Shelter In Place: Last Coors Banquet Series Part 2

Shelter in Place Chapter 8 / 14

It had been five days since Kreese had punched the zombie and as Johnny ran, one foot in front of the other on the stupid treadmill, he couldn't help but think about how his hand looked.

Sure, he kept telling himself and Kreese that the cut was looking better, but he knew that every time he took the bandage off that little by little it was looking worse.

After they arrived back at the house, Kreese's hand wrapped in a dishcloth, Johnny had directed him to the kitchen, then pulled out the first aid kit from one of the cupboards.

"I think it's going to be fine," Johnny lied, as he swept cotton wool over Kreese's damaged knuckles, taking care around the already puffy edges of the lightly seeping cut. "It doesn't look as bad as it did earlier."

Kreese winced at the sting of the disinfectant. Johnny looked up at him with a small grin and said, "I thought pain didn't exist in this dojo?"

"It burns," Kreese replied petulantly.

"Quit being a baby," Johnny said, as he placed gauze over the puffy cut, then wrapped a bandage round it. As he finished it with a strip of tape, he asked, "That OK? Not too tight?"

Kreese flexed his fingers. "No, it's good."

"It's definitely looking better," Johnny said as he packed the first aid kit away.

"Time for training," Kreese said, and Johnny rolled his eyes.

On day two Johnny expected to take off the bandage and find it looking angry and red as the infection set in. He was surprised when the flesh looked pale and waxy, and instead of being hot it seemed cool under the disinfectant wipes.

Johnny didn't say that though. He told Kreese that it looked better, hoping to keep his spirits up, even though the man looked less than convinced, but if he didn't say it out loud then it wasn't real.

He didn't say anything on the fourth day when he wiped the pus away and instead of green or yellow discharge, the cotton wool came away streaked with grey. He quickly discarded it out of sight, hoping Kreese hadn't noticed.

On the fifth day he ran on the treadmill, one foot in front of the other, feeling like his heart was going to beat out of his chest even though he wasn't out of breath. He'd only been on the damn thing for five minutes and he felt like he was running from something he couldn't escape.

There was no distraction from his thoughts as he ran, and he couldn't stop thinking about how he'd taken the bandage off Kreese's hand today, and instead of the plain waxy flesh he'd found little spiderwebs of black lines spreading outwards from the edges of the cut.

He hadn't said anything as he wiped away the dark grey pus and cleaned the cut with disinfectant. The antibiotics they'd found in the bathroom of one of the houses weren't working and the infection was clearly getting worse.

Kreese didn't say anything, but Johnny could feel his eyes on him as he bandaged the wound, then put the first aid kit away neatly.

"Time for training, yeah?" Johnny had asked, finally breaking the silence.

Johnny turned up the speed of the treadmill, running faster, trying to clear his brain of his spiralling thoughts.

He heard Kreese saying something, but ignored him and turned the speed up higher again, struggling to stay on the machine as his feet pounded against the rubber track.

He ran, wishing he could go outside, wishing he could run down the streets of Encino, dodging past cars and the dead. He wondered if that would at least break him out of the fog he was in now.