La Mort et ses Merveilles
Chapter 26: Bloodletting
I could only stand there frozen in place, my fingers loosening its grip on the trigger. The man lay dead on the ground, thick, viscous blood pouring from the bullet wound to his head. The walls behind him were sprayed with blood, ejected out of the exit wound when the bullet tore a second hole through his skull.
The trembling girl picked herself up, her legs shaking, her tear-filled eyes staring at the body of the large, burly man that lay in front of her. Her black hair was in a mess, and her brown eyes were opened wide in terror.
I tried to speak, but no words left my lips. My voice seemed to be caught in my throat. What could I say? I'd just killed a man. My heart thumped in my chest, pumping blood and adrenaline into my system.
It was different. It wasn't like putting down the dead. This was a living, breathing person and I just burst his head open. There are many things that should never be seen by anyone's eyes, and the insides of a blown-up head, the mess of red and black, flesh and bone, was one of them. There was an oppressive weight on my shoulders as I realised that I bore the responsibility of snatching away someone's life.
Slowly, I lowered my gun. The girl's brown eyes locked on mine, terrified. But truth be told, I was equally afraid. I could hear her hyperventilate, her chest rapidly moving up and down as she gasped for air.
And as if something jolted her to action, she leapt for the body, pulling the pistol from the dead man's hip.
She aimed the gun straight at me, but her hands were shaking.
"Drop the gun," a frantic voice sounded, full of desperation. "Now."
Raising my other hand up, I did as I was told, slowly putting the gun to the ground. My heart was thumping in my chest, more than it did when Leslie and I fought in the forest. More than the time I met face to face with a zombie for the first time. This girl had no reason to not press the trigger.
"Are you with them?" the girl asked, raising her voice, staring at me with her large brown eyes, reddened eyes filled with tears.
I had only seconds to think. I couldn't make a mistake. Any wrong move, any slip of the tongue and I would end up with a bullet to the chest.
"It's alright," I said, trying to calm her down. "I'm not going to hurt you."
The girl seemed to have calmed down a little, but the gun was still aimed straight at me.
"Look," I said, my hands still raised in front of me. "I saved you, r-remember? I shot him before he could do anything. Everything's okay now, we just gotta get you out of here."
Sniffling, the girl kept silent, no words leaving her lips. But at the same time, I could see the gun lowering just a bit. Clutching her collar with her free hand, she tried to button up the buttons of her flannel shirt that had been violently undone.
The girl looked at me as if she was about to say something, her lips parting slightly.
But it was then when the door slammed open. The young man stood there in his khaki hunting jacket, sweat running down his face. His widened blue eyes looked at the body of his former friend, the burly bald man with tattoos he was just talking to early. Then he set his eyes on the gun that was aimed directly at me, and the girl behind it.
"Leslie, don't!" I yelled, as he stepped forward.
The young man eyed me, then to the terrified girl with the gun. Her hands trembling, she shifted her aim to him, before taking a step back. It was then when the barrel of the gun returned to face me. In the corner of my eye I could see Leslie jolt to action. I tried to reach out to stop him, my arms flailing towards the young man.
But I was too late. He shoved me out of the way, and I fell to the ground.
I didn't know why he'd do something like that. He was always like that, rash and hot-headed. Never really thought about anything that he did.
I'd never forget that deafening bang.
And I'd especially never forget the thud that followed.
I rushed over to him as he held his side with his palm, his jacket quickly stained a deep red.
"No, no, no!" I frantically called out as I knelt down, the tears pooling in my eyes. "Oh my God, Leslie!"
His eyes were shut as he grimaced in pain. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to do when the boy I loved lay there right in front of me on the cold hard concrete, bleeding.
The girl was gone soon after, possibly escaping from the open first door window. And as luck would've had it, things seemed to have calmed outside, the gunfire and the screaming have all but ceased. And it was then when Bradley appeared in the doorway, presumably to check on the group after the spoils of the raid.
He may be a jerk and a cold-blooded killer, but he was my only hope then and there. I almost let out a sigh of relief escape my lips. I was sure he was the only one here that could help me. Gripped in my panic, I could only cling onto Leslie's forearm.
The young man in the letterman jacket looked at the body of his dead friend, before turning to look at Leslie.
"Shit, shit!" he cursed under his breath as he rushed over to me. "How bad is it? Who did this?"
He almost tripped into me as he scampered to Leslie's wounded side, looking at the bleeding bullet wound.
"Don't worry abou-" the young man said as the blood began to trickle down onto the floor, but no sooner than him finishing his sentence was he interrupted by a loud groan.
