Daphne broke her first bone in Halifax. She’d laced up a fresh pair of runners she’d pilfered from a high-end shoe store that she never would have been able to shop at pre-apocalypse, and sprinted along the passing lane on the 107. If there were any doubt in her mind that she had some kind of superhuman ability, it was long gone.

She felt like she was flying. She pumped her legs as hard as she could, and the ground wasn’t even ground anymore, and the world was moving too fast, and then she was flying, right into the cement median. Her thigh took the brunt of her weight, and the resounding crunch sent her stomach lurching into her throat.

White-hot pain exploded in her leg, blinding her for a moment as she lay over the median, bottom half dangling as she scrabbled at the concrete with her fingers. Her thoughts were nothing but a string of curses as she realized what she’d done.

All she’d wanted to do was see how fast she was. But with super speed came super spectacular wipe outs, and Daphne knew she was fucked. She lowered herself as gently as she could onto her ass, and leaned her head back against the median, eyes closed, afraid to look at her busted leg.

She hissed and gasped and struggled to breathe through the pain. She’d never broken a bone in her life, and here she was with a busted femur in the middle of the highway with nobody around to help her. She’d left all of her stuff in the car, which was easily a kilometer away now, back by the on-ramp. There wasn’t anything to help with a broken bone, of course, but at least there was food so she wouldn’t starve to death on the hot asphalt.

“Caw!” said the crow, in a haughty tone.

“Fuck you,” she groaned. “I don’t wanna hear a peep from you unless you can bring me a pharmacy.”

Daphne finally opened her eyes, staring down at her leg. It wasn’t as gruesome as she’d expected it to be, at least. Her foot lay useless, but it wasn’t backwards or anything. Her thigh had swelled up like a balloon, however, and the cotton shorts she wore began to cut into her flesh.

She managed to wriggle a finger beneath the hem, gagging at the pain, and tear. Thankfully, the fabric ripped easily, and she released her leg from its unwilling tourniquet.

“Caw!” said the crow.

“You’re not helpful,” she spat, leaning her head back again, taking a deep, ragged breath. Her throat felt like sandpaper, and she cursed her lack of forethought. “You could have told me this was a stupid idea.”

“Cawcaw!”

“If that means you did tell me, then it’s not my fault you can’t fucking speak English, is it?” She pressed her palms flat against the hot road, clenching her jaw. “What the fuck am I even going to do? Even if I wasn’t going to die of thirst, I don’t know how to splint a leg.” If she could drag herself to the other side of the freeway, she could see if there was a clinic or something close by, but the thought of even moving had her stomach flipping end over end.

She closed her eyes. If she wanted to survive, she’d have to move. She’d have to crawl, dragging the dead leg behind her.

“Caw!”

“It would be cool if you were super strong, too, and then you could carry me.” Daphne swallowed hard. “I’m just gonna rest a bit. Just a little bit. This is gonna take some psyching up on my part.”

* * *

She wasn’t sure when she’d fallen asleep, but she woke up groggy and itchy. Before she could stop herself, her fingers flew to her broken thigh and she scratched, fingernails tearing at her flesh at the deep itch. It wasn’t enough—her flesh turned red but the itch was still there, an ache that couldn’t be satisfied.

Daphne grunted as she forced herself to stop, hands shaking as she pulled them away from her thigh. In her recoil, she realized both of her feet were sticking up. Her brow furrowed. She wiggled her toes on the busted leg, and her heart rate tripled.

What the… Her thought trailed off into nothingness as she slowly bent her knee, and then realized her thigh wasn’t as swollen as it had been. There was no way she should have been able to do that. The nothingness of her thoughts suddenly flipped into overdrive, a million theories and questions rolling through her brain like wildfire.

Did I imagine breaking my leg? Am I going insane? Is it too hot? Or did I just bonk it and I thought I broke it? Or did I break it and it’s healing? Can I heal fast? Is that a thing? Has this been happening my whole life?

She tried to think back to any injuries she’d had as a child, but there weren’t any major ones. She’d healed fast from cuts and scrapes, though they’d been rare since Willa had encouraged her so much as a kid to do chill activities. And without any frame of reference, she didn’t really know what constituted ‘normal’ healing time for a shallow cut.

It was just injury, cry, bandaid, take it off in a day or two, healed. Was that normal? She didn’t know.

She bent her leg again, the itching beginning to reduce to a dull throb. This was most certainly not normal. A normal broken femur would need a cast, and months to heal if not surgery on top of that.

“How long have I been out?” She looked around for the crow, but he was gone. The sun was sinking low on the horizon, so she estimated a few hours she’d been napping. A broken bone doesn’t just heal in a few hours.

How had she even slept that long, anyway? It occurred to her that maybe this was part of her difference due to her biological father’s genes, quick healing. And maybe her body had shut down to focus on stitching her bones back together, hence the long nap.

She shook her head. This was too much. She squeezed her eyes shut.

I know I shouldn’t be upset about this… I just dodged a broken bone. But fuck. What am I? She swallowed hard, getting rid of the bile that had risen into her mouth. Her stomach growled. It appeared that healing needed fuel, too.

She peeked through slitted eyes at the SUV still parked down by the on ramp, and then flexed her feet. “I guess we’re gonna see how strong I really am.”