I Told You So

Micajah couldn't explain why, but he hadn't felt fear like that in a long time. He'd only left Cara alone for a minute, but in such a short period of time he'd managed to travel so far away. 'Stupid,' he thought. 'That was so stupid.' She'd been trying to tell him the whole night that she wasn't like them. He'd trivialized how vulnerable and at risk she was, and he'd left her defenseless.

He had just gotten his hands on a recently turned zombie when the gun shot rang out. A moment later he felt the tear in his abdomen as the bullet passed through. Pain flooded his brain as he reached down to touch the wound, his nervous system doing its job and making him acutely aware of the bodily damage. It also gave his present target a chance to chomp down on his arm. That hurt considerably less, and he applied pressure to the mandibular joint on either side of her face to force her to release the heavy cotton sleeve. Once freed, he snapped the zombie's neck in one fluid motion and raced back to Cara quicker than the zombie woman's broken body could drop to the ground.

A split second more and he would have been too late, and that realization blared in every corner of his mind like a siren as he neutralized the second threat. The anger he felt as he held it suspended in the air was more at himself than anything, but right now he didn't have time to waste on feelings of outrage and self-loathing. Micajah was still fuming with fury even after he left the body in pieces on either side of where Cara had fallen. On either side, he realized, of where she was still positioned on the ground; so completely stunned that she hadn't gotten back up.

His eyes stayed locked onto her face, searching her expression for the answer before he even asked.

"Were you bitten?" Please say no, he mentally pleaded. If she was it would be all his fault. He brought her out here to protect her, to keep her with himself so he'd know she was safe. What if he'd ruined her life instead? 'So stupid,' he berated himself again.

Cara shook her head no, and he felt a flood of relief, though it didn't wash away the guilt. The hole in his abdomen screamed in agony as he carefully lowered himself down to kneel in front of her. When she flinched away from him, it took every bit of control he had to keep his voice steady and free of the emotional turmoil eating away at his soul (if he had a soul).

"Here," he handed her back her gun. If she'd known how to use it properly, then she wouldn't have been completely defenseless. "We should get someone to teach you how to use that thing." She seemed to be coming around once she had the gun back in her holster, so he rose up and offered his hand to help her do the same.

He forgot about the blood on his hands until he caught her looking at the smear that transferred to her own palms. Judging by the look of alarm on her face, her thoughts went straight to the worst case scenario, that the blood was from the infected. Maybe it was the guilt again or maybe something else, but for whatever reason that expression struck him in the chest like a lightening bolt; and he was compelled to quickly reassure her that there was no need to be afraid.

"Don't worry, it's not his." He said, gesturing to the scattered zombie parts. Regardless of the reassurance, Cara still wiped her hands as best she could on her flannel. Unsure how it would help at this point, he nonetheless tried to clean his hands off on the bottom of his shirt as well. It was a curious thing, seeing his own blood on her hands, and he stared mesmerized by the way it marked her clothes.

"Who's is it?" She asked, bringing his mind back to the present. For a moment, he debated not telling her. He didn't want her to see him as weak, nor did he want her to see herself as responsible, but there was still plenty of time left before their shift ended, and it would be hard to hide the fact that he was bleeding for that long. That was unless he could consume living blood and start the healing process before their watch was over.

He could hear the subtle thrum of her heartbeat under her skin, and the nearness of fresh blood was tempting, especially while injured. He pursed his lips into a flat line and gazed away from her, locking his eyes on something far off in the distance. The silence that followed grew tense as she waited for him to answer. Which is why he decided to cover up the discomfort of his growing hunger with a taste of grim humor.

"Like I said," he huffed... pointing at the wet spot on his jumper where the bullet tore through, all the while still staring out into the distance. "Lousy sentry," he repeated in his best I-told-you-so voice. When Cara didn't laugh, or say anything at all in the moments to follow, his curiosity got the best of him and he looked over.

"Does it hurt?" She asked when they made eye contact. He hesitated.

"...Yes." He watched her face carefully for a reaction, but her expression stayed surprisingly blank. Like she was calculating something.

"Will you, die?" She asked.

"No," he said definitively. "I'll just feel the pain for a while."

"For how long?" She kept asking questions, and her questions were starting to feel too personal. He motioned for them to resume patrolling.

After about twenty minutes of silence, Cara spoke again.

"We need to do something," she said, and Micajah stopped, confused.

"We are doing something." He pointed out.

"No I mean about your wound. We need to patch it up or something."

"No, we don't." He dismissed the idea.

"Yes, we do," she persisted stubbornly. He sighed and whirled on her, but instead of shrinking back, this time she stepped forward and crossed her arms stubbornly. 'What is going on in that head of hers?' he thought.

"No, we don't. The only thing that's going to heal this hole is fresh, living blood. And unless you're volunteering yours right here and now, it'll have to wait until we get back to the house."

That got a reaction out of her. He saw the color drain from her face, so clearly she wasn't that dead set on helping him out. He turned away and started walking again, sparing her the trouble of backing down.