Cutting Losses

chapter 7

As Bill and Francis moved deeper into the dense forest, following the rusted train tracks, the silence between them was punctuated only by the distant groans of the infected. They had spotted the sign a while back, one that promised a military outpost on the other side of the tracks, but Bill’s skepticism weighed heavy. The old man was hunched, the exhaustion and the relentless tension of their journey evident in every step. His hand, however, remained steady on his rifle, always ready for the next encounter.

Francis glanced over at him, noticing the way Bill winced slightly every few steps, though the older man tried to hide it. The wounds from Emmett’s attack still hadn’t fully healed, but Bill never complained. That wasn't his style. Yet, Francis couldn’t ignore the concern gnawing at him. They both knew what open wounds meant in a world like this.

As they paused near an abandoned train car, Francis finally broke the silence. “Hey, old man... You good?”

Bill looked up, his brow furrowing. “Why the hell wouldn’t I be?”

Francis exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. He knew Bill would brush it off, but something about seeing the man struggle this much bothered him. "Just saying... you’re moving a little slower than usual. And those claws from that psycho weren’t exactly a love tap."

Bill shot him a glance, irritation flashing in his eyes. “I’ve had worse.”

"Sure, but we don’t know what that bastard was turning into. What if—"

“I said I’m fine,” Bill interrupted, his voice low but firm. He turned away, gripping his rifle tighter and continuing down the path.

Francis followed closely, feeling the knot of frustration tighten in his chest. He wasn’t good at the sentimental crap, but he wasn’t blind either. Bill was older, and out here, older meant more vulnerable, no matter how tough the guy was. And those claws? They had sliced through Bill’s side deeper than either of them realized at the time.

"Look, man," Francis muttered, catching up to Bill’s side. "I know you don’t want to hear it, but we made it this far, right? Louis would say to keep going. So, we do what we’ve been doing: push through, but we do it smart, right?"

Bill paused for a moment, his expression softening ever so slightly at the mention of Louis. There was a flicker of something in his eyes, maybe pain, maybe determination, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. He gave a curt nod. “Yeah. So then, let’s keep moving.” he then muttered even more stubbornly.

---

As they scoured the area for supplies, the reality of Bill’s condition became harder to ignore. The wound wasn't infected yet, but Francis could tell the old man was weakening from it. Every now and then, Bill would adjust his shirt to keep it away from the wound and Francis was growing more anxious, though he tried to hide it with his usual tough-guy attitude.

They encountered another wave of common infected not far down the tracks, drawn by the sound of their rummaging. The fight was swift but brutal—each infected falling to well-placed shots or the swing of a blunt weapon. But as the dust settled, Bill leaned heavily on a nearby crate, breathing harder than usual.

Francis, wiping sweat from his brow, shot him a concerned look. “How’s that side, old man?”

Bill waved him off, gritting his teeth. “It’s nothing.”

But Francis wasn’t convinced. “Yeah, well, we’re finding another safe house soon. And when we do, you’re letting me take a look at that. If it gets infected, you’ll be a lot worse off than just limping around.”

Bill grunted in response but didn’t argue.

Francis took that as a small victory.

---

Hours later, as the sky began to darken, they stumbled upon another safe house—a small, dilapidated cabin tucked away in the woods. Bill pushed the door open cautiously, checking the corners before signaling it was clear. They entered, locking the door behind them, the weight of the day’s exhaustion hitting them hard.

Francis dropped his gear near the door, eyeing Bill as the older man sat down heavily on a worn-out couch. The pain on his face, though subtle, was starting to show. His hand instinctively went to his side, touching the area where Emmett’s claws had raked through his skin. He winced but tried to hide it.

"Let me see," Francis muttered, walking over.

Bill sighed heavily but didn’t resist this time. He unbuttoned his jacket, pulling up his shirt to reveal the wound. The area around the cuts looked angry, swollen. It was worse than Francis thought.

“Damn it, Bill,” Francis muttered under his breath, kneeling beside him. “You should’ve said something sooner.”

Bill gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Like you’d listen if you were in my shoes.”

“Maybe not. But I ain’t you.” Francis grabbed a small first aid kit they’d scavenged earlier, pulling out some antiseptic and fresh bandages. He worked in silence, dabbing the wounds gently. “We don’t know what that psycho had, and I don’t want you turning into one of them freaks because you were too damn stubborn.”

Bill stayed quiet for a while, letting Francis work. The old man’s eyes were heavy, exhaustion seeping into his bones. But there was something about Francis’s concern—unspoken, but real—that kept him grounded. When Francis finished, Bill gave him a nod, the smallest gesture of gratitude.

“Thanks,” Bill muttered, leaning back.

“Yeah, yeah,” Francis grunted, sitting across from him. “Just don’t die on me, alright? I don’t feel like babysitting myself.”

Bill smirked, his eyes closing as he settled in. “I’ll try not to.”

---

As night fell, the cabin grew eerily quiet, the only sounds being the faint rustling of wind through the trees outside. Francis kept watch, but his eyes kept drifting to Bill. The thought of losing him, after everything they’d been through, gnawed at him in a way he wasn’t used to. He wasn’t great at showing it, but he needed Bill to make it through this, no matter what.

They had come too far to lose each other now.

Tomorrow, they’d follow those tracks. They’d find the outpost, if it even existed. But tonight, they would rest. The fight wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

And Francis would be damned if he let Bill go down without one hell of a fight.