āOne less worry for us,ā Sasuke remarks,ā good thing we managed to gather the few medical supplies from the hospital.ā Otherwise they wouldnāt have gauze to wrap his fresh injuries with. They took a risk and were rewarded well for it. Heās grateful, but the concern of it going wrong the next time lingers. Always.
These runs are largely determined by chance. Unfortunately, him and Gaara are only two people and canāt control enough factors to generate a positive outcome. It pisses him off, but he reminds himself itās better than being alone.
That is worse in some respects. While you donāt have to worry about someone stabbing you in the back or trying to eat you or your dog. Being alone brings itās own set of problems.
Sasuke reaches to stroke his dogās fur. Heās never been alone for long. She came to him after a month or two of him surviving and wandering. Gaara joined up with them some time after. He wonders if more will come to join them.
āSo whatās the next closest location that could have resources,ā he asks once Gaara finishes with his bandages.
Ā Sasuke was agile enough to avoid the most lethal of injuries - a bite or scratch from the undead, no matter how mild, boasted a mortality rate of one hundred percent - but no amount of grace could completely prevent the misfortunes of traversing an abandoned, predator-filed world with only the packs slung around their shoulders and the threadbare shoes on their feet. Theyād had to scale a barbed wire fence to escape the half dozen walkers packed in the ambulance like hibernating bears, and though theyād picked up a hefty amount of supplies on the way out, each of their limbs (and the now-torn clothes over them) had been, to varying degrees, shredded to ribbons.
Ā But no fever, he thought, and no chills. A small comfort. Gaara would take the blood loss.
Ā He looked over the antibiotics and bandages and painkillers and other useful bits spread over the table. They had found refuge in an old barn-turned-workshop, empty, thank God, save for a layer of dust and the faint smell of mold. He stood from Sasukeās torn-up leg, glancing around the mounds of matted hay and half-deconstructed stables, the rusted over workbenches, the wide doors they had barricaded with planks of wood. Wind shrieked against the paneled siding. There were no windows.
Ā āItās getting cold,ā he said, distantly, as though he had barely heard Sasukeās question at all. āWe need to settle somewhere for the winter. We canāt keep on like this once the frost hits.ā
