Bingwen felt as if his body were made of air. His eyes couldn't focus. His knees felt flimsy and unstable. He stood there, staring at them, him upright and alive and breathing and them not. Their hearts weren't beating, their lungs weren't taking in air, their mouths weren't moving, telling him how much they loved him and that they would protect him and that he would be safe with them. Their arms weren't wrapping around him and pulling him close to their chests. Their bodies weren't doing anything except lying there in the mud and misted grass.
Bingwen stood there for a long time, how long he did not know. An hour perhaps, maybe double that. The water buffalo mooed and pawed at the ground, impatient. Bingwen ignored it. He ignored everything. If aliens were coming, he wouldn't run from them.
He breathed in and out. No tears came. No wails. No cries of anguish. Everything was broken inside. Everything was empty. He wouldn't make tears anymore, couldn't make them. He wasn't going to allow that. Tears belonged to the old, dead version of himself, the previous Bingwen, the boy who sneaked into the library and who worried about tests and going to school and who had a friend with a twisted foot and parents who loved him and sat him by the fire when he was wet and cold. That Bingwen was gone. That Bingwen was lying there in the mud with Mother and Father, his arm draped across Mother's shoulder just like Father's was.
He would make Mazer well. Yes, he would make Mazer well, and then Mazer would stop everything. Mazer would end the mists and the fires and the bodies in the fields. And Bingwen would help him. He'd give Mazer the cartridges, and he'd carry Mazer's water, and he'd do anything to put an end to it, to make it all go away. Then he would allow himself to cry.
It was full dark when he reached the farmhouse. Grandfather ran out to greet him, embracing him, kissing him on the cheek, cursing himself for letting Bingwen go. Only then did Grandfather see that the water buffalo was dragging someone behind it.
The others came outside as well. They saw Mazer and the travois and they stared at it all, as if they couldn't understand what they were looking at, as if the rational part of their brain were telling them it wasn't possible. The old woman turned to Bingwen and regarded him with an expression Bingwen couldn't read. Confusion? Awe?
No one moved. No one jumped to help.
They didn't know how to respond, Bingwen realized. They didn't know what to do. "He's alive," Bingwen said. "We need to help him."
Grandfather took charge. "Untie the stretcher. Pull him inside. Quickly now. But gently, do it gently."
Bingwen stood there and watched as they untied the travois and pulled Mazer into the farmhouse still on it. They laid the whole structure on the floor and surrounded the body.
"I need light," said the old woman.
"She's a nurse of sorts," Grandfather said to Bingwen. "A midwife. Do you know what that means?"
"She helps women deliver babies," said Bingwen.
"Yes," said Grandfather. "She knows things about medicine."
"Not enough," sa
id Bingwen. He took the digital device from the pouch and approached Mazer. Everyone was crowding around the travois. The old woman's husband was holding a lantern.
"Back up," the old woman said. "I need space." She bent down, pulled the lantern close, and poked around, lifting the corner of the bandage and looking at the many wounds. "This is bad. Very bad. More than I can do. I can't help him."
"You have to," said Bingwen.
"Boy, you did a brave thing to bring this man back, but he is beyond help. He won't live to see morning. He's lost too much blood. His wounds are too many."
"Then we'll give him a blood transfusion. We'll find a match among one of us and give him blood."
The old woman laughed. "And how do you propose we do that?"
"With this," said Bingwen, holding up the device. He turned on the screen and selected BLOOD EXAM. It asked him if he wanted instructions. Bingwen selected YES. The machine started to talk in English. It startled everyone.
"What is that?" said the old woman.
"A medical device to tell you how to treat someone."
"That sounds like English," said the teenage girl.
"It is," said Bingwen. "I know English. I can walk us through the steps." He didn't wait for them to object. He listened to the recorded voice. It was female, calm and soothing, the kind of voice you would want to hear in a traumatic situation. The device told Bingwen to pull certain items from the med kit. Bingwen obeyed. He used the tiny tube he found to extract a drop of blood from Mazer. He put the drop on the corner of the device's screen where it indicated.
"Type O positive," the device said. "This blood is only compatible with types O positive and O negative."
"What is it saying?" asked Grandfather.
"I need to prick my finger," said Bingwen. He dug through the supplies until he found another thin straw and finger pricker.
"Test mine," said Grandfather, offering his hand. "You're too small to give blood."