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.