"We'll get you out of here," Bradley said, propping him up, slinging the young man's arm around his shoulder.
But as he tried to do so, Leslie yelped in pain.
"We can't move him too much," I blurted out, remembering something I've learnt in first aid a long time ago. "We need a canvas or a stretcher, something we can move him without disturbing him too much."
"Right," Bradley muttered, before quickly rushing out, shouting out some orders in the background.
I didn't really remember, the only thing on my mind was the young man in front of me. I clasped his hand between my two palms, squeezing it tight. I pressed against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding somehow. He looked up at me, staring at me with his bright blue eyes. He didn't say anything, but for a brief moment I thought I could see his eyes widening. Fear. He was scared, but he never said it. He was always like that.
"Leslie," I muttered, trying to hide my shaking voice. "You're going to be alright."
And even in so much pain, he managed to force himself to smile.
"R-Really now?" the young man sputtered. "You don't sound half convinced."
He always tried to break the tension, trying to calm me down whenever I got panicky. And even in moments like these, he didn't want me to worry.
"Don't say that," I blurted out. "W-We'll get you home, and Clara will fix you up, it's going to be fine."
The young man looked down to his torso. Down at his side where streams of red were leaking out of the wound, staining both our hands a dark crimson.
"Yeah," the young man panted. "I hope so."
"I hope so too," I muttered.
It was then when someone found a tarmac canvas, and Bradley and a couple of his men rushed into the room. Sure, it wasn't optimal, but it'll do. They placed the young man on it and within a few minutes he was in the back of his own pickup, lying down on the truck bed.
"Can you drive fast?" Bradley asked me as Leslie handed him the keys from his pocket.
"I-I can try," I muttered.
"I think it's better if you'd stay with him," he said to me as he hopped over the side. "You got anything with you? You know. . . Just in case he-"
"Yeah," I interrupted him, cutting him mid-sentence.
"If you need anything just knock on the rear window," the young man said, before jumping into the driver's seat.
Bradley's driving was really fast, the thick forests of the Black Hills zooming past us in a blur. But I didn't care about that. I didn't have the time to look at the scenery. I could never lift my eyes from Leslie. I couldn't bear to.
A part of me felt guilty that I had fought with him the other day. Ironically, it was me who was the one that pulled a trigger on someone. My heart was pounding, my head in a mess. A lot of things had happened within just a few minutes. If I hadn't shot that guy dead the girl wouldn't have got her hands on the gun. And if the girl didn't have the gun, Leslie wouldn't have been shot.
I messed up, and Leslie had to pay the price. All because he went along with my oh so brilliant plan. The both of us were too late. We waited for the main gunfight by the front of the school to die down, but by then most of the damage has been done. I was the one who insisted on waiting for the coast to clear up, and I felt useless. The original plan was to round up the people hiding in the back and cover them while they fled out through the back. But how exactly were those
people going to escape if they were already dead in the various classrooms in the building, lying down in pools of their own blood. They were all dead before we could get to them.
Except for that one girl in the classroom on the first floor. I watched as the burly man dragged her out from the closet she was hiding in, the young women flailing and screaming, desperately trying to break free from his grasp. His back was faced towards the door, so I doubted that he realised me there. But I saw everything, how he dragged the girl down, and pinned her against the floor. I heard her scream, begging for him to stop, but he didn't. I knew I had to do something before he managed to do anything to her, and when he looked up for a brief moment, I saw my chance. It was then when I loaded the bullet in his head.
Yet it was also this girl, the only life I managed to save, that nearly took Leslie's. In retrospect, she acted perfectly reasonably, for someone in her position. A gang just attacked her home, killing everyone she knows, and one of the tried to violate her. When Leslie lunged for her, of course she was going to fire. She had to protect herself. Yet at the same time, I felt like it was my fault. If I hadn't intervened, Leslie wouldn't have been shot. Yet if I didn't, the girl might have been raped and killed, and I don't think I'd be able to live with the fact thjt I was there, and that I could've done something, but I didn't. I don't think I could live with that for the rest of my life.
"It's all my fault," I told him.
"Oh shut up," he said, as I pressed against his wound with a clean towel Bradley had passed to me earlier. "She was about to shoot anyway! Just be glad it was me and not you."
"You okay?" I asked. "How do you feel?"
"Hurts like hell," he replied through gritted teeth. "But I can take a beating."
The bullet had hit him in the lowest rib, and whenever he began to bleed and I applied more preasure, he would wince.
Leslie seemed alright for the time being, as I held his hand. He winced occasionally as the pickup zoomed past a bumpy section of the old road, but I squeezed his hand tighter. It was the least I could do.
