Until the world falls apart - Fear The Walking Dead

XXIII- Death above us all

I had spent the night trying to see whom I could save and packing up the dead. Needless to say, there were plenty of dead bodies—it was a true slaughterhouse. Between those killed by the poison and others consumed by the undead, the scene was horrifying; my stomach turned multiple times at the sight of such carnage. My mother had managed to catch Ophelia, and God knows I would have put a bullet between her eyes myself for what she had done and for endangering innocents. Everyone was on edge.

Since early morning, after leaving the infirmary, Troy and his men were stacking the bodies in the back of the pickup truck. As for me and a few residents helping me, we did what we could for the sick, hoping their antibodies would fight the poison and they would recover. I could have done so much more if only I knew what type of poison Walker had given Ophelia, but for now, I made do with what I had. Troy and some of his men didn't seem ill; they must not have ingested the poisoned food or drink. Shortly after the attack, during a lull, Troy approached to check on me. He inspected every inch of my body for bites or other injuries, his expression filled with genuine concern. Despite my repeated assurances that I was fine, he wouldn't let it go. His hands trembled slightly, and I could see regret in his eyes—for the terrible things he had said to me.

I felt a wave of hatred rising within me every time he placed his hands on me; I replayed his cruel words in my mind. Yet, a part of me couldn't help but worry about him. I still loved him, despite everything, and the fear of something happening to him mingled with my anger. He had tried to speak, his lips trembling slightly as if searching for words to apologize, but it wasn't the time. A silent pact formed between us, setting aside our conflicting emotions. We had far graver and urgent problems to deal with. Resentment and anger would have to wait. He kissed me on the forehead before disappearing into the night, leaving behind a bittersweet mix of tenderness and pain.

I had ended up rounding up all the militia members to quarantine them for a few hours, to see if the poison would manifest or not. Some wanted to escape, but it was out of the question; I had almost had to threaten them to get them to comply with my orders, but fatigue, stress, and fear eventually subdued them for a few hours. As for Troy, he had adamantly refused to waste time, insisting he felt fine.

I went around checking the soldiers, trying to gauge their temperature with the back of my hand, but most seemed unharmed. As for myself, I settled into a camping chair next to Nick, alternating between attending to others and taking brief rests. I had waited all night to see if Troy would fall ill, but there were no signs of infection. I had Nick lying in a bed without being able to do anything for him, so Troy couldn't afford to be sick, it was out of the question.

Jake and I took charge of making as many decisions as possible. I trusted him, and he seemed to know what he was doing. With so many people around, delegation was essential. For the toughest tasks, I showed him what needed to be done, and we handled things as best as we could. Alicia came to assist us later, doing her utmost as well. The tent was tiny, so we had to expand it and place beds outside to accommodate all the wounded. Beds upon beds were stacked outside on the limited space available.

When I first set up this infirmary, it seemed decently sized, but now it appeared ludicrously inadequate. Racing around and moving between inside and outside the tent, I paused for a few minutes near Nick. He was sweating and unmoving, his heartbeat so faint it seemed almost nonexistent. I couldn't lose him, my twin, the other half of me. I stroked his hair, reminiscing about all the mischief we'd gotten into as kids. Tears threatened to fall, and my nose ran. After a few seconds, I forced myself to move. I wiped my tears with my sleeve and sniffled to push away the sadness. I couldn't break down, not now. I had to stay strong.

A woman outside asked for help; a man wasn't breathing anymore, a stray bullet had struck him tonight. I could only confirm the man's passing. As I went to fetch a sheet to wrap him in, a gunshot echoed through the tent. I dropped the sheet immediately, fear gripping me—what if it was Nick? Rushing inside, I saw Jeremiah, his gun still smoking. Next to Nick, Josh, a young man, had just turned. As a precaution, all patients were handcuffed in case they died and returned.