Chapter 11: Chapter 11
Pale grey light, the kind that came before the sun actually cleared the rooftops, pressed through the seams of the boarded windows. Rosa surfaced from sleep in slow degrees, the familiar ache in her leg rising with her awareness. For a moment, she forgot why it hurt. Then she shifted, and the sharp pull of the freshly stitched wound reminded her.
A soft knock came at the door before it cracked open, Sandy slipping in with a thermos in hand. Her hair was already tied back in the braided pigtails she favored for work detail, and she wore her outside jacket, cargo pockets bulging with supplies.
"Morning," Sandy said, keeping her voice low. She set the thermos on the nightstand. "You're awake. Good."
Rosa blinked, propping herself up on her elbows. Across the hall, through the closed door, she could picture Jason's room, the tangle of blankets, and Roy asleep somewhere in the sheets, a three-inch speck of a man curled up against the warmth of his boyfriend's neck. The thought made something in her chest loosen.
"You're leaving soon?" Rosa asked.
"Lee's doing a final check on the truck. Ally's loading the climbing gear." Sandy perched on the edge of the bed, studying Rosa with an appraising eye. "You slept through the night. No fever. That's a good sign."
Rosa gestured at her leg. "Doesn't feel like a good sign."
"Your body's telling you to be still. Listen to it." Sandy uncapped the thermos and handed it over. "Herbal tea. Lee brewed it from the garden. Pain's going to be manageable, but you need to stay off that leg today. No stairs."
Rosa took the thermos, the warmth bleeding through her palms. The steam curled up, carrying the scent of mint and something earthy. She sipped, letting the heat settle in her chest.
"I wasn't planning on stairs," she said.
"Good. Because I'm going to come check on you when we're back and I don't want to find you in the stairwell or the roof or anywhere else that requires climbing." Sandy stood, tugging her jacket straight. "Roy's still asleep in Jason's room. Jason will keep an eye on him. And on you, if he has to."
Rosa snorted. "He's got his hands full with a two-foot-tall boyfriend situation."
Sandy smiled, a quick, fond thing. "He's managing. And you should be managing too. Bathroom's down the hall. Use the crutches Jason put by your door."
She paused at the threshold, glancing back. "I'll bring you something from the bookstore, if there's anything left worth taking. Maybe a magazine older than a year."
Rosa raised the thermos in a mock toast. "Pictures. I want pictures. Anything without walkers in it."
Sandy's smile widened before she slipped out, the door clicking shut behind her.
Silence settled back into the room. Rosa sat with the tea, listening to the faint sounds of the dormitory waking up: footsteps on the stairs, the murmur of voices, the clatter of a pot in the kitchen. The normalcy of it, the rhythm of her people moving through their days, was a comfort she hadn't known she needed.
She finished the tea, setting the thermos aside. Then she looked at the door.
The bathroom was down the hall, maybe twenty feet from her room. Twenty feet that felt like a mile with a freshly stitched leg. The crutches stood propped against the wall where Jason had left them, wooden and worn, wrapped in duct tape at the handles.
Rosa swung her legs off the bed. The movement sent a spike of pain up her thigh, and she hissed through her teeth, pausing with her feet flat on the floor. She breathed through it, one hand pressed to the blanket, the other gripping the edge of the mattress.
Stubborn was what got her into this. Stubborn was what would get her through it.
She stood, wobbling, then reached for the cane she started using to lessen the weight on her leg. She stood, adjusted her grip, and took an experimental step. Her good leg followed, the movement was just enough to send a fresh ache through her thigh.
Twenty feet. She could do twenty feet.
The hallway was quiet, the floorboards cool through the thin soles of her socks. She passed Jason's door, pausing for just a moment. Through the crack under the door, she could hear the slow, even breathing of two people asleep. She smiled, a small, private thing, and continued on.
