CYOA Page 45

[lumy12]

Page Forty-Five

You sulk and pout and mutter to yourself about how fucking stubborn Joel is, and you're as obnoxious as possible about it, but the only thing that seems to annoy him is that you stay right on his ass while he's searching the bodies.

"This would go a lot faster if you'd go check out the ones I ain't done yet," he feels the need to point out.

"I don't care. If you keel over from the blood loss, I have to stay close enough to catch you."

"I ain't gonna keel over. Ain't even bleedin'."

"Well, if you'd let me see for myself..."

"Later. The sooner we get this done, the sooner you can patch me up to your heart's content, all right?"

You'd best just admit defeat. Or... semi-defeat. "Just the infected. Not all the fucking buildings on this street." There's no need for that on this trip! You're well-provisioned.

"Fine."

You still keep a close eye on him. You haven't seen any blood dripping to the ground, and he doesn't look... unsteady or anything, so... but maybe that's just a really absorbent shirt?

He catches you watching him a couple times. "I promise I'll holler if I'm about to pass out, kiddo."

"Do you feel like you might?" you ask, your alarm renewed.

"No! Shit." He shakes his head and moves on to another corpse.

When you've each collected what little useful booty there is to be had, you look at Joel expectantly. "Now will you let me see it?"

Joel still seems reluctant, but he nods. "A deal is a deal."

"Good. Go sit over there... on that open truck flap... thing."

"Tailgate."

"What?"

"That's what it's called."

"Whatever -- just go fucking sit on it!" The term sounds familiar; you think Joel has mentioned it in connection to some type of party. Having barbecues in a truck bed sounds awfully strange to you, but people in olden times were pretty fucking weird. You fetch a first aid kit from your backpack and follow Joel to the chosen truck.

Joel watches you settle yourself next to him with the kit. "I'm sorry."

Well, that was unexpected! "So you admit you're being stubborn about this for no good reason?"

"I will admit no such thing."

You snort. "Then what are you sorry for?"

"For... pissin' you off about it." He's resting his left hand on his right sleeve, right where it's torn the worst, like he's protecting it (or hiding it?). "But there is a reason."

"What -- that you're a big fat baby? Afraid I'm gonna hurt you?" you tease him (amazing what a legit Joel apology will do for your mood!).

"No," he replies somberly. "I, uh... want you to prepare yourself."

...Fuck! "For what?!"

He looks at you a moment. "Don't freak out, all right?"

"Uhhhhh, too late for that! What the fuck, Joel?!" There's no blood gushing over his hand or anything... "Are you bleeding?"

"No. ...I guess I'd best jus' show you." He starts to tug the ripped sleeve up so you can see what's hiding under there.

What-- oh my God-- it looks like-- You turn away after catching only a glimpse.

It looks way too much like the scar on my arm.

It can't be.

It just fucking CAN'T be.

It's NOT a bite. It's just not.

I can't handle this-- I can't lose him-- there's no way, NO FUCKING WAY THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING THIS ISN'T HAPPENING NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOOOOO



If Joel is infected, turn to page 86.

If Joel is NOT infected because NO FUCKING WAY can he be infected OH MY GOD YOU CAN'T HANDLE IT, turn to page 90.

Comments

Carlos

[(Anonymous)]

oh... Noooooooo!!!!

RE: Carlos

[luminations.livejournal.com]

Oh yessssssssssss!

But see how nice I was? I gave you a way out :)