He didn't seem to realise that I was the one who shot his bald friend. He just assumed it was the girl. To him, she was about to shoot me too, until he intervened. I had seen him talk to the very same guy I shot earlier, so it wasn't the smartest idea to reveal it to him in the back of the truck. I didn't want to add to his pain.
As for me, I didn't really know how to feel. It was my first time I ever killed a living, breathing person. I'll never forget the way his lifeless body slumped over and fell to the ground once the bullet had shattered his skull. I didn't even know his name.
Yet at the same time, it was the right thing to do. Maybe I was too soft, maybe I wasn't accepting of the reality of this world: people were going to die. In a sense, it had always been there, that penultimate law of nature, it's just that the apocalypse brought it back to the forefront once us humans have grown complacent and comfortable.
Lost in my thought, I finally realised that we were nearly there. I caught sight of the familiar Nebraska meadows, a vast difference from the dense Dakota forests of the Black Hills. The sun was shining brightly, leaning slightly towards the west. It was probably past midday.
I looked down at Leslie, whose eyes were closed. He was probably asleep. I was calmer now, since the bleeding seemed to have slowed down. I took the time to admire his pretty lashes, naturally curly, shining in the midday sun.
In the far horizon, I could see the white walls of the convent, as well as the bell tower towering above the fields.
"We're nearly here Leslie," I told him, shaking him. "Wake up."
His eyes were still closed, so I shook him a little harder. He was probably exhausted from the journey. Yet he remained unresponsive, and I began to panic.
"No, no, no," I muttered under my breath, my heart racing as I placed two fingers right below his nostrils. "Leslie please."
There was still a stream of air flowing as he exhaled, but it was barely there. He had passed out, but he was still alive, at least. But barely. The journey and the blood loss had taken its toll.
"Hold on," I told him, not knowing if he could even hear me. "We're almost home, hang in there okay?"
Pulling up to the convent, Bradley stepped out of the driver's seat and hurried to the back.
"How is he?" he asked as he walked up to the back.
"Not good," I muttered, my voice panicked. "He's passed out. I don't know how much longer he has."
"Shit," he cursed under his breath as he climbed up into the truck bed. "Hang in there man."
With the help of two other guards watching over the gate, we carried Leslie in the canvas to the infirmary.
Clara was jolted to action the moment the doors flew open. Bradley told her that Leslie's been shot, and after instructing us to place him on the bed, she went off in a hurry to get the tools that she needed.
As he lay there, unconscious, I helped to remove his hunting jacket. There was a tear where he had been shot, as well as a large red stain where his blood had spilled. I tried to remove the T-shirt underneath, but it was difficult to try and pull it over his head, and I was afraid all that pulling would disturb the wound even more.
Clara came back with her tools on a tray. Without wasting anytime, she took out a pair of scissors and cut Leslie's bloodstained shirt in the middle, revealing his bare chest. And it was in that moment that Leslie decided to come to, his eyes slowly fluttering open, he looked around, confused. His timing couldn't have been worse.
"W-What's happening?" he said, his voice weak.
"The bullet is lodged in here," Clara calmly explained. "I'm going to have to try and get it out okay?"
The young woman took her time examining the wound.
"Lord Almighty," she muttered under her breath. "There's a few fragments in there, this is going to take a while."
Leslie looked around the room, before our eyes met.
"It's going to be okay," I tried to reassure him, holding his hand.
"This is going to hurt a lot," Clara said as she prepared what she needed to pick out the bullet pieces. "Just a head's up."
It was then when Bradley rummaged something out of his backpack. A small, flat metallic flask.
"You should drink this," he said to Leslie, as he passed the flask to me. "Helps with the pain."
Whiskey.
I was about to pour the liquid down his lips when the door to the infirmary opened again. Walking in her purple sweater was my little sister. She seemed shocked to see Leslie attended to by so many people, bare chested and bloody.
My first instinct was to get her out of there. She shouldn't be seeing this. She didn't need to. It's not something a child should have to see. She was my little sister after all, and I had to protect her.
"Isabella," I called to her, gesturing with my free arm. "Go wait outside. You shouldn't see this."
"What happened to Leslie?" she said as she walked closer to the bed, ignoring everything that I had just said earlier. "Are you okay?"
A weak smile came to his lips. Leslie always seemed to have a soft spot for my little sister. As much as a psychopath he seemed during our first meeting, he was always nice to Isabella. Maybe he did it because he felt guilty for taking her father away, maybe he genuinely cared for her. He was always a hard one to read.
"I'm fine, princess," he said, his voice rather soft, as he reached his arm out for her. "Just a little scratch. Don't worry too much about it."
