Zombie survivor

[101] Loss

The squad stumbled into the medical bay, their faces pale and streaked with dirt and sweat. The air inside was heavy with the smell of antiseptic and blood, and the quiet hum of a makeshift generator filled the silence. Morgan and Ms. Heather were lying on separate cots, their injuries freshly cleaned but still wrapped in bandages. A medic hovered over them, adjusting IV lines and dabbing at wounds.

Jean carried one of the boxes of medical supplies, his steps heavy and uneven. Akira was at his side, steadying him as they approached the medic. Garrett followed close behind, the others trailing in a slow, exhausted line.

"We got the meds," Garrett said gruffly, setting a box down on a nearby table with a thud. "It's not much, but it's what we could carry."

The medic glanced up, their face lined with fatigue but tinged with relief. "You have no idea how much this will help," they said, quickly sorting through the supplies. "We've been running on fumes here."

Jean nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line as he leaned heavily against Akira. "Just... make sure they're okay."

The medic moved to Morgan first, checking the IV attached to her arm. Her face was stoic, her piercing blue eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. A cigarette dangled from her lips, unlit. Her shoulder-length auburn hair was matted with sweat, and the lines of pain etched into her face looked deeper than before.

"How's she doing?" Jean asked, his voice strained.

"She'll live," the medic said, adjusting the bandage on Morgan's arm. "But she's lost a lot of blood. It'll take time."

Morgan glanced at Jean briefly, then at the rest of the squad. "You all look like shit," she muttered, her voice raspy.

"Thanks for noticing," Chloe said, her tone sharp but lacking its usual bite. She dropped into a chair, her head in her hands.

Ms. Heather, lying on the next cot, managed a weak smile. Her blonde hair was pulled into a messy bun, and the sparkle that usually lit her blue eyes was dimmed by exhaustion. "I'm so glad you're all okay," she said softly, her voice trembling. "I was so worried..."

The squad didn't respond immediately. The weight of their silence filled the room like a thick fog, and Ms. Heather's smile faltered.

"What happened?" she asked, sitting up slightly despite the medic's protests. "What's wrong?"

Jean exhaled slowly, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "We lost someone."

Ms. Heather's face fell. "Who?"

No one answered right away. Akira's lip trembled as she glanced at Jean, but he avoided her gaze. Chloe sniffled, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. It was Garrett who finally spoke, his voice low and gruff.

"Trev," he said simply. "He didn't make it."

The words hung in the air like a death knell. Ms. Heather's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening in horror. "No... no, not Trevor. Not him," she whispered, her voice cracking.

"He saved us," Jean said, his voice quiet but steady. "He drew the horde away so we could make it back with the supplies. He... he knew what he was doing."

Ms. Heather shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "But he was so... so sweet. I used to tell him he had so much potential. That he could do anything if he just... if he just tried." Her voice broke into a sob, and she buried her face in her hands. "Why did it have to be him?"

The room was silent except for her sobs, each one cutting through the squad like a knife. Jordan looked away, biting his lip. Evan stared at the floor, his hands gripping the edges of his chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. Brittany wiped at her face, smearing her makeup but not bothering to fix it.

Morgan, meanwhile, said nothing. She lay motionless on her cot, her unlit cigarette still dangling from her lips. Her icy blue eyes were unfocused, staring into the middle distance as though she wasn't really there.

Jean watched her closely, his heart heavy. He knew Morgan wasn't the type to cry or scream, but the way she was just... lying there made him feel worse than anything else.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

Morgan didn't respond. Her hand reached up, fumbling for the lighter clipped to her belt. Her fingers trembled as she struck it, the small flame flickering in the dim light. She brought the lighter to her cigarette, but her hand was shaking so badly that she couldn't keep the flame steady.

"Here," Jean said softly, stepping closer. He reached out to help her, but he froze as he noticed something. "Morgan... the cigarette's the wrong way."

Morgan's hand stilled, and she looked at the cigarette in her fingers. The filter was charred from the flame, the tobacco end untouched. She stared at it for a moment, then her hand went limp, and the cigarette slipped from her fingers, landing on the floor with a soft thud.

For a long moment, she didn't move. Then, her shoulders started to shake. A single, choked sob escaped her lips, and her face crumpled. She pressed her hands to her eyes, trying to hide the tears that were now streaming down her face.

"Fuck," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Jean stepped back, giving her space as her quiet sobs filled the room. Akira moved closer to him, her own tears falling silently as she clutched his arm. The rest of the squad stood in stunned silence, unsure of what to do or say.

Ms. Heather's cries grew louder, her grief raw and unfiltered. She clung to the edge of her cot, her whole body shaking as she sobbed into her hands. "He didn't deserve this," she wailed. "He was... he was a good boy."

Morgan's sobs were quieter, but no less painful to hear. The woman who had always been so strong, so unshakable, was now breaking before their eyes. Her hands trembled as she reached for another cigarette, but she ended up crumpling it before it could touch her lips.

Jean turned away, his own tears blurring his vision. He leaned against the wall, letting out a shaky breath as he tried to keep himself together. Akira rested her head against his shoulder, her soft sniffles the only sound she made.

Then silence.

Q: How would you react to the loss of a loved one?