Scooping Lacy up, Mo moved her to a distance he deemed far enough away from the wall of vegetation to be safe. At least for right now. He needed to stop the bleeding, which still drizzled from Lacy’s artery, despite the application of the tourniquet. The wound needed to be cauterized. He needed fire.

Searching the bag Lacy had with her, Mo discovered a flare gun. After he gathered some dry grass and leaves, he made a small mound of it, and stacked some kindling atop it. He stepped back a few feet, aimed the flare gun at the mound and pulled the trigger. Within seconds, the fiery red round ignited the grass and wood, producing a vibrant flame. Mo hurried and added larger branches to the fire.

As the fire grew in intensity, Mo went to Lacy’s bag and removed the medical supplies. They were limited. Some gauze, sanitary wipes, a small tube of antibiotic gel, a pair of tweezers. He checked on Lacy, who’d begun moaning. She was likely rousing from the lingering trance due to the pain from the amputation.

“Lacy?”

She didn’t answer, just shook her head from side to side, her eyes closed. She moaned again.

Mo removed his knife from a compartment on his suit. He used a small length of the gauze to attach the knife to a twig, then held the twig out over the fire, heating the blade to sanitize it. And to heat it in order to cauterize her wound.

“Jesus, this is going to hurt,” he said.

Gus and the other dog, who looked like a perfect copy of Gus, were lying nearby. When Mo glanced in their direction, even if he wasn’t paying them attention, they began wagging. He figured they could sense Mo’s anxiety and understood that Lacy’s moaning meant that she was in distress. The wind streaked across the open road, strengthening the fire. The flames thrashed wildly, then settled.

Christ, I hope I doesn’t rain.

“Lacy?” Mo tried again. “Can you hear me?”

This time she issued a barely audible, “Huh?”

“It’s me. Mo. Can you hear me?”

“Wha?” A little louder this time. She was coming around. Wincing from the pain, she said, “My arm…”

“I know. Listen to me: I have to stop the bleeding.”

“Bleeding?”

Mo sighed. “Yes. This is going to hurt. A lot. Do you understand?”

“Hmpf?”

He didn’t have time for her to come completely out of her haze. She could bleed to death if he didn’t do this now.

Withdrawing the twig bound to the knife from the fire, Mo studied the blade. A thin trail of smoke rose from it. It was ready. He sighed, wiped the sweat from his brow and lowered the blade to Lacy’s exposed and dripping artery, protruding slightly from the bloody stump. The raw flesh smoked and sizzled. Lacy bolted upright and screamed.

*********

Grant engaged the brake on the bicycle handlebar and screeched to a stop. The scream had been that of a woman. It was a tortured wail, one that had come from someone either in a tremendous amount of pain, or from someone who had encountered sudden grief.

Moving from the pavement to the right shoulder of the road, Grant listened. The scream came again, just as intense as the previous one. This second cry was followed by a succession of others. Words accompanied the wailing.

“No! No! Please, no more!”

Before him was a massive wall of tangled vines and leaves. It spanned as far as he could see to his right, but to his left, it thinned and ended a short distance away. Grant let the bike fall to the grass and he scanned the road, left then right. He sprinted across the two-lane roadway and climbed a meager hill. Here, the vegetation hadn’t yet risen.

The woman’s screams continued. Grant searched the road on the opposite side of the twisted wall of greenery and first spotted two dogs meandering about. They were whining, with their ears slicked back in a display of fright. Then he saw a man leaning over a woman. She was crying out for help. He was armed with a knife.

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Descending the hill, Grant ran toward the man attacking the woman. The dogs noticed him but seemed too concerned with the cries of pain. Their eyes left him and returned to the woman, both tails wagging nervously.

“Put the knife down!” hollered Grant.

The man, squatting, turned on his heels. When he met Grant’s eyes, he turned his head toward a rifle, leaning against a cycle. Even in this tense confrontation, it didn’t escape Grant that the cycle was very different looking. It appeared sleek and nimble. Almost futuristic.

“Step away from the weapon!”

“I need help!” yelled the man. “The woman is bleeding!”

The woman was turned on her side in the fetal position, whimpering. The dogs were circling the men, wary. Grant studied the situation. Was the man telling the truth or just buying his time? He could be lying, trying to deceive Grant into befriending him. Draw him closer, then lash out with the knife. Grant wouldn’t get that close.

*********

“Did you do this to her?”

Mo hesitated. Shit. Of course, he’d done this to her. He’d had to in order to save her from the plant, but this guy wouldn’t understand that. He’d just see Mo as some deranged lunatic with a knife.

“Yes…I did.”

“That’s all I needed to know,” said the man, raising his weapon.

“Wait!” cried Mo, holding his non-knife bearing hand out, palm up. “I had to. I’m cauterizing the wound with the heated knife.”

The man approached, keeping the rifle aimed at Mo. A gust fluttered his garments. “Step aside,” he said with a steady voice.

Mo took comfort by the man’s tone. He seemed level-headed. Not prone to rash reactions. That was good.

The man glanced at Mo, then at Lacy, then back at Mo. “You cut off her arm?”

“I had to,” replied Mo. He pointed back toward the wall of vines. “That plant was attached to the arm. Something dark was creepy up toward her shoulder. Something inside her arm. So, I took it off.”

The man seemed to be considering Mo’s explanation. “Show me the limb.”

Mo gestured toward the plant. “It’s right there.”

The man glanced back toward the wall and that’s when Mo struck. He stormed up from a crouch and grabbed the rifle’s stock. The man turned in surprise and Mo delivered a perfect head-butt, sending the man backward to the ground. The force of the blow opened a gash on the man’s brow and cracked one of the lenses of his glasses.

“I’m sure you’re a decent guy, but I don’t have time for this shit. She’s going to die.” Mo resumed heating the knife while the man held his trickling head in his hands.

“I wasn’t going to shoot,” said the man. “I just needed to be sure you were telling the truth.”

“Well, I didn’t want her to bleed out while you decided.”

Lacy appeared to have fainted. She was breathing, but unconscious. Mo, still directing the rifle at the man, turned her onto her back. He withdrew the knife, still attached to the twig, from the fire and pressed the hot metal to Lacy’s stump. Again, she released a chilling shriek.

Mo realized the man might take advantage of his being distracted and snapped back toward him. Mo was startled to find that he had risen and moved away, toward the wall of vines. He looked to be examining Lacy’s severed limb. After a minute, the man hurried over to Mo.

“You need to get her medical attention immediately.”

Mo stood up and faced the man. “I know.”

The man wiped his bleeding brow and straightened his glasses. “I’m Grant. I’ll take you to a place where she can be treated.”

Mo nodded. “Community.”