The Last Coffee Shop

Chapter 29: d☠n'ℾ ℲEaR ☥He ℜeαp℈r

"Okay." Mads looked from him to the food, and her stomach growled again.

He didn't open his eyes, but his lips twitched into a bloody smirk. "Eat first. Worry about me later. I just need to . . . sleep."

A minute later his head sagged, and Mads had to lean close to make sure he was still breathing. She poked him, gently, and got no response. "Luc?" She poked him again.

He was asleep or unconscious, or hurt worse than he said and dying. Not great options, all around.

Mads looked around, helpless.

No, she wasn't helpless, that was just an attitude. She took a steadying breath and slowly staggered to her feet. There were ratty blankets on the cot, and it was possible to get water from the bathroom. She might as well see what she had to work with. It wouldn't be worth knocking him out if he died. Besides, she thought, grudgingly, as she stripped the cot, I should at least try.

The blankets were thin and threadbare, so Mads had no trouble tearing them into uneven strips. They didn't look quite like the ones she'd seen in the net dramas, but they'd do. Next, she set a larger piece of blanket under the stingy faucet and turned it on. That dripping water was probably going to take hours to do much. Stupid. Mads didn't watch many net dramas, but the heroines had all seemed to be far better supplied in these situations. Guess I'm not a hero, she thought, resenting Luc, the dramas, and basically everyone who had never had to deal with a half-dead enemy they felt morally obligated to keep alive.

While she was waiting, Mads finally investigated the tray of still steaming food. Mads looked away from Luc's bloody body and devoured the savory stew. It had root vegetables and some tendon-y protein she couldn't (and didn't want to) identify. There was also a rock-hard attempt at some sort of bread. It was dry as sand and felt like lead in Mads' stomach, and she had sudden visions of Krill's perfect buttery scones.

Stars, what would she do for one of those scones now? Many things Mads had thought she was too nice or too good for. This line of thinking was increasingly uncomfortable, so Mads looked back at Luc instead. The sheer amount of blood and dirt stole thoughts of scones and made her regret eating so quickly. While the stew seemed like it would have been delicious if she'd really tasted it, the combination of hastily eaten stew and bread were churning miserably in her previously empty stomach.

Mads looked away from Luc again and investigated the final item on the tray: a small bowl of cold, clear water. Mads cupped the bowl in her hands and enjoyed the cool feel of it against her dry lips.

Behind her, Luc groaned softly, but he didn't seem to be conscious.

Mads felt a pang of guilt, and only allowed herself a few sips of the water. She set it aside and retrieved the stew bowl. Back in the bathroom, she wiped the bowl with a scrap of blanket before exchanging it for the soggy blanket scrap. At least the bowl could collect more water. Was it safe to drink? Did it even matter at this point? If she got out of here, the Peace Keepers would be able to treat a little sickness from bad water, right?

Mads grit her teeth and knelt beside Luc. She quickly realized that net dramas made everything look easier. She wasn't shy of blood or bruising, but the general grossness of mangled, exposed tissue and bloody mud were something else entirely. Mads felt the stew burbling more uneasily in the pit of her gut as she attempted to clean off enough skin to see the real damage.

It was a long while before she could actually make out the wounds, as there was more blood than seemed probable. The mud complicated things, and had an annoying habit of hardening, and strips of Luc's ribboned shirt were crusted into both the mud and the cuts. Adding this to the painfully slow drip of water from the faucet; Mads feared it was truly useless to try to clean anything.