I stand up quick off the ground and back off from the man. Using my good arm, I grab my sword off my back and swing it in front of me. I'm tired of this shit.
The man in the cop shirt takes a pistol out of his holster and points it at my head.
The sheriff bursts out the front door. "What is going on here? What are you doing Shane?" he asks with an angry, in-charge tone.
The man (I'm guessing Shane) tells the sheriff, "Rick, she just pulled a sword on me. I was just asking her some questions." He lowers his gun.
Rick nods and turns to me. "Now you tell me the problem. Just put down the sword: none of us want any trouble."
Still a little weary, I slip my sword back into its sheath on my back. "The problem here is that I just saved one of your guys out in the woods. Trying to be a good person, I brought him back to you. My thanks? I just got shot, then dragged around by copper over here, screamed at, and slapped in the face." I say in an angry huff. "Now, if you excuse me, I'm going back to my truck and leaving like I planned to in the first place." I turn to walk back through the field, clutching my injured arm.
"Wait!" Rick calls after me. He steps down off the porch and comes over to me. "Listen, I'm sorry about that." He says quietly to me. "Shane can be a little hot-headed and Andrea accidently shot you and Daryl. If you'll just stay here a while we'll make it up to you. We've got a guy who can fix your arm."
I hesitate for a minute. Do I really want help from someone whose group just shot me? "Okay." I agree anyways. I do need the medical care. "But I have to go get my truck."
He smiles and says good-naturedly, "We'll take care of it when you're recovered." He turns back to the porch and motions for me to follow. He lead my through some rooms with other people I don't know then takes me to a room upstairs. "Hershel used to be a vet, but he's kind of our resident doctor now. He'll fix you up, no worries. He's working on Daryl now."
I walk into a bedroom. Daryl's lying on the bed, all wrapped up in bandages around his torso and head. An older man finishes up the wrappings on Daryl's head then gets up and shakes Rick's hand. "Well, he should be fine, Rick. Nothing hit any vital spots, all he needs is a little rest and he's going to be good as new." the man informs Rick. Rick nods and leaves the room.
He turns to face me. "Are you the other one who got shot?" he asks me.
"Yes. Are you Hershel? Do you think you can fix it?" I ask in return.
"I am Hershel. Why don't you sit down right here and I'll see what I can do about it." He directs me over to a couch with an exam cart next to it. He sits on one side of the table and I sit on the couch. I set my arm up on the table. "I'm going to have to pull down the strap of your tank-top to get at your wound." He does and probes his fingers around my hurt flesh.
"It doesn't look too bad. The bullet didn't go deep and didn't fracture into pieces either, probably because of the long range. Daryl here only got skimmed." I nod and he tells me what he has to do as he does it. "I've got to get the slug out." Hershel says as he digs into the hole in my arm. I wince with the pain and make a fist with my hand. "Let me just cleanse the wound and stitch it closed." He pours peroxide on my shoulder and the burning intensifies. Then, he stitches me closed with a silver needle and black suture thread. "All done." He tells me with a smile.
"Thank God. That hurt like hell. Thanks, though." I say with a smile. "So how's Daryl?" I ask, curious. I mean, I did just go through a lot with the guy.
"The man is tough as nails and should be just fine. He was just concerned for you, and was asking about where you were. He was the one who told Rick to go check on you." Hershel tells me.
