Chapter 2 #2
It didn’t do anything more than hold the rope and claw at the air, so I ignored it and laid the boy down as delicately as I could.
Of course they couldn’t climb fucking ropes.
The boy was still unconscious—I refused to think he was dead—when I grabbed the rope and pulled it out quickly. I needed to get him back to the bunker before he bled out.
When the entire length of rope was back up, I threw it toward the tree to come back for later, then pulled on my pack, slung my bow across my body, and carefully gathered him in my arms. He groaned softly but didn’t open his eyes.
I ran through the trees back to the bunker.
When we arrived at the entrance—a solid steel door hidden in a rock face beneath a thick layer of vines—I cradled him in one arm so I could turn the wheel.
I took the steep steps down to the bunker in the dark. There was no time for light and I didn’t need it anyway.
Luna greeted me at the bottom of the stairs, immediately trying to stick her nose in the boy’s hair to sniff.
“Back,” I said. She wouldn’t hurt him, not on purpose, but I needed to get him aid as quickly as possible and hurried to the bathroom, where I kept all the medical supplies.
Luna trailed behind me with a whine, watching from the doorway as I laid him on the concrete floor, took off my bow and pack, then ripped his shirt down the middle. It was so worn that it came apart easily, and when I saw the wound, dread pounded through me.
No, it just looked worse than it actually was because of all the blood.
He would be fine.
He’d be fine.
I yanked open the cupboard under the sink and pulled out the med kits stashed there and a few towels, then raced to the kitchen for some water.
“Alright, let’s look at you.” I set the water near his head and kneeled by his hip.
I pulled the thin remains of his shirt the rest of the way off. There was old blood and new blood just below his right shoulder. I took a cloth, dipped it in the water, then slowly wiped away the blood to get a better look at the wound.
It was a ragged hole, too small to be from one of the spikes in the pit. I turned him gently on his side and was greeted with a smaller, more even wound on his back.
Like…
He’d been shot.
After cleaning the blood away, it looked as if the bullet had gone clear through him, which was good. I knew enough about human anatomy to know that the location of the wound wasn’t near anything vital, either, and it gave me hope.
The hole in the back of his shoulder looked like an entry wound. Had someone shot him while he was running away?
A flare of anger sparked beneath my skin at the idea. Anyone who shot someone in the back was a fucking coward. And this guy was so small, what kind of a threat could he be?
I exhaled slowly and pushed away the anger. It wasn’t helpful right now.
I cleaned the wound thoroughly, then debated whether I should try and stitch both sides or just wrap it up and hope he lived.
I’d only ever stitched up my own wounds, and I’d never had any as bad as this.
Maybe I should cauterize it to stop the bleeding? Except I didn’t have any way to do that. Not down here, at least.
I would just have to pack it and wrap it for now, stop the bleeding as best I could.
“I’ll be right back,” I told him.
I ran to the storage room and flung boxes out of the way until I found the one that had the extra medical supplies. I grabbed two rolls of gauze and ran back to the bathroom.
“Okay, we’re gonna fix you up, alright? You’ll be okay. I’m not gonna let you die.”
I gently lifted him and held him upright so I could wind the gauze around his chest and over his shoulder, repeating the process until it was tight and thick enough to stop the bleeding.
I could see all the vertebrae on his spine, and wondered how long it had been since he’d eaten. I should make him something special when he woke up.
What the hell could I make him, though? All I had were apples, potatoes, and carrots. The meat had run out days ago.
When he was sufficiently covered, I sat back and stared at him.
He was dirty, and not just from falling into the pit. There were layers of grime and dried blood covering every inch of his exposed skin, and what little I could see of his face was the same. His hair, which looked brown, was a long, tangled mess.
He was small, and in spite of being so thin, there was still a bit of muscle on him.
It was hard to tell exactly how tall he was since he was lying down, but he looked a hell of a lot shorter than me.
I dragged my gaze down his arms to hands that were as filthy as the rest of him. Dirt was caked beneath his nails.
He really needed a good washing, that was for sure. He smelled awful, too. Should I have cleaned him before bandaging him?
Fuck, I didn’t know how to take care of someone on the brink of death.
My gaze flitted over the muzzle and collar, then the rusted chain that was partially wound around his neck, the rest of it lying beside him.
Why was he wearing those things? Was he dangerous? He wasn’t one of the infected, that much was clear. They couldn’t speak, and he definitely had. So why was he collared, chained, and muzzled?
Just where the hell had he come from?
I scratched my head as I stared at the contraption strapped to his face. It dug hard into his cheeks and looked pretty painful. When I turned his head a bit to see if there was a buckle I could undo in the back, I was greeted with a tiny padlock.
