KILL BOX_A Post-Apocalyptic Pandemic Thriller by Steven Konkoly

Author:Steven Konkoly [Konkoly, Steven]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-11-28T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 31

Larsen gritted his teeth as Dr. Hale pulled the stitches in his thigh tight and tied a knot, her fingers pressed against the wound. She’d applied the last of the topical anesthetic from the infirmary, which did nothing to dull the deeper pain. The limited medical supplies in NevoTech’s small infirmary must have been gutted by the initial rush of injured employees. Not that any of it could have made much of a difference. The labels on the mostly empty shelves implied that the infirmary focused on treating minor injuries and routine illnesses. Small cuts, scrapes, fever and diarrhea—the kind of things that might distract an employee from work.

On top of that, the employees that had sought shelter on campus had stretched the infirmary’s already limited supplies very thin. Hale had used the rudimentary stitch kit from his IFAK (individual first aid kit) to sew the wound shut, along with the rest of his antibiotic ointment. In hindsight, he should have grabbed Ochoa’s and Ripley’s IFAKs. The kits were basic, but they would give Hale the ability to stabilize and treat some of the more serious wounds that might arise.

“Sorry about that,” said Hale, looking around. “Do you have anything in your kit to wrap this properly? I don’t see any larger bandages. No butterflies either.”

“We can reuse the Israeli,” said Larsen, grabbing the blood-soaked compression bandage.

“I really hate to do that,” she said.

“You can wrap a layer of sterile gauze under it if that makes you feel better,” he said.

“It does,” said Hale. “Sort of.”

Chang stepped into the room with a packed tray of food, closing the door behind him. The smell of French fries hit Larsen first, followed by overcooked hamburger.

“Breakfast of champions,” said Larsen.

“Apparently, they have no shortage of fast-food items in the freezer,” said Chang.

“That smells so good,” said Hale.

“I can finish this on my own,” said Larsen.

Hale didn’t need additional convincing. She scrubbed her hands and joined Chang at the nurse’s desk, barely pausing long enough to swallow between bites. By the time Larsen had reaffixed the blood-soaked Israeli bandage and washed his hands, Chang and Hale were hovering over his food like vultures. He approached them, shaking his head.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say ‘welcome to the 77th annual Hunger Games,’” said Larsen.

Chang and Hale laughed, easing into their seats.

“Literally,” said Chang. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was. I haven’t had much of an appetite over the past twenty-four hours. Kind of hit me all at once.”

“The two of you can split mine,” said Larsen. “I’ll hit up one of the vending machines.”

“I think most of those are empty,” said Chang.

“You need to eat,” said Hale. “You lost too much blood.”

“I feel fine.”

“The adrenaline hasn’t worn off yet,” said Hale. “Trust me. You’re about to crash hard. Eat up.”

Larsen didn’t argue, wolfing down the greasy burger and overcooked fries before either of them changed their minds. He was accustomed to going for long periods of time without eating more than

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