Page 74 of Glass Rose
“Lucky me,” John says.
“Stop talking.”
Gavin vaults over the counter and rummages through shelves. Glass shatters as he knocks something over.
I dig through the remaining supplies in my pack. Bandages, antiseptic wipes, medical tape. Basic shit, but better than nothing.
“Here.” Gavin sets down a bottle of cheap whiskey.
“Perfect.” I unscrew the whiskey cap, the sharp smell burning my nostrils. “This is going to hurt.”
John attempts a smile that is more like a grimace. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Drink some first.”
His hand trembles as he takes the bottle, amber liquid sloshing against the sides. He takes a long pull, before handing it back to me.
“Don’t waste good whiskey on a wound,” he mutters.
“I believe your taste buds got hit, too.” I pour it over his shoulder. “It’s not good.”
His entire body goes rigid, a strangled sound escapingthrough clenched teeth. Bloody foam bubbles from the wound, washing away dirt and fabric fibers.
“Fuck.” His head falls back against the counter.
“Almost done.” I apply fresh gauze over the wound. “Just hold still.”
Gavin positions himself by the window, rifle ready.
“You know what I miss?” John asks. “Internet. Used to waste hours watching those funny dog videos.”
I tape the bandage in place, careful not to put too much pressure on it. “What’s your favorite dog?”
“Staffies. They look like seals when they smile.”
I snort. “Sounds cute.”
“Your hands are steady,” he says. “That’s good.”
They’re not. They’re shaking so badly, I’m surprised I can hold the tape. But I force them to cooperate, because the alternative is watching another person die. And I’m so fucking tired of death.
“You’ll need medication.” I pack up the remaining supplies. “And real medical attention.”
John’s laugh is a dry, brittle sound. “Sure. I’ll just pop over to the emergency room.”
“We could try finding a pharmacy,” Gavin suggests. “Might be picked clean, but worth checking.”
“At least I won’t turn from a bullet wound,” John says.
The memory of Marcus rising from death, despite a bullet through his heart, flashes through my mind with horrific clarity.
“Actually…” My voice sticks in my throat. I clear it. “That’s not true.”
John’s eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”
Gavin turns from the window, catching the gravity in my tone.
“Everyone turns,” I say. “It doesn’t matter if you got bitten or not, or how you die. The virus is in all of us.”
