Free Blood Trilogy (Book 2): Draw Blood by Jason Bovberg

prisoner. Abruptly he drops and fastens his mouth to that of the unconscious man, blowing air inside his lungs. He returns to the chest compressions.
    In moments, the bald man coughs. Breathing has resumed. But the eyes remain closed.
    “You have to be kidding,” Joel whispers. “He’s alive?”
    “There’s a pulse?” one of the girls cries from the hall.
    “I don’t fucking believe it,” Kevin breathes.
    Both of the man’s shoulders appear nearly dislocated, but perhaps not; the body seems to be subtly deflating and attaining at least a measure of its former shape and contour. There don’t appear to be any badly broken bones, but the body still looks to have been through the ringer.
    As if reading his mind, Kevin says, “Let’s put those arms back while he’s out. Mike, hold him down at the shoulder, will ya?”
    Michael moves quickly to put his weight against the bald man’s upper body, and Kevin wastes no time popping both arms back into place. Even so, the body is in terrible shape, and Michael feels a wave of dark pity wash over him. He stands and regards the body silently. It’s a mess. All of the limbs, all the fingers and toes, remain wrenched out of shape, some subtly, some unmistakably. He certainly wouldn’t want to wake to such an existence. If this man were awake right now, he would be screaming his head off.
    Rachel bends down carefully toward the man’s head and, using a blanket, manipulates the jaw so that she can see inside the mouth.
    “It’s gone. There’s nothing in there.” She tosses the blanket aside and places her hand above his mouth. “And he’s breathing. This guy’s alive .”
    Just as she says it, the man lets out a ragged snore, and repeats it, as if he’s having trouble breathing in unconsciousness.
    “Let’s get him up on the bed,” Bonnie says, coming forward. She takes charge effortlessly, although she can’t hide the grimace on her mouth.
    Michael grasps the left side of the body, opposite Rachel. They share a glance as Bonnie positions herself next to Michael, directing Kevin next to Rachel with a gesture. The four of them lift the body up and back to the bed, all of them straining under the body’s crumpled deadweight. They settle the body to the half-stripped mattress with something approaching dignity, and Joel immediately uses his own cuffs to attach the man’s good hand to the metal bar at the bedside.
    Rachel gives him a look. “Fair enough.”
    All of the gathered survivors are crowded around the body, waiting for something to happen. But nothing does, save for the throaty suspiration of the prisoner and the expectant breathing of the group.
    “Imagine if we’d done this to one of those outside, with all that wood and sap and splinters and shit all down their throat,” Kevin says, shaking his shaggy head. “Even if this dude survives, I think it’ll be a very different thing to turn the ones outside. Hell, I can’t imagine most of those fuckers wanting to live after this shit. Not to mention that there’s hundreds of thousands of them out there, and we’re dealing with just one here. You know, a controlled situation.”
    Bonnie touches the man’s forehead. “Maybe a fever there.”
    They all stand there expectantly for long minutes, listening to him breathe.
    Michael notices Rachel glancing around impatiently, and he’s reminded of the teen daughter that he’s seen all too much of over the past few years—that glare, that thrust-forward jaw. Before he can give it too much thought, Rachel is shoving at the man on the table.
    “Wake up!”
    Bonnie grabs at Rachel’s arms. “Rachel! What are you doing?”
    But the man is abruptly convulsing and coughing. Everyone takes a step back, wary. The man is writhing atop the bed, trying to find his voice. He opens his eyes and stares straight up, blearily. He blinks exaggeratedly, tries to lift his hands up to rub at them, but he finds one hand secured and the other ending at a stump. He can’t