What the hell?
Who would do this to another person? And why?
I laid his head back down and lowered my eyes to the collar. It was fashioned from the same metal as the muzzle and looked equally uncomfortable.
Should I cut it off? Or was that stupid? There had to be a reason someone had put these things on him, right? But then again, the world was filled with horrible people that did the most depraved things to others.
So where did this boy come from? There wasn’t anything for miles around, and it’s not like he’d been living in the nearby town. I regularly scavenged over there. I’d know if someone else had been through or was squatting there.
Were there other people with him? Had he escaped from them? Was he held prisoner? Or was he dangerous and that’s why he was muzzled and collared? Should I tie him up for my own safety until he woke up?
No. I didn’t think I was capable of doing that to him, especially if he’d been chained up before this.
Because he showed no signs of waking up anytime soon, I left him in the bathroom for now, grabbed a pillow from my bed, and set it on the couch in the living area. My blanket was still drying from when I washed it earlier, so I went to the storage room to hunt for something to cover him up with.
I started to get irritated with the sheer amount of shit that my great-grandfather had deemed necessary for survival after going through five boxes and not finding another blanket.
“Why do you need a fucking kazoo?” I grabbed the plastic device and looked up at the ceiling. “Huh, gramps? Why the hell is a kazoo in here? Were you gonna annoy them to death?” I flung the stupid thing over my shoulder, shoved aside the box of useless crap and pulled another box toward me.
I was momentarily stunned when something smacked into the back of my head so hard my vision exploded in a firework display of whites and greens and blues.
I shot to my feet and turned around to find the boy holding a heavy metal wrench. He stumbled back and braced a hand on the doorjamb.
“What the hell?” I said in surprise, staring at him for a long moment while my brain came back online. “Where did you even find that?”
He was breathing so hard it seemed like he was going to burst through the gauze I’d tied around him, and his eyes…
Fuck me, those eyes.
They were two completely different colors. Blue and brown held me locked in place with an intensity that blazed brightly in those mismatched eyes. There was a world of emotion there, a whirlpool that was dragging me deeper the longer I looked.
He shoved off the doorjamb and brandished the wrench like he was going to hit me again, but I grabbed his arm as gently as I could and snatched it out of his hand, tossing it behind me.
I towered over him, and in his weakened state—and especially with the muzzle and collar—he really wasn’t much of a threat.
He’d just gotten the upper hand and caught me by surprise.
“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” I chastised as he yanked his wrist from my grip. I went to grab his elbow so I could guide him to the living area, but he snarled and slapped my hand away, then turned, tripped over the chain hanging from his collar, and fell flat on his face before I could catch him.
Fuck.
“Hey.” I carefully turned him over, cradling the back of his head. His eyes were closed, and there was a small trickle of blood on his temple. I brushed his ratty hair away to get a closer look, hoping he’d open his eyes.
I wanted to see them again. To feel that intensity.
But they stayed closed as he lay there limp in my arms, his chest moving as he breathed.
The gauze was holding just fine, but there was more blood than there had been ten minutes ago. Should I change it? Already? Put an extra layer on?
I thought he’d lost too much blood to even be able to get up and walk around on his own, let alone swing a wrench at me.
My skull throbbed where he’d hit me, and when I poked at the spot, I quickly pulled my fingers away with a hiss.
Fuck, he’d gotten me good.
“You got one hell of an arm.”
Well, I had an answer to one question, at least. He was definitely dangerous. Who knew where the fuck he’d been or what he’d been through before this? I’d never tried to help anyone before—not that there had been many—or any—opportunities.
I was just that lonely, I supposed. Would welcome anyone into my life, no matter how dangerous they were.
I rubbed a hand down my face and groaned, then carefully picked him up and carried him to the couch.
When I glanced at his face again, his cracked lips were parted and his breathing was even.
I should get him some water.
There was a pillar in the center of the room, so maybe I could wrap his chain around that and use one of the padlocks to keep him tethered there until he realized I wouldn’t hurt him?
But the idea of chaining someone up who had obviously already been chained up didn’t sit well with me, and all I did was throw the blanket over him.
I’d taken three steps away when I made a frustrated sound and turned around, picked up the chain, and wound it around the pole. Then I grabbed a lock from the storage room and locked the chain in place.
He might hurt himself if he woke up and wandered around. His ankle was messed up, and if he did too much, he’d reopen his wound. I’d probably be here in time to unchain him, but just in case I wasn’t, this was for his own protection.
I was practically starving at this point, so I left him on the couch and headed into the small kitchen.
I had some root vegetables to cook, damn it.
I should probably put some pants on, too.