The fire crackled softly, its faint orange glow casting shifting shadows across the rocky outcrop where Reed had made camp. Jenny lay sprawled on a makeshift bedroll beside him, her face pale and slick with sweat, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
Reed crouched beside her, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he studied her arm. Or what was left of it.
It was a mess. The cannibal’s blade had hacked through most of the muscle and tendons, leaving her arm hanging on by what looked like a few stubborn strands of flesh and sinew. Blood oozed sluggishly from the wound, dark and sticky, soaking through the crude bandage he’d wrapped around it during their escape.
He cursed under his breath, sitting back on his heels.
If he’d gotten there sooner—just a minute sooner—he could’ve saved her without this. He could’ve been the hero, swept in like some knight from the old stories. Hell, she’d probably have thrown herself at him after it was all said and done. That was how it worked, wasn’t it? Girls like her always fell for guys like him.
But this?
Reed glanced down at his hunting knife, the blade dull with grease from his last kill. He could still see the faint flecks of dried blood in the grooves. It wasn’t ideal. Nothing about this was ideal.
He leaned closer to Jenny, pressing two fingers to her neck. Her pulse was weak but steady. For now. If he didn’t do something about her arm, though, she wouldn’t make it to morning.
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Reed sighed, grabbing his flask from his pack. It sloshed faintly in his hand, the acrid smell of firewater leaking from the cap. Whiskey would’ve been kinder, but whiskey had been gone from the world for decades. Firewater burned twice as much going down and wasn’t much better for wounds, but it was all he had.
He knelt beside Jenny, gently tilting her head back. “Alright, princess,” he muttered, his voice softer than he expected. “This is gonna be the worst thing you ever feel. If you wake up.”
He tipped the flask against her lips, letting the liquid trickle down her throat. Jenny coughed weakly, her face scrunching up as she instinctively tried to pull away, but she was too far gone to fight him.
Reed folded one of his leather gloves—just a half-glove, really, with the fingertips cut away to keep his trigger fingers free—and placed it between her teeth. “Bite down on this,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.
He took a deep breath and grabbed the knife. The blade wasn’t clean—he wiped it on his trousers, then held it over the fire until the grease burned off in a thin plume of smoke. The steel glowed faintly in the firelight, and he held it there a moment longer, just long enough to make himself believe it would help.
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Reed took a sip from the flask himself, the firewater scorching his throat and settling hot in his chest.
“Here goes,” he muttered, setting the flask aside.
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The first slice was quick, clean as he could make it. The knife bit through the remaining flesh with a sickening squelch, and blood spilled onto the dirt. Jenny jerked violently, a muffled scream escaping around the leather in her mouth. Her body arched against the pain, her remaining hand clawing weakly at the bedroll beneath her.
“Shit,” Reed muttered, pressing her down with one hand. “Stay still, dammit.”
The second cut was harder. He worked fast, sawing through the last stubborn pieces of sinew and cartilage that refused to let go. Jenny’s muffled cries turned into hoarse, ragged gasps, her body shuddering with every breath.
When the arm finally came free, Reed froze for a moment, staring at the limp, bloodied limb in his hands. It felt heavier than it should’ve, like it carried more than just flesh and bone. He hesitated, then grabbed a strip of cloth from his pack and wrapped it tightly around the severed limb, tying it off with quick, practiced movements.
Why he did it, he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like she’d need it back, and it wasn’t for sentimental reasons—he barely knew her. But tossing it aside felt... wrong. Like giving up on something that was still hers. Maybe it was for her. Maybe it was for him.
He set the arm gently to the side, grabbing another folded cloth to press against her stump. Blood seeped through almost immediately, hot and sticky against his fingers.
“Come on,” he growled, grabbing his flask again. He doused the wound in firewater, the liquid hissing faintly against the raw flesh. Jenny spasmed violently, her head snapping to the side as a strangled cry tore from her throat.
“Almost done,” Reed said through gritted teeth, though he wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or himself. He grabbed a strip of cloth from his pack and tied it tightly around the stump, his hands working quickly to knot it in place.
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Reed sat back, his hands trembling as he wiped the knife clean on his trousers. The fire crackled softly beside him, the only sound in the stillness of the night. Jenny had stopped moving, her body limp against the bedroll, her breathing faint but steady.
He stared at her for a long moment, his mind a storm of guilt and regret. This wasn’t how he’d planned for any of this to go.
“Shit,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair again. His eyes drifted to the severed arm, now wrapped neatly in a strip of cloth and lying beside the bedroll like it was waiting for something. A burial, maybe? Or just a way to avoid looking at it for what it was. He shook his head, the question pressing harder in his mind.
“What the hell am I doing?” he whispered to himself, the words heavy with frustration and something else—something he couldn’t quite name. Wrapping it hadn’t made sense then, and it didn’t make sense now. But somehow, letting it lie there as a crumpled, bloody mess had felt worse.
He grabbed the flask, taking a long pull before setting it down beside him. His hand lingered on the knife for a moment, then fell away.
Reed leaned back against the rock behind him, staring up at the stars. He’d done what he could. If she made it through the night, she’d have him to thank. If not... well, at least he’d tried.
“Guess I’m stuck with you now, princess,” he muttered, his voice low.
The fire crackled on, the night stretching endlessly around them.