loss of that adrenaline would leave a person feeling completely drained. Or at least that's my inexpert theory.
"You were bitten by a Primitive," I tell her gently, choking a little on the words. "It got you in the back of the neck."
Her eyes fly open and I'm shocked by the wild look in them. The blue irises are surrounded by red, completely bloodshot. Like a Primitive. I almost jerk my hand away, but then the wild look fades leaving behind confusion and fear.
"Am I... did I...?"
"No, you're going to be fine," I assure her, hoping like hell I'm telling the truth. "We used my blood to infuse yours with my immunity."
"W-worked?" She sounds surprised.
"It looks like it," Bishop says from beside me, reaching for my arm and gently removing the tape so he can pull the needle out.
"Thank you," she whispers, a single tear falling from her eye and trickling into her blood-matted hairline.