Free Z-Risen (Book 3): Poisoned Earth by Timothy W. Long Page A

thing. Get ready to feel a little better about the apocalypse in about twenty minutes,” Roz said.
    “It’ll be over soon, baby.” I tried to sound reassuring.
    “Call me baby again and I’ll jam a pain pill up your ass just before I kick you up and down the camper.”
    “Damn, I like it when you talk dirty.”
    Anna looked away, but a half-smile curled her lips. She lay on the bed with her arm exposed. The wound was an angry red. Hot, puckered infection would kill her if we didn’t get it under control. Roz thought that the best way to take care of Anna was to get the bullet out.
    I took a few steps away and motioned for Roz to join me. I leaned over to talk to her, and kept my voice low.
    “You know how to do this, right?” I asked.
    “In theory, sure. I’ll dig around and pull out the bullet. It’s gonna hurt like a motherfucker.”
    “You’ve done something like this before?” I asked.
    “No, Creed, I have never dug a fucking bullet out of someone’s arm. I’ve never taken a bullet out of anything. I saw a doctor take a lead pellet out of a dog’s flank, but we had to put the little puppy out for the extraction. We can’t do that with Anna--no drugs in our possession that can do that. Besides, there’s no way to monitor her in case her blood pressure drops or she goes into shock."
    “The Percocets should work, right?”
    “It’ll help put her in a haze. I don’t know, it might work. It also depends on how much pain she can tolerate. She’s pretty tough, so it might be a walk in the park. I really wish we had some kind of a local.”
    “Local?”
    “Shot. Some Lidocaine, assuming I could get a hypodermic needle and put it deep enough into the wound.”
    I glanced over my shoulder at Anna, who turned white, which was about what I wanted to do.
    “Just fucking get it over with,” Anna groaned. “You’re about as quiet as a cat in heat. Seriously, Jackson, your whisper is the way normal people talk.”
    “Hey, I’m trying to be sensitive to your needs.”
    “Jesus fucking Christ,” Anna sighed.
    We pulled chairs around Anna and talked about little things while we waited for the pills to kick in. Anna didn’t have to tell me. I saw the glazed look come over her eyes pretty quickly.
    “Okay. I kinda get it now,” she said.
    “Get what?” I asked.
    “Why people get addicted to this shit.”
    Roz and I had found enough half-ass tools to do the deed. I’d found a pair of tweezers with a spring between the tines and managed to flatten the pointed ends with a rock and some oil.
    Then Roz made me boil the shit out them.
    The RV had turned up a number of useful goodies, like a bottle of rubbing alcohol, some peroxide, and small sewing kit. We found a small first aid kit in the RV, too, but the innards had been replaced with dice.
    “Are you going to sew up the wound after the bullet’s out?” I asked Roz.
    “No, because if there’s an infection we’ll end up containing it. Better to just put a bandage on so I can irrigate the wound. Wish I had saline solution, but that water you boiled will be the next best thing.”
    “You’re going to pour water in the hole?” I asked.
    “Yeah,” Roz said.
    I got my degree in medical knowledge from watching TV, so I didn’t argue.
    “Can’t you use some of the alcohol?” I asked.
    “Don’t you even think about pouring alcohol into my arm,” Anna said, and then stared at the ceiling.
    “We won't, because it could damage the tissue. Better to clean it, cover it, and feed her antibiotics.”
    Roz poured alcohol on her hands and then let them air dry.
    “Should I do that?” I asked, nodding at the booze.
    “Keep your hands away from her wound. No telling where they’ve been,” Roz said.
    “Yeah, Creed, you dirty bastard,” Anna laughed. “No telling where they’ve been.”
    “Can you sit up, Anna? I need to be able to drain the area.”
    “Sure. Drain away,” Anna said.
    Roz used a small soda bottle with a hole punched in the cap