"Were you shot?" she asked, straight to the point. "You're bleeding a lot."
"Yeah," I told her, bringing the flask to the young man's lips, not intending to waste any more precious time. "You should go and wait outside. It's not pretty."
After a few gulps, I took the flask away from Leslie and returned it to Bradley.
"Why are you telling Bells to leave?" Leslie said, coughing a bit. "I don't mind having her around."
"But don't you think it's a bit too gory for her?" I protested.
"She's seen worse," Clara said, as she handed a clean cloth for Leslie to bite on. "Besides, it's good that she knows what to do in case anyone gets shot."
"Fine," I told her. "You can stay."
Isabella tucked herself between Leslie and I, holding his hand, as Leslie held his breath.
"Jason come here," Clara said as she held a pair of tweezers hovering over the wound. "I need your help."
I went over to the other side of the bed, and acted as Clara's assistant. She told me briefly about what she was going to do, and what I needed to pass to her when she asked for it. The plan was to get rid of all the shards, then sew up the wound. The bullet had hit his lowest rib, and he was lucky the sharp end of the broken rib hadn't punctured his stomach.
Leslie squirmed and yelled throughout the whole procedure, his muffled groans of pain filling the room. Bradley held his legs down, while Isabella and I took one arm each. It was hard trying to hold him down while passing things to Clara, but I managed it nonetheless. It was probably worse to be in Leslie's place.
Midway to the whole procedure, as Clara removed the largest fragment of the bullet, Leslie, all sweaty and pale, passed out again. Clara sewed up the wound without any incident.
"He's lost quite a substantial amount of blood," Clara told me as we finished up. "He'll survive it, but it'll take a few weeks for him to regain his strength. A blood transfusion would be ideal, but we'll just have to wait for his body to produce all that lost blood again."
"What about his fractured rib?" I asked.
"It'll take about a few months," she told me. "In the meanwhile, he has to take some antibiotics to make sure the wound doesn't get infected."
"Do you want me to watch over him?" I volunteered. "You have a lot of things to do."
"Sure thing," she told me. "We can take shifts. But maybe you can start tonight. Go get some rest first, you've been through a lot today."
"Thanks," I told her. "Y-You know, if you need help with him just let me know."
"He'll be fine," she reassured me. "It's already lunchtime, you should go get something to eat. The first few harvest vegetables are here, and we're having roast today. You wouldn't want to miss out."
"I'll be back after lunch," I told her. "Thanks for fixing him up. I wouldn't know what to do if you weren't around."
"I get that a lot," the young woman said with a smile.
I ate lunch alone at our usual table. I was starving, we left so early that morning that neither of us had a chance to eat a proper breakfast. The roast vegetables were good, which was no surprise since the vegetables came from the convent's greenhouses and gardens.
It was then when I noticed a figure walking towards the table, a plate in hand.
It was Bradley.
"Anyone sitting here?" the young man asked pointing to the seat in front of me.
"No," I muttered. "Go ahead."
The young man placed his plate on the table and settled in. As much as I didn't like him, I was grateful for what he did for Leslie.
"Thanks for everything," I said to him as he picked up a piece of roasted aubergine with his fork. "About the whole thing with Leslie. I wouldn't have known what to do if you weren't there."
"It's no problem man," he said. "He's my friend. We look out for each other."
"If there's anything you need from me," I began, saying it out of a courtesy more than anything else. "Do let me know."
"Actually," he said. "There is something I need from you."
My heart thumped in my chest. I never expected the conversation to go that way. Way to go Jason.
"What is it?" I asked, trying to sound as sweet as I could.
"It's about my friend. . . Alan," the young man replied. "The one who was in the room with you when he died. Could you tell me the details about what happened in that room?"
I nearly gulped in fear, but I had to hide it. I couldn't make myself so obvious. A part of me wanted to just cower, to just spill everything and tell him what I did. To beg for forgiveness and maybe that I might be spared out of my own honesty. But I couldn't. He'd kill me for sure.
"I didn't know what happened exactly," I told him, shaking my head. "When I entered the room the girl shot him, then she tried to shoot me and that's when Leslie saved me."
"Say the girl was standing in the room facing the door, since you said that she tried to shoot you, right?" the young man asked.
His questions began to make me feel uneasy. This was more of an interrogation than anything else.
"Yeah, she was," I told him, nervously. "I'm tired and I don't really remember so don't take my word for it I guess."
"That's what I thought," he said. "It's funny how the gunshot wound was inflicted from behind him."
I could almost feel my heart stop beating at that very moment. I had thought that he was about to pounce on me, after having caught me red-handed. But I resolved to keep myself calm.
