Chapter 3
Week eighteen and I'm starting to come to the conclusion that my leg injury must've caused minor nerve damage, because my leg still isn't working correctly. Don't get me wrong, I can walk around on my own. Just don't challenge me to any marathons or competitions of elegance. I haven't really left the house since the incident except to work on the farm or perimeter barricade.
Charles has taken over lumber work in my stead. He has really put on his best show of patience and support as I struggle with my mental fortitude as the realization of my now permanent disability leads my thoughts to the imminent conclusion of mortality. Resulting in hypervigilance taking the form of overactive paranoia.
So much so, that it almost cost me his life.
I had told him, I had told him! "It's too late at night, just look how tired you are." I said with concern evident in my expression. He couldn't pull his eyes away from the boarded up window that had just stopped being bashed on. He had been pushing himself too hard, and even though I started working again, he has not slowed down his pace. An unsettling purview of his internal stress and anxiety creeping out from between the plates of the armored facade he attempts to keep.
"If we're quiet, they'll forget and leave." I finish up, trying to catch his eye.
He continues staring at the barricade. "I can't sleep well knowing their right outside." He says, slightly shaking his head. Suddenly he stands up as if he's decided, grabbing his baseball bat as he heads out.
I can't really hold that sentiment against him.. Only that he's risking his life for comfort.. I can't help but wonder if the endless 'killing' is getting to his head. Maybe becoming a way to vent his anxiety. I go back to my workshop with these uncomfortable thoughts going in circles around me, paranoia kicking in, blocking my vision, screaming into my ears.
What if he snaps?
It takes me a few minutes to gather myself so I could finish preparing the boards that I'm going to use tomorrow to improve the eastern farm barricade that almost came down because of a migrating horde the day before.
I got shaken out of the worries circling my person when I hear a scream.
"Crystaaal! Distract them!" It was Charles, he sounded like he was shouting through pain. I froze in place over the table saw, about to finish a board. I warned him. I began the movement required to aid him, yet stopped. Looking down at my gimp leg, I imagined how much help I could be. I head to the window and shouted out. "That's suicidal with this leg!"
"Get out here! I just need you to distract two or three of them so I can finish these ones!" I spot him through the window as he came around the corner. When I got a good look at him I gasped, he was beaten and limping with seven infected closing in.
I can't let him die. I gripped the closest thing that seemed like a weapon; my hammer. And awkwardly handled the rope, jumping out the second story window rappelling down as fast as I could. Hitting the ground hard I stumbled across the street to assist, falling under the scrutiny of three infected. My previous desperation for him to survive left me as the blood left my face. All I can see in my mind is me dead, lying there on the road.
I panicked. Knowing I shouldn't have come. I attacked with adrenaline pumping through my veins. With a sickening crunch of cartilage and bone, the infected's face caved in as my hammer nailed it's nose with all the force I could bring to bare. Before it limply dropped to the ground I was already focused on the next threat.
After dispatching the infected and getting Charles inside, I began diagnostics on him. First his ankle, there was blood seeping through his pant leg and his limp is exaggerated. I cut the clothing to get a better view. With a sharp intake of breath, I stared at the bite mark.