The bathroom door was unlocked, the room beyond smelling of soap and dampness. Morning light filtered through the single small window, high on the wall, casting a square of pale gold across the cracked linoleum floor. The group had rigged a gravity-fed water system from the roof cistern, and the sink dripped in a steady, rhythmic cadence. A mirror hung above it, cracked in one corner, its surface filmed with age.
Rosa propped the cane against the wall, gripping the edge of the sink for balance. Her reflection stared back at her: leaner than she remembered, dark circles under her eyes, the braid she'd worn for days fraying at the ends. The wound on her leg was a raw, red line, stitches neat and dark against her skin. Sandy's work, clean and careful.
She took care of her business, moving slowly, leaning on the sink and the wall whenever her leg complained. When she was done, she washed her hands in the trickle of cold water, then bent to splash her face, the shock of it drawing a sharp breath from her.
She looked at her reflection again. The person staring back was a survivor. Banged up, tired, but still standing. Still breathing. Still moving under her own power.
That had to count for something.
Voices drifted from the front of the building, muffled through the walls. Lee's steady baritone, Ally's lighter laugh. The sound of the door opening, boots on the porch. They were heading out. Rosa wiped her face on a rough towel, hanging it back on its hook, and made her way back down the hall, the cane rhythmically thumping.
When she reached her door, she stopped, leaning her shoulder against the frame for a moment. Across the hall, Jason's door was now open a crack. She could see the lump of blankets on the bed, the slow rise and fall of his breathing. And on his pillow, a tiny figure, barely visible from where she stood, a small dark shape against the white fabric.
Roy, still asleep.
Rosa watched for a long moment. Then she slipped back into her room, easing the door shut behind her. She made it to the bed, lowering herself down with a grunt of relief, her leg stretched out in front of her.
The dormitory hummed around her, waking and working without her for once. And Rosa let herself sink into the mattress, her eyes drifting to the ceiling, grateful for the quiet, the stillness, and the knowledge that the people she loved were still breathing, still fighting, still moving.
The quiet held for a long while. Distant sounds filtered up from downstairs, the truck engine catching, the crunch of gravel as Sandy and Lee pulled away. Rosa listened until the noise faded into the morning, then let her eyes drift shut. She was tired in a deep, bone-level way that sleep had only barely touched. The tea had warmed her, the mattress was soft beneath her, and the room was quiet, dim, safe.
She dozed off in a half-sitting, half-laying position against a small mound of pillows, her leg propped on a folded blanket, one arm curled across her stomach. The cane leaned against the nightstand within reach. Her breathing evened out, slow and deep.
She came up from sleep to the sound of rustling. A soft, persistent scraping, like something small working its way across a textured surface. Her face scrunched up before her eyes opened, unfocused, and she lay still for a moment, listening. There it was again, a thin rasp of rope against the wall, coming from somewhere beside the bed, low and close.
She turned her head, and there he was.
Roy was three quarters of the way up the rope ladder Jason had rigged to the wall beside her bed, a narrow thing of knotted cord and dowel rungs that ran from the floor to a small platform at mattress height. He climbed slowly, deliberately, his small hands gripping the rungs with a focus that made her chest ache. He wore a scrap of cloth tied around his waist like a belt, and a tiny satchel, no bigger than a matchbox, hung at his hip.
He reached the top rung and paused, breathing hard, his shoulders rising and falling. Then he swung himself onto the platform, a flat strip of wood bolted to the wall, and stood, brushing dust from his hands.
Rosa did not move. She watched him, a three-inch speck of a man standing on a wooden shelf, and the absurdity and the tenderness of it tangled in her throat.
Roy looked up. Their eyes met. He smiled, quick and crooked, a little out of breath.
"Hey," he said. His voice was thin, a wasp's drone of a voice, but clear enough in the quiet room.
"Hey yourself," Rosa said. She pushed herself up a little straighter against the pillows, careful not to jostle her leg. "What are you doing up there?"
"Came to check on you." He patted the satchel at his hip. "Brought supplies."
"Supplies."
