out an agonized gasp.
"You're awake," says a female voice nearby.
I freeze. Did I imagine that?
Moments later, there's the sound of someone moving across the room, before a silhouette appears in front of the window and finally the curtains are pulled apart. I have to shield my eyes for a moment as I get used to the light, but eventually I realize that there's a middle-aged woman walking slowly toward the bed, with a faint smile on her face. She has short brown hair, and she's one of those people who look effortlessly friendly, which immediately makes me worry that she might be dangerous.
"How are you feeling?" she asks.
I stare at her.
"You should be fine," she continues. "It was only a flesh wound, really. The bullet didn't do any serious damage. You passed out through shock more than anything else. You're going to have some soreness, some stiffness, and some pain, but the wound isn't infected and it'll heal over eventually. There'll be a scar, obviously, but I'm afraid plastic surgery is a little beyond my skill-set right now, especially with the rather limited resources we've got here. Still, at least you'll have a good story to tell people in future. You can tell them you were gunned down by a psychopath when you strayed onto his property shortly after the end of the world began." She sits on the side of the bed and reaches out a hand for me to shake. "Dr. Patricia Connors," she adds. "Pleased to meet you."
I swallow hard, trying to work out what's happening.
"I understand why you might be a little dubious," she continues, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a twisted, black piece of metal. "This is the bullet that hit you. It actually went straight through, but it glanced a piece of bone so there were some pieces of shrapnel that needed to come out. Again, I want to stress that it wasn't anything too serious. You lost some blood, but you'll produce some more soon enough. You were lucky, though. A few inches further toward your neck, or down toward your collarbone, and it would have been much harder to get you through this. In fact, I don't know if I'd have been able to do it, so you should be thankful that you were shot by someone with a good aim."
I look over at the window.
"Your friends are downstairs," she adds. "After the little misunderstanding, everything was worked out. Toad apologized to them, but the truth is that we can't afford to take any risks. There aren't many of us here, and we've already seen the consequences of making a mistake. We had to be absolutely certain that you were who you claimed to be, otherwise the results could have been catastrophic. I know this probably doesn't make too much sense to you right now, but I promise, soon you'll understand." She pauses. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? There's no reason for you to stay in bed. In fact, it might be good if you get up and get a bit of a stretch. You can come downstairs and meet everyone -"
"Everyone?" I ask, interrupting her.
She smiles. "I'm afraid there are a few of us here. Toad's very kindly agreed to let us stay for a while, although he's being a little grumpy about it. From what Carl said, I get the impression that you haven't actually met Toad yet, have you?"
I shake my head.
"He's..." She pauses. "How can I put this? He's a complete ass. Seriously. Just keep out of his way as much as possible. He's not around too much, anyway. He tends to go off into the woods at first light, and he comes back late with his catches. He doesn't say much, and most people have learned to leave him be. Don't be offended if he basically just ignores you. Human interaction isn't really his strong point. The rest of us are friendly enough. We don't bite, although we do expect people to pull their weight around here. You'll get cut a little slack because of your injuries, but fundamentally, if you don't pitch in, you'll be asked to leave. Is that clear?" She waits for me to reply. "I'm serious. No freeloaders are allowed around here. You do your
"You're awake," says a female voice nearby.
I freeze. Did I imagine that?
Moments later, there's the sound of someone moving across the room, before a silhouette appears in front of the window and finally the curtains are pulled apart. I have to shield my eyes for a moment as I get used to the light, but eventually I realize that there's a middle-aged woman walking slowly toward the bed, with a faint smile on her face. She has short brown hair, and she's one of those people who look effortlessly friendly, which immediately makes me worry that she might be dangerous.
"How are you feeling?" she asks.
I stare at her.
"You should be fine," she continues. "It was only a flesh wound, really. The bullet didn't do any serious damage. You passed out through shock more than anything else. You're going to have some soreness, some stiffness, and some pain, but the wound isn't infected and it'll heal over eventually. There'll be a scar, obviously, but I'm afraid plastic surgery is a little beyond my skill-set right now, especially with the rather limited resources we've got here. Still, at least you'll have a good story to tell people in future. You can tell them you were gunned down by a psychopath when you strayed onto his property shortly after the end of the world began." She sits on the side of the bed and reaches out a hand for me to shake. "Dr. Patricia Connors," she adds. "Pleased to meet you."
I swallow hard, trying to work out what's happening.
"I understand why you might be a little dubious," she continues, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a twisted, black piece of metal. "This is the bullet that hit you. It actually went straight through, but it glanced a piece of bone so there were some pieces of shrapnel that needed to come out. Again, I want to stress that it wasn't anything too serious. You lost some blood, but you'll produce some more soon enough. You were lucky, though. A few inches further toward your neck, or down toward your collarbone, and it would have been much harder to get you through this. In fact, I don't know if I'd have been able to do it, so you should be thankful that you were shot by someone with a good aim."
I look over at the window.
"Your friends are downstairs," she adds. "After the little misunderstanding, everything was worked out. Toad apologized to them, but the truth is that we can't afford to take any risks. There aren't many of us here, and we've already seen the consequences of making a mistake. We had to be absolutely certain that you were who you claimed to be, otherwise the results could have been catastrophic. I know this probably doesn't make too much sense to you right now, but I promise, soon you'll understand." She pauses. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? There's no reason for you to stay in bed. In fact, it might be good if you get up and get a bit of a stretch. You can come downstairs and meet everyone -"
"Everyone?" I ask, interrupting her.
She smiles. "I'm afraid there are a few of us here. Toad's very kindly agreed to let us stay for a while, although he's being a little grumpy about it. From what Carl said, I get the impression that you haven't actually met Toad yet, have you?"
I shake my head.
"He's..." She pauses. "How can I put this? He's a complete ass. Seriously. Just keep out of his way as much as possible. He's not around too much, anyway. He tends to go off into the woods at first light, and he comes back late with his catches. He doesn't say much, and most people have learned to leave him be. Don't be offended if he basically just ignores you. Human interaction isn't really his strong point. The rest of us are friendly enough. We don't bite, although we do expect people to pull their weight around here. You'll get cut a little slack because of your injuries, but fundamentally, if you don't pitch in, you'll be asked to leave. Is that clear?" She waits for me to reply. "I'm serious. No freeloaders are allowed around here. You do your
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