Don't Feed Me, I Will Come Back

two

It hissed and spat at the mare, causing the timid creature to buck, rearing back and throwing Benji off with as much force as a mechanical bull versus a drunken college chick.

  The fall alone cracked one of his ribs, but what truly worried her was the broken limb of a fallen branch imbedded in his side.

She leapt off her own horse, the copperhead now forgotten and slinking away back to it's hole. The mare took off after her friend, but all Z could focus on was the blood. It gushed out from the sides of the branch like hot, sticky honey poured from a jar, soaking the greenery and tinting the grass to an ugly rust.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she muttered to herself, ripping the thin flannel off her shoulders and twisting it into one large strip of fabric. Benji was semi conscious, enough to groan in protest when she lifted his chest to tie the cloth around his ribs, just above the wound, and pulled tight.

She'd used the last of their medical supplies long ago, and had barely more than a sip of water left. Today had been all about scavenging, and now it was too late. She gently pressed on her brother's ribs, noting which areas made him flinch and hiss the most. She was certain he'd have internal bleeding, but if she didn't get the branch out of him soon, a wound like that would take him out first anyway.

With no other options, Z gently scooped Benji off of the ground, wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and shakily set off back the way they came. Surely the owner of those horses would've lived close by, and hopefully their medicine cabinet had something of value.

It was a struggle, to put it mildly. Benji could barely stand on his own, and every step caused a growl of agony to escape his clenched teeth. Z strained under the weight of him, a body made up of thick muscles and heavy bones. Before they'd hobbled in the woods for even ten minutes, sweat was pouring down her temples and pooling under her breasts.

They'd gone at least four miles before they found the house, and by the time they reached the edge of the property, she was practically dragging his limp frame out of the woods. She'd kicked down the side door leading into the kitchen, no longer caring if there was anything dead or alive waiting for them.

All she cared about was getting her brother onto that saggy, puke-brown leather sofa. Once he was resting, on his left side so that the jagged, blood drenched stick was facing up to her, she sprinted upstairs to the first bathroom she could find. She ripped open the mirror on the front of the medicine cabinet, ignoring the way her fingernail snagged and tore away with it. Some ibuprofens, bandaids, pregnancy tests and floss stared back at her.

She slammed the door closed and headed to the bedroom, where she thankfully found another bathroom. She tore through the cabinets and drawers, leaving no nook or cranny unchecked. She managed to find a few pads of gauze, a sewing kit, and oxycodone. Much better luck.

Dashing back downstairs, and nearly tripping on the last two, she whirled around the corner into the kitchen where she looted through every cupboard until she could grab the first bottle of liquor she could find. When she returned to the living room, her brother was passed out on the couch, a line of drool trailing from his lips to his chin.

"Benji," she snapped, slapping him gently on his flushed cheeks. He didn't stir, and she chewed the flesh of her bottom lip as she mapped out her options. "Maybe it's best you're asleep for this anyway."

She straightened her spine, steeling herself for what came next. She wrapped her hand around the bloody branch, wincing at the sick squelch as she slowly pulled it out of him. Immediately, she tossed it to the floor and snagged the blanket off the back of the sofa, pressing the soft fabric into the hole under his rib cage. After a long time, filled with her watching his chest for the slow, steady rhythm of his breath, she replaced the blanket with gauze, gently pulling down the flannel she wrapped around him to keep the gauze in place.