19
“You need to get another one right now!” Amelia screams at me as she runs a cloth under the kitchen tap. “He’s infected.”
“Shut up, Amelia!” Josh cries from the table, clutching his wounded hand. “I’m not infected! Stop saying that!”
“Look,” I say, standing beside Josh, trying to sound as calm as I can, “I’ll go outside to the van. It’s parked up on The Mount. There’ll be spare antiviral bottles in the back. In one of the compartments.”
Kneeling down in front of Josh’s chair, Amelia gently cleans the gouge with the cloth. “Okay. You need to go now then,” she orders me, her words shaky, desperate. “Before it’s too late.”
I nod, and then wipe the sweat from my forehead. Can’t quite believe that I’m actually going back outside—back to that hell.
But I have to.
“What if something hap
