Chapter 2

Week seven, I hear a soft knock on my bedroom door. I lazily throw a pillow at it, sleep slowly disentangling from my mind.

"It's about that time." He calls in. I mumble something back. "What do you want for breakfast?" he continues. I immediately perk up and then recognize his jovial, yet slightly smug tone. Learn how to pull my strings have we? I'll get you back, I think with a mischievous smile.

The morning chores of tending the small farm in the backyard is one of my favorite activities of each day. Afterward, we have breakfast together and then I set out to our impromptu lumber yard. While Charles goes on his morning patrol jog, baseball bat slung over his shoulder.

Later in the afternoon I was working on the roof trying my hand at making a catwalk to our garage. I had prior experience from fencing off and fortifying three houses. How much harder can a catwalk be? Besides, one of my books covered the subject. I had already installed the support beams and now was putting up the actual walk itself. I completed it on the third day. Victoriously walking along the catwalk, I take a few steps onto the garage roof followed by it collapsing under me.

Charles hears the collapse and soon finds me unconscious, leg broken, bleeding out from a deep wound in my thigh. It seems he wasn't the only one who heard. Guttural screaming coming from the distance.

After laying her down in her bed and grabbing the little medical kit she always keeps stocked, he stared into the contents with rapidly escalating panic. 'I have no idea what to do!' He thinks. Having little to no experience with medical application. 'she's always the one sowing me up.'

Every second of hesitation sees more of her blood escaping her body. Yet medical malpractice could very well have the same result. He quickly comes to a conclusion and takes a handkerchief and a bottle of alcohol, wetting the parcel of cotton and placing it under her nose.

I woke into a world of sharp agony, looking up into Charles' pleading eyes and pained expression. I all at once come back to the sharp reality of the situation. I'm still bleeding, there is banging and screaming of the infected downstairs, Charles is worried sick.

"I don't know what to do, walk me through it." He says, failing to sound confident.

"Ok, help me sit up against the headboard." I respond weakly. Sitting up was a miserable affair, though I can finally get a good look at him. He really has lost his nerve. Hands shaking so bad he wasn't going to be any use with a needle. Or pulling out the splinter of wood the length of my forearm protruding from my leg. I clench my teeth. "On second thought, go downstairs and deal with the infected."

He looks at me questioningly. I'm already leaning forward trying to find the best way to go about getting the splinter out, while my hands work on administering painkiller. I glance at his shaking hands, his gaze following mine. I meet his eyes arching an eyebrow with a doubtful expression. He comes back to himself and nods, heading to the door.

I was finally done and utterly exhausted when Charles came in with a tray balanced on one arm. The fragrance of rice porridge immediately becoming prevalent in my room. I pull an eye open to look at the contents of the tray. He didn't stop with porridge.. I dumbly grin at him. Jello, orange juice, water and brandy are also precariously balanced on the surface. He sat in the chair next to my bed the whole night. I was so out of it that I didn't even notice the lack of banging downstairs until the next morning.