Free The Road to Winter by Mark Smith

that. For all I know you could’ve… I was scared.’
    With that, she collapses to her knees. Her hair is wet with perspiration. I crouch in front of her and touch her shoulder. Her skin is on fire.
    ‘Come on,’ I say. ‘Let’s go inside.’
    She lets me carry her into the house. We go straight to the bathroom and I tell her to get into the bath. She’s too exhausted to argue.
    When I lift the heavy jumper over her shoulders she leans forward and hugs her knees to her chest. She’s wearing only shorts and a singlet underneath.
    I turn on the tap and the bath begins to fill with precious water from the tank I know is already low. Rose shivers when the water touches her skin but she doesn’t try to climb out.Slowly it creeps over her legs and inches up towards her waist.
    ‘That’s enough,’ she croaks. ‘We can’t afford too much.’
    With a cup from the kitchen I begin to pour water over her head and shoulders. She leans back slightly and allows me to put a wet cloth on her forehead. I unwrap the bandage, which is almost black with caked blood, and give the wound a good clean.
    ‘It looks better,’ I say, trying to sound convincing. ‘You’ll have a nice scar to show for it.’
    ‘At least it’s one I can see,’ she says.
    When the shivering takes over her whole body, I help Rose up and wrap a towel around her shoulders. Embarrassed, she turns her back to me.
    ‘Rose,’ I say, ‘we have to take these wet clothes off and get you into bed.’
    She nods. She turns to face me as I pull her singlet up over her head. The ring falls between her breasts and she puts an arm over her chest. Her body is a mess of bruises and cuts, but that’s not what grabs my attention. I can hardly believe what I’m seeing.
    She’s pregnant.
    She sees me looking and turns her head away. I take down the pair of Mum’s shorts she’s still wearing from yesterday. Her hand comes down to cover herself again.
    ‘Don’t look,’ she says.
    I hesitate. ‘You gotta trust me. I’m not going to hurt you,’ I say, quietly.
    Eventually, her arms drape over my shoulders, and we halfwalk, half stumble to the bedroom. She drops onto the bed and I pull the blanket over her. Her eyes are trying to focus and she grabs hold of my arm.
    ‘I was going to tell you, Finn. I was.’
    ‘It’s okay. We’ll talk about it later.’
    I’m still too shocked to know what else to say. All I can think is fuck!
    At last she closes her eyes and I sit with her until her hand slips off my arm and she sleeps.
    I’m restless all day. I keep chopping and changing my mind, going in to check on Rose, sitting with her but the whole time just wanting to run away, to hide somewhere, to talk to someone who’ll know what to do. Everything feels like it’s falling in on me—Rose has come, the Wilders have seen me, and now she’s sick. And pregnant. I’m in so much danger but I can’t stand the thought of being on my own again.
    I keep an eye on Rose, bringing damp cloths to put on her forehead. Sometimes she responds by making little noises or breathing in deep, but mostly she doesn’t move at all. In the afternoon I wake her up and force her to drink. I’ve broken open the antibiotic capsules and dissolved them in water. She manages to keep it down, but the fever seems to be getting worse.
    By nightfall, I’m exhausted and starving. I haven’t eaten all day. I get a can of soup out of the shed, boil up some of the rabbit bones from yesterday to make a stock, and combine them all together. I add some salt to make it a bit more edible. Whenit’s all cooked I take a bowl into Rose and prop her up on the pillows. She tries to push me away but she’s got no strength left in her body. She pulls the blanket up to her shoulders and holds it there while I spoon some soup into her mouth. It’s like trying to feed a baby—she keeps turning her head away.
    ‘Come on. You’ve got to eat.’
    ‘Not hungry,’ she murmurs.
    ‘Please.’ I must sound