"Breakfast. Sort of." He unbuckled the satchel, loosening its flap. "Jason found a jar of honey in the back of the pantry last night. And a tin of that hardtack biscuits Ally's been making. I figured you hadn't had anything since the tea Sandy brought you."
Rosa's heart did a somersault, small and fierce. "You climbed a rope ladder to bring me breakfast."
Roy shrugged, a motion that looked almost comical at his size. "You'd do the same for me. Except you'd probably carry me the whole way and I wouldn't have to climb anything."
"Damn right."
He crouched, drawing a tiny parcel from the satchel, a scrap of clean cloth folded around something. He held it up, two-handed, and Rosa had to squint to see it. A crumb of biscuit and a smear of honey wrapped in the cloth, small enough to sit on her palm without spilling over the edges.
"Wait," she said. "How are you going to get it to me?"
Roy glanced at the gap between the platform and the bed. It was a foot of open air, an impossible distance for him to jump, even at his best. But he didn't look worried. He crouched lower, setting the parcel down, and then did something that made Rosa's breath catch. He shinnied to the edge of the platform, turned, and jumped.
He landed on the blanket, a bounce and a roll that carried him a few inches before he came up on his knees, breathing hard. He was a full two feet from Rosa, a vast distance in his world, but he was on the bed, and he was grinning.
"Jason's been teaching me to fall," he said. "Tuck and roll."
"Looks like it works."
"Sandy said I should practice. In case I ever get knocked off something." He stood, dusting off his knees, and began making his way toward her, picking his path across the rumpled folds of the blanket with care. Each step was a small expedition. The duvet's creases were hills to him, the tufts of fabric obstacles to navigate around.
Rosa's throat tightened. She kept her hands still, watching him come, afraid that any movement might send him tumbling.
"You don't have to do this, you know," she said, her voice coming out rougher than she intended. "I was fine. I was just resting."
"I know you were fine." He reached the foot of the pillow she was propped against, pausing to catch his breath. "But I wanted to bring it to you myself. Jason said the harness stuff is still a few days out, so I'm practicing. Working with what I've got."
He looked up at her, his face tilted, and for a moment he was just Roy, her brother, the kid who'd followed her around campus like a stray, who'd argued with her about pizza toppings and watched horror movies with his hands over his eyes. A kid who was now the size of a thimble, with scuffed hands and a satchel full of honey and hardtack.
"Give me your hand," he said.
Rosa lifted her hand, laying it flat on the blanket beside him. He climbed onto it, his weight a feather's touch, a barely-there warmth against her calloused palm. He walked up past her wrist, settling in the cup of her hand, and sat down, pulling the parcel from his satchel and unfolding it.
"Eat," he said, pushing the crumb toward her fingers. "You need your strength."
Rosa stared at him, sitting cross-legged in her palm, his tiny hands offering her a crumb no bigger than a fingernail. She felt something hot and raw build behind her eyes, and she blinked it back, hard.
"You're a stubborn little shit," she said, her voice thick.
Roy grinned up at her. "Learned from the best."
Without really thinking, Rosa lifted her hand up with Roy and brought him to her mouth. She opened her jaw just enough to slide her tongue out, then waited.
Roy's eyes went wide for a fraction of a second, caught in that minor awe of being moved through the air like a leaf on a breeze. Then he caught the hint, and his tiny hands steadied as he held out the crumb so it touched the very tip of her tongue.
The taste was absurdly small. A smear of honey, a fleck of hardtack, hardly enough to register as food. But the sweetness bloomed across her tongue anyway, and she closed her mouth carefully, mindful of his hand still extended, his fingers brushing her lower lip for just a moment before he drew back.
She swallowed. The crumb was gone, a ghost of flavor lingering.
"Good?" Roy asked, still sitting cross-legged in her palm, looking up at her with that crooked grin.
"Tastes like honey," she said, her voice thick. "You didn't bring any for yourself?"
"Had some on the way up." He patted the satchel. "There's more in the tin downstairs. Jason's portioning it out, making it last. Wanted to make sure you got the first taste."
