Chapter 22:
Zombie Virus Maker
Lex
Don’t slip between my hands. Not now. Not again, will I fail someone in my inadequate hold. My worries, all of them, tear my heart as I reach her and feel her grow colder with a pulse, struggling to even be sluggish. I take a better look at the girl in between my arms. She’s exhausted and fighting with agony balanced with a strange calmness in her face.
No, focus on the deathly situation. The zombie’s arm struck through her middle region is frightening. Currently, it is acting as a stoppage to rapid bleeding. If I remove it uncarefully, then the smudges of sticky blood in that area will be just the start. If I fail to remove this appendage, however, she will grow infected and risk unmitigated internal damage. Act now. I stifle the cry that I want to unleash out from my chest. With blurry vision and wet eyes, I lift her up. Here. She touches the elevated surface softly. I lay a blanket to the side and carry her on top of the cloth. Taking out a surgery textbook and my metal tools, it is time to be the surgeon I’ve never trained to be.
________________________________________________________________________________________I feel a tinge of warmth trickling throughout the form of my left arm. This shouldn’t be happening. How many days since … I should have.
I see the insides of our temporary lab in the city from the top of this metal table. How is it I am here? Shaking off my blankets I turn to my left side. I can see more of my surroundings than I used to? So strange. I trace the exterior inwards to a tied bandage around my shoulder joint and the absence of my arm from there. What about my stomach? I look down and caress a purposeful network of bandages and patched flesh with a convenient absence of a morbid severed off zombie arm. It hurts like hell to get up off the table and stay awake. I spot Lex sleeping on a table tangled in his arms. I notice his eyes are tempered by pitch-black shadows. Next to him are maintained surgery supplies and an open surgery textbook with crimson red tainting the pages. It must be one of the textbooks he brought to read. Did he predict something like this would happen? Reading through I retrace the motions of how he learned to do surgery in a dire state. The pages for my condition are well-referenced with one-line notes.
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