Dead love in my hands (Troy Otto story/ Fear the walking dead/ ftwd)

Linda and Oliver

"What are you doing?"

"There's a girl in there."

"So what?! Let's go!"

"Troy! Let's stop in case she needs help!"

"I don't care, it's dangerous! We're going forward, hit the gas!" he shouted, pointing vigorously at the road.

"No way. I'm driving and I decide. Imagine if I stood in the road like this!"

He slammed angry his fist on the door.

I pulled over. The girl was in no hurry to come out of her hiding place. Troy opened the window and looked at me with a hint that I should be the one to say something since I decided to help.

"Hey, hey! Need a help?"

There was no response. Troy snorted judgmentally.

"Do you understand English?" I thought she must be from Mexico: "Hola! Hablas Ingles?"

However, she continued to remain silent. I got a little creepy. Great horror movie: some idiot stops in the middle of a zombie apocalypse on the road to help a stranger. I'd condemn the plot...

"Okay, since you don't need any help, we're off!"

Suddenly, a girl stepped out into the road.

"My friend... He's dying. Is there anything you can do to help?" She was crying.

Troy rolled his eyes.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Нe's been shot!" she came to my window.

"Where is he?"

"Della," Troy tugged on my arm, "are you a surgeon?! How can you help him?! Let's get outta here!"

I waved his hand away, repeating the question.

"He's in the car."

I got out of the car and followed her. After a couple seconds, we heard an aggressive slamming of the door. Troy followed us too.

"Who was shooting?"

"A man. I didn't get a good look. We stole his gasoline!"

I looked back at Otto. He was surprised.

The girl introduced herself as Linda. After leading us to an old Chevrolet pickup truck, she sat down on the ground next to us and rested her face in her lap. The guy was lying in the back of the pickup, breathing heavily. Gasoline cans flaunted nearby. Eight of them.

"What's his name?"

The girl was startled by my voice and looked up.

"Oliver..."

"Okay, Oliver, can you hear me?" I looked at him.

He nodded.

I touched his forehead, it was hot. Turning to Troy, I threw him a glance toward our car with a hint of pills. He shook his head negatively.

"Get them, quick!"

Reluctantly, Otto did move toward our Benz Truck. I hoped he understood: I needed anti-inflammatories and antipyretics.

I began to examine Oliver. There were two wounds. One in his forearm. The other in the shoulder. I ripped open his shirt and looked for the exit wound. I breathed a sigh of relief. Both bullets were through and through. I didn't have to pull anything out.

Troy, luckily for me, had brought the entire first aid kit with him.

"I need water."

Linda quickly got a bottle out of the car. After rinsing the wounds with water, I got the antiseptic and started treating them. Fifteen minutes later, Oliver's shoulder and forearm were bandaged. I gave him a few ibuprofen tablets and a painkiller.