Hatchetfield Stories

I Can Take It

Shoutout to everyone in the EUNH thread for motivating me to finally finish this.

TRIGGER WARNINGS:
-Injury
-Medical stuff

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"Run faster!" Emma yelled, looking back at the horde of zombies that was slowly approaching them.

Paul jostled Emma in his arms, scared he would hurt her as they only tried to delay their their inevitable death, even though neither of them wanted to admit it. The metal pipe that had been stuck in her leg just minutes before was now tied to her leg, holding the improvised tourniquet in place.

Emma had screamed in pain when Paul tied the seatbelt to her leg and tightened it, and apparently, they had heard her. And those fuckers were a lot faster than she'd imagined the zombies in a zombie apocalypse to be.

So they were running through the town, trying to ignore the screams and gunshots and threatening lyrics.

"I think we lost them," Paul whispered, clearly out of breath.

Emma looked around, then gave a small nod. "I don't live far from here, if we could make it to my house we might be able to patch up my leg. At least until help arrives."

Paul nodded, following her directions, and it wasn't long before she sat on the toilet in her bathroom, her leg resting on the bathtub and a first aid kit spread out on the floor, breathing heavily and biting her lip as she poured some disinfectant over her leg.

"Does it need stitches?" Paul asked, his voice shaking.

"Paul. Does this look like the type of injury you just put a bandaid over and it'll heal overnight?"

"No?"

"Then yes, it needs stitches."

The color drained from Paul's already pale face, and he clenched his fists as he tried to hide his obvious discomfort.

"Paul, listen to me. I can tell you don't like blood. And hell, I don't like the thought of some office guy sewing up my flesh any more than you do, but you have to, alright? I'll guide you through, but you'll have to do it."

"Okay... Okay," he muttered, looking away from the gory mess that was her leg.

"Okay, step one: grab the needle and thread it."

Paul grabbed the needle with trembling hands, and by the time he managed to thread it, the rag Emma used to put pressure on the wounds was soaked in blood. She threw it on the floor next to them.

"You're gonna have to hold my leg with your free hand, okay? Moving will only make it worse."

"Can't you just hold still?" Paul asked, his voice shaking and his eyes wide as he stared at her leg, clearly forcing himself to not look away.

"Paul, you have to know that this is going to hurt like hell. I'll try to keep my leg relaxed, but only the tiniest twitch can make this so much more difficult for both of us. Plus, I'd rather spend my energy on not fucking dying than staying still."

Paul nodded. "Okay."

Emma let her head rest against the wall, the cold tiles cooling her down as a feverish sweat overtook her.

Shit. She wouldn't make it, would she?

She pushed the thoughts away, focusing on giving Paul instructions.

"Okay, Paul, just go for it, alright? Try to think of it like repairing a shirt or something, just a lot more gross and sticky."

Paul stared at her leg, and then at the needle in his hand. "Emma... I... I can't."

"Paul. Just get it over with. It'll hurt, but that's okay. I can take it."

He nodded, positioning himself, taking a deep breath, before poking the needle into her flesh.

Emma gritted her teeth, mumbling a strained 'keep going' at Paul when he looked up at her pained whimper. She reached for the bottle she recognized as painkillers, and swallowed two pills dry as Paul continued to sew her skin back together.

"The first one is done," he informed her, gently moving her leg so he could reach the inside of her thigh. Emma cringed as his hands touched her there, but she pushed her discomfort away. Better than dying, she told herself.

Another ten minutes later, he cut the second string and moved to grab a bandage.

"Wrap it tightly," Emma told him, catching her breath. "And then I'll get some fucking sleep. I'm exhausted."

"That's the blood loss, Em."

Emma nodded, looking at how Paul wrapped her leg, wincing as he pressed on the wound when he taped the ends to her leg. "All done!"

"Thanks, Paul. I'm not a doctor, but I think you did a good job."

Paul smiled. "Do you need help getting to your bedroom?"

Emma nodded, and before she knew it, she was lifted into the air again, and gently put down on her bed.

"I'll take the first watch," Paul said. "Do you need anything?"

"I'm just waiting for these painkillers to kick in."

"Okay. I'll be cleaning up the bathroom if you need me."

"Okay."

He turned around, and started walking toward the door.

"And Paul?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."