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Now it's been about a week ever since we met with Marge, the woman back at the campsite incident. She and I get along just fine; Damien and Jack don't seem to have any problems with her either. In fact, at the moment, they're taking turns carrying the injured girl. The way I see them handling this is that one of them holds both their gear and the other carries the girl. Marge and I are carrying our supplies, obviously, being the only two who can defend ourselves. Damien trusted her with his pistol, which was really surprising, so she could help defend our group with me. She accepted, and so far she's been nothing but a big help whenever we ran into a tiny horde. It's a lot easier to take on a horde of twenty to thirty reams with an active shooter rather than without one. Although, my thoughts are usually surrounding the injured girl. According to Marge, she was already unconscious when she found her, so there isn't much information that she could get from it. I just hoped that she wasn't suffering from amnesia through all of this. That, and that she will wake up soon.

We walked for about two hours now, stopping here and there to rest and give me time to hunt any animals for food and materials. Marge was able to use some of the rabbit fur coats I had gathered in my pack with a few materials of her own to create bandages to help treat the girl with temporarily. It will hold for now, but I still felt the need to get her better medical attention, to which Marge wholeheartedly agreed.
"She won't survive long if those wounds of hers are infected," Marge commented when we stopped to rest in a rest stop to treat the girl.
"I agree. That's why I'm hopeful that this city you're talking about at least has a hospital," I agreed, "They may not have the supplies, but at least they will have better material than rabbit hides."
"You have a point," Jack chimed in, "But in all honesty I'm just not too sure she'll hold out."
"That's why we're gonna try to help her," I replied, "To give her the ability to hold out. And hopefully wake up soon."
"You can say that again. She looks too young to die," Damien called out, cleaning out his pistol. Marge must have returned it to him so that he could do his maintenance on it. I nodded, and looked over the girl once more. We replaced her current bloody bandages for the rabbit skin ones ever since I told Marge I had been hunting rabbits whenever Jack, Damien and I ran out of food. I kept their hides in case of emergency even though we didn't know why we would need them, and now looking over the injured girl makes me glad I kept them up until now.

We continued on our way the next day and finally made it to another rest stop. "I think after this one, we should be at the city I was talking about," Marge told me. That's a relief, I thought happily. We had been trying to travel to this city for quite some time now, all for the chance of finding supplies more suited for treating the injured girl we carried with us. With better supplies and a potential shelter she could have a better chance of recovering from whatever ordeal she went through. Seriously though, I thought, her injuries look very severe even with the constant care we've given her, meaning that whatever she got into was really severe. As we continued for the city, I couldn't help but think about why she could be the way she is now. A struggle? A conflict gone out of hand? Whatever the reason was, I didn't believe that it would have warranted for such a devastating outcome.
"Man, it's been about two weeks now and we're STILL not there yet?!" Damien groaned out loud. I didn't bother to look back and retort; a solid slap from the man walking next to him would do it for me.
"Shut up already, you idiot!" Jack reprimanded him for the third time today, "Just suck it up and keep walking. Unless you want the girl to suffer through your whining." Damien replied with mumbles that I couldn't catch, but I figured that they would be curses under his breath for all of the slaps he already had earlier from more recent outbursts from Damien. I couldn't help but give an annoyed sigh; ever since I started traveling with those two, I've come to learn of Damien's impatience the best and how irritating it can get sometimes. I always found it to be a miracle that Jack had handled that so well for so long to be able to stay fighting alongside the guy at times. Marge had been taking it well, I guess, but even she has had her share in slapping Damien to shut up for the injured girl's sake as well as our own.

At long last, after about two weeks of travelling on foot, we made it to the city. The buildings, like everything else in this god-forsaken world, had become decrepit and destroyed. Buildings that once showed the splendor of city-life were now dulled and forlorn. So this is Las Vegas, I thought, how cruel time can be. I had heard about it back before the Reanimation Catastrophe and all of its wonders and glory. To think that what was once one of the most famous places in the world in the state I see it in now; it set a very solemn mood.
"My relatives turned here," I heard Marge say. I turned to her, noticing a longing and hurt look in her eyes. Coming back here, to these memories, must have been quite heavy on her spirit. I began to wonder how many she lost to the sickness. How fast did it happen? What did she do when they passed for the first time? Probably the most morbid thought that stuck to me was how many she had to kill again. Back in the town during the first few days I hung out with Damien and Jack, I came across members of my own family. I was always alone by circumstance during those times, and I killed them all again in tears. I remember the tears I cried, whispering "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" as I forced myself to plunge the knives through their heads. I never opened my eyes when I drove the blades down. I'm more practiced at it now for the moments I have to put down a child ream, but back then I would accidentally stab my legs from missing. My eyes would fly open from the surprise but I would never scream. I just held it in and did the job better at the next strike. They would pester me about my leg wounds and I would tell them that I was still getting used to killing real people, hence why I would close my eyes and strike instead of watching my work.

After a few hours of raiding lost casinos and the occasional home, Jack spots a huge white building that we had yet to search. According to Damien, the size of the building suggested a business office or an old style town hall. I honestly never saw a large hospital before; the closest I can get to imagining such a place would probably be the town's clinic. I wasn't expecting a concrete stone with engravings of the place's name on it. "What the hell is with the sign design? Are they advertising grave sites?" I joked dryly. The others kept silent, focusing their attention towards tearing down the boards that sealed the doors. Getting inside was as bad as how I felt about their sign - fading white walls lined with mildew and mold with lights flickering on and off. "Ain't that a good sign? We can make use of their electricity here if we had the tools," Jack noted aloud, watching the lights. "That is only IF we had the right tools," Marge reiterated, "Now let's search around for a bit. Find something for the girl." She turned to face me, and tilted her head towards Damien in a swift motion, as if asking for me to go with Damien. I nodded, thinking I understood, until Marge yelled towards Damien saying, "Hey Damien! Put the girl down somewhere comfy. This one's gonna watch over her just in case." Damien grunted acknowledgement, and went on his way towards the ER portion of the hospital. Guess I'm on watch duty, I thought. I sighed, resigning to my fate, and hurried over to where Damien was.

I've been waiting here sharping my blades over a good stone I found during our walk from the campsite. It was flat enough to be used as a whetstone, so I used it to sharpen my blades every night during my night watch shifts. That was when I heard the stirring of blankets. It caught me off guard, I'll admit, and at first I thought that someone had broken into the same hospital. There were air vents here, so someone could have quietly slipped in and used one of the cots here as a soft landing pad. I placed my whetstone away into my travel pack once more. I had put my knife belt in my bag to help tear down the boards in front of the hospital earlier, leaving me with only my bayonet. Another rustle, then I heard a groaning sound from close to me. I did jump, but I kept on my guard, looking over to the injured girl to make sure she was alright.

Only to see that same girl with her eyes open looking straight back at me.

Awkward silence lingered in the air. I remained frozen, staring back at her. I'll admit, she was a pretty girl despite her injuries. What didn't help me was that ever since Marge had found her, the only thing that covered the poor girl were blankets she found since the girl's original clothes were so torn up. Hence why the following actions happened after said girl became aware that she was only wearing... her bandages wrapped tightly around her almost nude form: a shrill scream, a slap to my face leaving a red hand mark, and my feeble attempts at trying to calm this girl down as she hides in a corner of the room covering herself with hospital covers while hissing at me to keep my distance like an angry cat.

Why does life hate me sometimes, I wonder. Just what in the name of all that is holy did I do to deserve this punishment?