"That's really strange," I said, my heart thumping loudly in my chest. "So you're saying the girl didn't kill him?"
"If there was a girl in the first place, but I don't doubt that, given that Leslie's shot and some of the guys told me about a girl running off into the woods. They shot at her but she got away," the young man said as he clasped his hands in front of him. "I know you're tired and a lot has happened today, but do you remember anybody else in the room when you stepped in?"
I paused for a moment, deep in thought, trying to concentrate. I pretended I was trying to remember if there was someone else, when in reality I was trying to reconstruct the scene again. That was when I remembered that there was a door to the right of the classroom, leading to the adjacent one.
"I don't really remember a face," I lied. "But I remembered a door slamming to the right of the room after Alan was shot. Maybe the killer got away."
"I suppose so," the young man said, nodding his head, seemingly satisfied with the answer that he got for me. "Whatever, now we know who killed my friend. And it's a shame that we didn't get them all. Oh well."
I only stayed silent as I ate my food. I nearly breathed out a sigh of relief, but I couldn't give myself away. At the very least the suspicion was taken off me. Yet at the same time, something in Bradley's eyes told me he wasn't exactly sold on my story. Finishing up my food, I excused myself, telling him I needed to watch over Leslie.
"Back so soon?" Clara said as I walked back into the infirmary. "That was quick."
"Yeah," I told her. "I couldn't keep my mind off him. Had to come back here as soon as I could."
"Well if that's the case then," the young woman put down her file on the desk. "I'll go take Bells for lunch. You wouldn't mind watching over him would you?"
"Not in the slightest," I told her.
Once she was gone, I slumped myself into the armchair right beside Leslie's bed. The young man was still unconscious. His chest rising up and down as he breathed. I took his hand and held it.
I was at a loss. I didn't know what to do. The conversation with Bradley unnerved me, it was as if he would find out any second. I hoped that I gave enough of a good cover story, that I had pushed the blame away from me, but I wasn't too sure.
Or perhaps he never suspected me at all, and all this while it was just my guilt gnawing away at me. I knew I did the right thing, but I still couldn't get over the fact that I had killed him. Yeah, I told myself, Bradley had no reason to suspect me. I just had to act and pretend everything was normal to avoid arousing any suspicion.
It was then when I could feel a slight squeeze on my hand. I turned to see that Leslie had awoken, his deep set blue eyes were open, looking at me. His cheeks were pale, but that was due to all the blood loss.
"I passed out again didn't I?" he asked, his voice weak as a smile curled up his lips.
"Yeah you did, silly," I said, returning a smirk. "I'm glad you're okay."
"Right," he muttered, as he tried to push himself up from the bed.
"Woah there, what do you think you're doing?" I said to him, as I held his shoulder. "Clara told me that you need to rest."
The young man groaned as he rolled his eyes.
"Boring," he said, shaking his head. "I just wanted to get something to wear, my T-shirt's torn and gone, so you're just gonna leave me hear without a shirt?"
"That dressing needs to be constantly changed, so it's annoying if Clara needs to keep removing your shirt," I explained to him. "And besides, I'm kinda liking what I'm seeing, tiger."
"Oh gross," the young man groaned. "And who's gonna deal with it when my nipples get cold?"
"You're such a baby, you know that?" I chuckled. "We have blankets, and besides, I'm going to keep watch over you all night so I don't think we'll have a problem with your nipples freezing over."
"What're you gonna do?" the young man chuckled, raising his brow. "You're gonna suck them?"
I couldn't help but feel the blood rush to my cheeks as I reeled myself back.
"Well," I said, composing myself. "I guess that's the Leslie I know and love."
The young man chuckled.
"Yeah that's great and all but it'll be great if you got me some water," Leslie said. "My throat is parched."
"Oh, right!" I exclaimed, feeling a little guilty that it took me so long, that I hadn't already thought about that beforehand. "I'll go get it right now."
I was about to rush off, when I felt him grab my wrist.
"Wait," he called out. "One more thing."
"What is it?"
The young man's eyes shifted away for a brief moment, before our gazes met again.
"Can I get one last kiss?" he asked, practically begging me with those icy blue of his.
And with pretty lashes like his, how could I say no?
We shared a short but passionate kiss, our lips meeting in longing. I caressed his cheek, while I held his. His soft lips tasted sweet, with the slight traces of salty sweat. I took all of it in, in a kiss that felt like forever.
Our lips finally parted, but our gazes were still locked. Turning away, I smiled bashful as I walked out of the room. That boy had a way to make me feel safe and secure, even from my most troubling thoughts.
With him by my side, I knew that I was going to be okay.