Chapter 8 - The Fever
|
The cabin was freezing, drafty, and smelled of stale beer and old wood. Clara spent the first two days scrubbing the place down, sealing the windows with duct tape, and keeping a low fire burning in the hearth.
But on the third night, Owen stopped drinking his formula.
Clara paced the small wooden floor, bouncing the infant gently, but his skin was burning hot against her chest. His breathing was shallow, his small chest rattling with every inhale.
"No, no, no, please," Clara cried softly, pressing her cheek to his forehead. "Stay with me, Owen. You have to stay strong."
Oliver was asleep in a dresser drawer Clara had lined with blankets, blissfully unaware of his brother's struggle. Clara knew she couldn't treat this with cold compresses. The boy had caught a fever from the rain and the cold. He needed a doctor, or at the very least, antibiotics.
She looked at her burner phone. The battery was at twelve percent.
If she took him to a hospital, they would ask questions. They would recognize the missing Costello twins from the news. Damian would find out, but so would Victoria. And if Victoria's men got there first...
May you like
Clara made a decision. She wrapped both boys tightly in thick blankets and strapped them to her chest. She grabbed a heavy iron poker from the fireplace, hiding it in her coat. She had to risk going to the pharmacy in the nearest town.
She stepped out into the freezing night, unaware that two black SUVs had just crossed the county line, heading straight for her uncle’s territory.
