What We Become | Book Two

4. Vulnerable

The incoming weather had brought a new rush to the town. Everyone seemed to be moving quicker, eager to finish their jobs as quickly as possible to escape the cold.

"Are you not getting back up on the platform, Chris?" Em asked as we walked past the garage he now called his workspace.

He laughed and it echoed off the concrete walls. "I like my feet planted firmly on the ground for now, thanks." He sharpened a knife with both hands. "It feels good not getting shot at."

"That makes two of us," she scoffed, moving her free hand to rub her upper arm.

Chris rolled his eyes and pointed the knife jokingly towards Em. "We've already been through this. I shot in your direction and you moved into it. It doesn't count."

Her shoulders lifted and her eyes narrowed in his direction as she smiled. "I'd say it does-"

"Em!" a voice called from behind. We turned and saw a woman jog towards us. Her face was apologetic, red from the cold.

"Yeah?" Em smiled politely.

"I'm having some trouble with a bandage," the woman admitted. "Do you mind giving me a hand?"

Em shook her head. "Sure, I'll be right there."

"You're a lifesaver," the woman exhaled, looking relieved as she jogged away.

"Em!" Sophia chimed, running towards us. "I hurt my finger!" She held up her index where a drop of blood oozed from a cut.

"Oh no," Em gasped, crouching down and taking a look. "You know what? Luckily for you, I don't think we'll need to amputate."

"Are you sure?" Sophia asked with a wobbly bottom lip.

"Positive," she replied, holding out a hand. "Why don't you come with me and we'll find you a plaster?"

Sophia took her hand, grasping it tightly. "A Barbie one?"

"You can pick whichever one you want."

Em span around with a sympathetic look. "I'll be as quick as I can," she said, giving my hand a squeeze before heading off with Sophia in the direction of the Med House.

Chris had seemed unfazed by the commotion as he continued working.

"Tom seems pretty comfortable on the platform," I said, trying to make conversation. There was no telling how long Em would be, she usually got caught up in other injuries.

He scoffed, glancing up from the knife he admired. "He's definitely better at it than I was."

I shook my head, worried I'd offended him. "That's not what I was trying to say."

"I know," he laughed. "I'm just fucking with you. What are you doing over here anyway?"

I pulled myself up to sit on one of the workbenches. "I'm supposed to be relaxing," I told him.

"Oh..." he replied, almost laughing. "When was the last time you did that?"

"That's what I said," I rolled my eyes. "So, do you need anything from the next supply run?"

He exhaled a laugh. "Now, that's more like it."

He looked around the garage. It hadn't taken long for the shelves to be filled with weapons and ammunition, knives and axes. The hardest part now was keeping track of them all.

"Nothing in particular," he said finally. "But anything you can get your hands on would be good."

My eyes scanned the small room and latched onto the rifle that hung from one of the hooks.