archived nyall

❝You heard me, shove over, mate. You shouldn’t be driving like this.❞ He never knew why Max was so damn secretive. He’d been somewhat the same before the whole end of the world thing. It was like he thought he wasn’t actually sick if he didn’t acknowledge it. But if they didn’t do something about that cut he’d be buzzard food in no time. A fever always spelled trouble in the wastes but a fever and an infected wound was almost always a death sentence. Goose would be damned if he let Max die. Nobody else wanted a half-blind half-scorched smartass ex-MFP officer as their travel companion and he was much too social to be alone. And, there was officially no one else alive he loved more.

There’s a moment of silence from Goose, those are rare and usually the exact opposite of a good thing. He’s thinking which is also usually the exact opposite of a good thing. The wound. It looks terrible. He wants to technicolor yawn just from the smell. One’s nose becomes dulled after not bathing for an extended period of time. That was an infection. A bacterial colony feeding off dead skin. What had to happen first? Debridement. He needed a rough cloth and some clean water. After he scrubbed the everliving shot out of it there had to be antibiotics and ointment and bandages. Yes, he knew what to do.

@thatsmyhead continued from here.