Chapter 96: Southern hospitality

“They’re not yours. Put them back where you found them, stranger.”

The woman’s voice shook, even though she tried to keep it steady. A bead of sweat slid down her forehead. She wiped it fast, then tightened her grip on the shotgun.

I looked at the barrel. Then at her hands.

They were trembling.

I slowly set the supplies back on the tray. My hand drifted near my waistband for half a second, close to my empty gun.

She flinched hard and raised the shotgun higher.

She had no idea how to use it.

“I don’t want any trouble,” I said. “I just want to save my friend. She’s in bad shape.”

Her eyes flicked to Lila on the stretcher. Pale. Barely moving. For a second, something softened in her face.

Then it vanished.

“Not my problem,” she said, forcing the words out. She gestured toward the door with the barrel. “Take her and get out.”

I frowned.

“You’d really turn away your fellow man?” I kept my voice calm. “She’s dying. We need help.”

“I said it’s not my—”

“What the hell is going on here?”

The voice came from deeper in the building. Old. Rough.

The woman turned quickly, lowering the gun a little. “Pop, these people were trying to steal our stuff!”

An older man stepped into the room. Thin. Gray hair. Sharp eyes that didn’t miss much.

His gaze moved to me. Then to the supplies. Then to Lila.

His brows pulled together.

Silence filled the room.

“I wasn’t trying to steal,” I said. “I didn’t know anyone was here. All I need is help for my friend.”

A beat passed.

“Please.”

He looked at me again. Not just at my face. At my clothes. The dirt. The blood. The way I was standing.

Like he was taking me apart piece by piece.

“You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you, son?”

Something in my chest loosened. I didn’t answer. I let my shoulders sag just enough. Let him see what he wanted to see.

“Agnes,” he said.

The woman stiffened.

“Go get my gloves.”

“But Pop—”

He gave her a look.

She shut her mouth and stormed off, fists tight at her sides.

The old man stepped closer to the stretcher. I stayed where I was, watching every move he made.

As if a sweet old man like him would try something.

“What seems to be the problem?” he asked.

“Gunshot wound.”

He frowned. I moved to the stretcher and lifted the edge of the cloth, showing him.

He leaned in and pressed lightly near the wound, face tightening when he saw the staples.

Lila winced.

“You did this?”

“Yes.”

“With a stapler?”

I opened my mouth to explain, but he spoke first.

“Looks like you were in a tight spot. Running from infected, I presume?”

My hands stayed behind my back.

“Something like that.”

He nodded once. “We’ll have to take these out.”

Agnes came back in, blue gloves in her hand. She shoved them toward him without looking at me.

I watched him pull them on slowly. The snap of latex sounded too loud in the room.

“Is there anything I have to do?” I asked.

“Not for now. Just hold her shoulders for me.”

I moved instantly with that, bracing her down.

He took a small metal tool from the tray. Slid the tip under the first staple.

Lila sucked in a sharp breath.

“It’s alright,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

He squeezed the tool.

The staple bent upward with a small metallic click.

Then he pulled it free.

A thin line of blood welled up.

Lila groaned.

I tightened my grip on her. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

He moved to the next one. Same motion. Under. Squeeze. Pull.

One by one.

Each staple came out with a soft, ugly sound. Blood followed some of them. Others left small openings that immediately began to seep.

When the last one came free, he dropped them into a metal tray. They clinked together.

He grabbed gauze and pressed it firmly against the wound.

“Pressure,” he said. “Keep her still.”

He peeled the gauze back after a moment and frowned.

The skin around the wound was swollen. Red. Edges irritated.

He leaned closer. The room went quiet.

He poured antiseptic over the wound.

Lila cried out. Her body jerked.

I held her down harder. “Stay with me. Stay with me.”

The liquid ran pink down her side.

He began cleaning it properly now. Slow. Thorough. Wiping away dried blood and dirt. Clearing the area like he was erasing my rushed work.

“You should’ve cleaned it deeper,” he said without looking at me.

“We didn’t have time.”

“No one ever does.”

He reached for a needle and thread.

My stomach tightened.

“She’ll need stitches,” he said. “And antibiotics if I have enough left.”

He pushed the needle through the edge of her skin.

Lila screamed.

I felt it in my chest.

He worked steadily. In and out. Pull. Tie. Cut.

“What about the bullet?”

“Looks like it went clean throigh.”

I frowned, not sure what to think. I wasn’t a professional, after all,

Each stitch closed her a little more.

I didn’t realize it was over until it was.

One second I was watching the needle move through her skin. The next, it wasn’t moving at all.

Yet, my eyes still focused on her.

The man placed a hand on my shoulder.

I flinched slightly. I hadn’t even noticed him step back.

“She’ll be okay,” he said.

I looked at him, searching his face for doubt. I didn’t find any. Just tired certainty.

Then I looked back at Lila.

Her breathing was steadier now. The angry red around the wound had been cleaned. Fresh stitches ran along her side, neat and tight. Gauze covered it, taped down properly this time.

“Thank you,” I said. My voice cracked a little. “Thank you so much.”

He gave a small nod. “I’m glad I could help.”

Agnes lingered near the doorway, arms crossed, still watching me like I might try something. I ignored her.

He pulled off his gloves and dropped them into a bin.

“Helping people,” he said, “is about the only thing that makes anyone feel human these days.”

I looked at him when he said that.

The words didn’t feel dramatic. Just honest.

Human.

I hadn’t thought about that in a while. Most days were about surviving. Shooting first. Running faster. Not thinking too hard.

Human felt like something from before.

“Mark,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Adrian,” I replied.

I took it. His grip was firm, steady. Not weak at all.

“She’ll need to rest a few days before you’re back on your feet,” he continued. “I can set up a sleeping bag in the back room. It’s not much, but it’s safe.”

Safe.

The word made me hesitate.

Trust wasn’t something I handed out easily anymore. But he’d just stitched her up without asking for anything in return.

I looked down at Lila again. She looked small on that stretcher.

Then I nodded.

“Okay,” I said quietly. “Thank you.”

Agnes continued to stand in the doorway. Her arms crossed. She looked at me with pure disgust. Then she turned and walked off without a word.

It didn’t matter to me, though.

For the first time since we escaped, I let myself breathe.

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