Rosa turned her hand, bringing him closer to her chest, resting her arm against the blanket so he wouldn't have to work so hard to keep his balance. He settled into the hollow of her palm, leaning back on his hands, looking comfortable despite everything.
"You're a good kid," she said.
"I'm twenty-five."
"And you're still a kid, the size of my thumb." She tapped the tip of her index finger against the top of his head, a gentleness she wouldn't have dared with anyone else. "A good kid."
Roy laughed, a thin, buzzing sound. Then he sobered, looking up at her with that serious expression he wore when he was thinking hard about something.
"Rosa. You're going to push yourself too hard if I can't keep you down."
"Who says you can't?"
"I'm saying it. Right now." He stood, brushing off his knees, and walked to the edge of her palm, leaning against her fingers. "You're the one who got hurt. Not me. I'm the one who's got a few days before we can get the harness materials. I should be the one climbing rope ladders and carrying supplies, not you."
"You just brought me breakfast."
"That's what I'm saying." He gestured at himself, then at her leg. "I can do this. I can be useful. Jason's been helping me figure out the small stuff, and Sandy's got the harness plans. I'm not just the little brother you have to carry around anymore. I can carry some weight too."
Rosa's throat tightened again. She looked at this tiny man standing in her palm, fierce and determined, and she saw the same kid who'd marched into a pharmacy with her, who'd shoved her out of the way of a shrinking ray without a second thought. The same kid who'd been watching over her for days, even as his own world had been turned upside down.
"I know you can," she said quietly. "You've always been able to. I just... I worry about you. Carrying a crumb across a room is a lot different than riding on a shoulder."
"I'm learning the ladder. Falling's getting easier."
"Roy."
"Rosa."
She smiled, something soft and tired and grateful. "Thank you. For the breakfast. For being stubborn enough to try."
He grinned up at her. "That's what brothers are for."
She settled back against the pillows, keeping her hand flat so he could stay in her palm. The morning light was brightening beyond the boarded windows, the dormitory humming with life around them. She could hear footsteps on the stairs, the murmur of voices in the kitchen. The world was moving on, and she was here, in this strange new version of it, with a three-inch brother sitting in her hand like he belonged there.
Which, she supposed, he did.
Roy sat cross-legged in the hollow of her palm, picking at a loose thread on his satchel. The silence between them was comfortable, the kind that came from years of knowing each other's rhythms. Rosa watched him for a moment, then something clicked in her mind.
"Hey," she said. "You want to hear what Sandy and I came up with? For the harness."
Roy's head snapped up, his eyes brightening. "You have a plan already?"
"Sandy and I talked it through before she left." Rosa shifted, settling deeper into the pillows, keeping her hand steady so he wouldn't have to brace himself. "She's got experience with climbing gear, knows the hardware. We figured out how to build it from what we can scavenge."
"I'm listening."
Rosa brought her other hand up, using her index finger to sketch in the air as she talked. "The main body comes from a climbing harness, one of the old ones from the gym. We'll cut it down to size, strip out the buckles and webbing we don't need. It'll be two layers, sewn together, sealed with a lighter so the edges don't fray. Something that can take some wear."
Roy nodded, his attention fixed on her face.
"Here's the clever part." Rosa's finger paused mid-air. "We make a small incision in the outer layer fabric, just big enough to slip the ring of the phone holder through. Then we seal it up and sew it shut, so the ring is anchored between the two layers. The inner layer sits between your back and the mounting, so there's no pressure points. You don't feel the ring digging in."
Roy's brow furrowed. "A phone holder? Like the ones for bike mounts?"
"Sandy found a few at the bookstore, of all places. The kind that strap around a phone case for hands-free use." Rosa smiled. "The ring on the back is perfect. It's small, sturdy, and it's designed to hold weight."
"And that's where the carabiner comes in."
"Full circle." Rosa tapped the air. "A round carabiner ring, clipped onto the ring of the phone holder. That gives you a quick attachment point. You can clip onto a belt, a collar, a strap, whatever works. Quick release, so you can unhook yourself if you need to get away from something fast."
