EXTINCTION EVENT | CARL GRIMES

t w e n t y - t w o ↣ triage

"What are you going to do about it, Meg?" The boy teases, enunciating the foreign nickname.

"That's it." I roll my eyes and stand up. Ron already knows what's coming as by the time I turn around, he's no longer in the room.

His careless footsteps grow distant in the echoing infirmary. Running across the dark room, I peek my head down the hall to see the boy run out the front door.

Ever since Pete took my stitches out a few days ago, I've been less afraid of moving around. I embrace my new mobility, nearly sprinting down the porch stairs and across the yard after a frightened Ron. The distance between us grows shorter as I gain on him, my feet pounding against the grass.

The boy runs too close to the walls, not leaving many choices of direction. He stops as he's cornered and I stand my ground, ready for any of his potential sudden movements. Now facing me, he turns to look my in the eyes.

"Did I tell you that you look pretty today?" The boy says out of his own playful fear.

"Oh, do I now?" I can't help but let a playful smile cross my face as I approach him, causing him to wince and raise his hands in defense.

Over the past few days, the boy's figured out how to push my buttons, and I've figure out how to push his even harder.

I close the space between us and he backs into the metal wall. My stiff hands jab into the boy's sides over and over again as he squirms, trying to swat them away.

The quirk of discomfort, I learned of while trying to teach the boy how to hold a gun. Of course, this distracted us from the lesson.

My arm brushed against his side while showing him the position, causing him to involuntarily wince. Ever since, it's been my favorite thing to use against him—only when prompted.

"Okay! Okay!" The boy calls out, breathlessly. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He profusely apologizes, surrendering to me, as he playfully drops to the ground in defense.

"What's my name?" I ask, taking a break from jabbing my hands at his side. Although my stiff, flat hand stays raised in his field of vision, showing him that I'm not opposed to doing it again.

"Meg—an." He enunciates.

"That's what I thought." I laugh, retreating my once-threatening hand. As a bit of a truce, I overturn my hand and hold it down to the boy on the ground. He grabs onto my forearm and pulls himself up.

"So, are we going again today?" Ron asks as he sarcastically tilts his head. "Or do you have to study?"

"I guess triage can wait." I shrug, pretending to be upset about not being able to study, when the two of us know I'd prefer to take a break.

"What's tree-odge?" Ron's eyes squint a bit and his lip cocks to the side as he tries to pronounce the word.

"Something your dad thought I should learn." I playfully avoid his question.

It is true, though. Pete thought it was important that I learn the harsh reality of medicine in this world of limited resources. After he taught me the basics, of course. "It's like if people were to come back from a run, and some of them were hurt. It's the process of deciding which people are too far gone and who could survive if they got treatment first."