Zedler, M.D. // Daryl Dixon

Chapter Twenty-Four: Code Red

•twenty-four•

Beatrix

"This is so boring," Carl complains for about the fifteenth time.

"Carl, you have to know how to do it if you wanna be a surgeon," I tell him for about the fifteenth time. "Every doctor needs to know how to properly dress a wound."

"Why didn't you make me do this first though? Now I've already seen the cool stuff and that's what I want to do," Carl frowns at me.

"Honestly, I didn't think we'd be here very long because of some things that I really can't discuss with you, but it looks like we'll be fine," I smile at him. "I wanted you and Beth to know how to do the hard stuff that I could only teach you here. I could teach you about dressing wounds anywhere, but I can only teach you about chest tubes in a skills lab. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah," Carl nods and goes back to wrapping up my arm. "Why isn't Beth down here anyway?"

"She already knows how to dress them, her dad taught her, so she decided to stay upstairs and write for a little while," I shrug, and then wiggle my eyebrows. "Why, do you miss her?"

"No, of course not," Carl mumbles, as blush creeping into his cheeks as he looks down.

"Oooh, Carl has a crush on Beth!" I tease him in a singsong voice.

"Shut up, Beatrix. No, I don't," he raises his voice as his cheeks darken.

"Don't worry, bud. Your secret is safe with me," I chuckle and ruffle his hair. "You're what, thirteen? Fourteen?"

"Thirteen," he corrects me.

"Well she's only nineteen. Maybe in a year or two," I shrug and watch him get back to dressing my fake wound, making sure he's doing it correctly.

"If we even make it that long," he mumbles as he continues wrapping up the laceration on my arm.

"Carl, you can't talk like that," I shake my head and grab his face, making him look up at me. "You're not going to die any time soon. We will make it, I know we will. Please, don't give up hope."

"Beatrix, hope is useless now. Everybody dies at some point, and if you just accept that you'll probably die sooner than later, it'll be a lot easier for when it happens," he shakes his head and goes back to wrapping up the laceration. My mouth literally almost drops when he says that; he is thirteen, and this is what he thinks about.

"Carl, I don't ever want to hear you say something like that again. Your dad won't let you die, and neither will I. You're going to be just fine. I'm gonna find a cure, and then we'll all be okay," I place my hand on his arm momentarily before removing it so that he can finish his practice.

"Whatever you wanna think, Bea," he says, looking up as he finally finishes the laceration. "Did I do this right?"

"You sure did," I smile at him, trying to be encouraging. I'm going to have to talk to Lori and Rick about this, and I'm going to have to do it soon. "You've got wound dressings down pat. I think that's all I wanna do today. Would you rather stay down here and hang out, or go upstairs and hang out with your mom?"

"Oh, God, anywhere is better than with my mom," he groans, throwing his head back so far that his dad's hat falls off of his head. He lets out a small laugh before hopping off of his stool to pick it up. Talk about a quick change in attitude.

"Okay," I nod as I stand up, walking over to the white board at the front of the room. "You know how to play hangman?"

"It's only like my favorite game," Carl rolls his eyes jokingly and runs up to sit on the stool right in front of the board.