Officer of the Dead

Chapter Three

Composing yourself, you gently pull away from Ronnie, releasing your grip from around his body. You slowly bring your arms back to your side, deliberately avoiding eye contact with him, worried he'd see all of your vulnerabilities if you did, especially as you could sense his gaze watching your every move as if he were studying it. Normally you'd feel embarrassed by having an emotional outburst in front of someone but given the near-death experience, you figure it was okay, just this once.

You look down at your injured foot, pulling up your jean bottoms and revealing a swelling around your ankle, a purple and black bruise already forming. You trace your fingers over it, pain radiating from your touch as you let out a small whimper.

"You've sprained it," Ronnie says, still kneeling beside you, examining it carefully.

"Is it bad?" you ask, worried.

"It should be okay in a few days, you just need to rest it," he says, rising to his feet, now looking down at you, "What happened back there anyway?"

You pause, considering your answer, still unsure of why you did it. You felt angry with yourself for making such a decision. If he hadn't gotten himself out of the grocery store somehow, you would've been dead. Was it - was he - really worth the risk? You barely knew him, but for some reason, you were inexplicably drawn to him, and it frustrated you. You couldn't make sense of it, nor control it, and it scared you. If today had taught you anything it was that this feeling wasn't safe during an apocalypse, but you couldn't tell him any of that without sounding mad.

"The horde, it came out of nowhere," you begin, "Steve and I fought off what we could but there were too many. I tried to get to you but I fell," you say, as visions of it come flooding back.

"You tried to save me?" Ronnie questions. You nod, still avoiding his gaze. "Promise me, next time you'll put yourself first? Don't risk your life for mine," he says sternly, almost as if he's annoyed with you.

"Okay ... " you reply, feeling small at his apparent disapproval of your earlier decision.

"Good, now let's get you onto the couch," he says as he bends down, placing an arm around your back and his other arm under the bend in your knees. As he lifts you up, you place your arms around his shoulders for support. He smiles as he carries you. "Looks like I'll be looking after you for a few days."

"I'm sorry," you respond, still annoyed at yourself for being so clumsy and falling in the first place.

"No, it's the least I can do," he says, placing you down onto the cream couch. He places a few pillows underneath your foot, raising it up. "Keep it elevated, it'll help reduce the swelling,". You nod at his advice, feeling slightly powerless in your injured state. "If you're okay, I'm going to have a look around, see if I can find some pain killers."

You smile up at him. "I'll be fine, go look," you say, gesturing with your hands for him to go. As he leaves the room, you look around at your surroundings, or "home" for the next few days. The house you are hiding in looks as if it were abandoned suddenly, nothing has been touched. The living room is decorated in neutral cream colors, with another couch opposite the one you're resting on, a coffee table separating them. Along the main wall, there's a fireplace with family photographs sat on top of the surround. You feel a brief wave of sadness rush through you, as you think of your own family. You wonder if you'll ever see them again. You wonder the same about your friends, remembering the events that caused your separation yesterday. In hindsight, you should've known they'd leave you behind - things weren't the same since the breakup, but they were the only friends you had, and you didn't know any better.

"Hey," Ronnie says, entering the room, interrupting your thoughts, "I found some Advil, and the house is well stocked. We've got food, water, blankets, basically everything we need, so I'm ordering a house arrest," he says, chuckling at his joke.