Roy was quiet for a moment, his eyes distant, processing. Then he looked up at her, and there was something vulnerable in his expression, a hope he was trying to keep measured.
"What about the buckles? The straps that hold it on me?"
"That's the one thing we might have trouble with." Rosa's mouth twisted. "A regular buckle's too big for you. Even the smallest ones on climbing gear would dig into your skin. So Sandy's going to check the craft store, see if there's anything in the jewelry section or the beading supplies. If we can't find something small enough, Velcro. We'll use strips of Velcro to secure it. You can adjust it yourself, take it on and off without needing any help."
Roy considered this, his tiny hands flexing at his sides. He stood up, pacing a few steps across her palm, his bare feet brushing her calloused skin.
"Velcro," he repeated.
"Sturdy stuff. The kind that holds through a washer cycle. We'll make sure it's strong enough to keep you anchored."
"And the carabiner. How big?"
"Round, maybe an inch across. The kind you'd use on a keychain. Small enough not to drag you down, big enough to clip onto things without a problem. You can hook it onto a belt loop, a strap, a piece of rope. Whatever you're working with."
Roy stopped pacing, turning to face her. His shadow fell across her palm, a tiny figure against the pale light filtering in from the window. His expression was serious, but there was a warmth behind it.
"You really thought this through."
"Sandy did most of the thinking. I just nodded and pointed at things." Rosa shrugged. "But yeah. We talked it through. The goal is to give you a way to be independent. To carry yourself, to move around without needing someone to hold you like a snack."
Roy laughed, a thin buzzing sound that made her heart ache. "I do feel like a snack sometimes."
"An appetizer at best."
He grinned, then grew thoughtful again. He walked back to the center of her palm, sitting down with his legs crossed, his hands resting on his knees.
"The phone holder ring," he said slowly. "It sits between the two layers. How do we keep it from shifting around? If the layers are sewn together but the ring has to move freely in the slot, what stops it from sliding side to side?"
"Stitches." Rosa held up her finger. "We sew the slot tight around the ring, leave just enough room for it to rotate. Then we reinforce the edges with a few extra passes of thread. Sandy's good with a needle. She'll make it solid."
"Rotate, not slide. So the ring stays in place, but I can turn it if I need to clip from a different angle."
"Exactly."
Roy nodded, a small, satisfied motion. He looked down at his hands, turning them over, studying his scuffed palms.
"I like it," he said quietly. "It's practical. It's not pretty, but it's practical. And it's mine."
Rosa felt something loosen in her chest. "It's going to work, Roy. We're going to make it work. And once we've got the harness done, we can start working on the bigger stuff." She paused, her voice dropping. "We're going to figure out how to reverse this. I promise."
Roy looked up at her, and for a moment he just held her gaze. Then he stood, walking to the edge of her palm, looking down at the vast expanse of blanket that stretched below him.
"I know you will," he said. "You've never let me down."
He turned, offering her a crooked smile, and it was the same smile he'd worn every time he’d do something ridiculous and Rosa had to help him out of it.
Rosa swallowed past the tightness in her throat. "You want to get down? Or you want to hang out up here for a while?"
Roy glanced around her palm, the edges of her fingers forming a low wall around him. He settled back down, crossing his legs.
"I'll stay a bit," he said. "It's comfortable. And you're not going anywhere anyway."
"Point taken."
Rosa leaned back into the pillows, her hand resting on the blanket in front of her, Roy settled in the center of her palm like a tiny king on a throne of calloused skin and old scars. The morning light continued to brighten beyond the boards, and the sounds of the dormitory drifted up around them: footsteps, voices, the clatter of pots in the kitchen.
The harness plans were solid. The materials were being gathered. And for the first time since the shrinking ray had fired, Rosa felt something that might have been hope, warm and steady, growing in her chest.
She looked down at her brother, small and fierce in her hand, and she let herself believe they were going to be okay.