@justmilah liked for a Walking Dead starter
Bloodied but alive, Killian staggered back into the camp of ragtag individuals he had formed into a crew, pack laden with the food and medicine he had manged to acquire on a surprisingly bountiful supply run. Handing it over to William - affectionately dubbed Smee - as he entered their put together fortress formed from the shell of an old factory, he left the man to deal with it, sparing him a smile.
Instead, he wandered further into the bowels of the abode that had come to be known as home, searching for Milah. He located her quick enough and wrapped an arm about her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her foreheads. “Can I borrow you, love?” he asked, not waiting for an answer, knowing she’d follow him. Leading the way into the catacombs of the factory, he waited until they were far enough away before lifting his coat sleeve and unwrapping the bandage from his hand.
“Wasn’t so quick this time, love…” he breathed, laughing at himself even as he unveiled the clear bite embedded in the skin. “I’m going to need to ask you to do something awful… but if I don’t get rid of this bloody limb, I’ll become one of them…”
Of course she followed him. Milah had spent the entire time he’d been gone trying to convince herself he would be fine, all but wearing the concrete floor down with her pacing. Logically, she understood. Small groups were safer. They made less noise, could get in and out of places more quickly, and there was less chance of petty squabbling happening. It still never stopped her from worrying. She was just happy she hadn’t clung to him like a frantic child when he’d finally turned back up.
Her heart nearly stopped when he started, and then her blood ran cold as he revealed his hand. For one awful moment she was afraid of what he was asking, not certain if she would have it in her to kill him before he could turn. And then suddenly, an amputation felt so much less horrifying. Moving so deeply into the less populated area of the factory had its advantages. They could amputate and wait and see if they got it in time without causing a panicked uproar.
Still, however preferable an emergency amputation was to his death that did not stop the momentarily weak knees that struck her, and most certainly not in the way he normally inflicted that state upon her. “Don’t...don’t worry,” she said almost absently. “I’ll help you write until you can learn again.” She unbuckled the thick, wide canvas belt she’d pilfered from a military surplus store and used it with a piece of pipe to make a tourniquet, learned from a manual pilfered from the same store. After a quick glance at her watch she scribbled the time on his cheek with a sharpee. Suddenly, and for the first time, she was very glad she had done this before.
“We’re running a bit low on general anesthesia. We also have some local.” She pushed him into a chair as she rifled through cupboards, gathering what she would need from here before moving him. She paused, predicting a possible answer he very well might give. “And please let me sedate you some how. If not for your sake, then at least for mine. I’d rather not awaken to your screams as I do Johnny’s.”