Laid Up

Well. I'm a dumbass.

I made the mistake of getting out of bed a little too quickly this morning, and I slipped a little. I didn't fall, but I did bang my side on the table next to the bed. Being as I'm still in the clinic, and Gabrielle was watching...I was busted. I'm stuck in bed and only allowed up with assistance. I know truly know how it was for all my patients at the nursing home. My incision hurts so much because of the nasty bump I gave it that I'm not arguing.

As I write this, I'm carefully forking pieces of steak and eggs into my mouth. It's so very good. There's even milk to go with it. Granted, goat milk, but it's better than nothing.

At the same time I'm hearing the sounds of battle outside. About twenty minutes ago two bells went off, signaling an attack force of zombies estimated between one and two hundred in size. I should be freaking out and worried, feeling like an utter bastard for eating this rare and delicious meal while other people fight for my safety, but I'm not.

Two reasons.

First, hitting my side and feeling that sweeping pain like getting kicked between the legs was a reality check. I'm not just hurt, I'm seriously compromised. Out there I'd be a liability to anyone I tried to protect. Long-term thinking has always been our main advantage over the zombie swarms, and that means getting better. Which means I need protein to heal. Which means eating what I'm given. That the meal is tasty and fulfilling isn't my fault. I'd be an ungrateful asshole not to enjoy what I have.

After all, we have so little here at times. We don't live lives of luxury and ease. In a way that's a blessing, because it makes us appreciate the good moments so much more.

The second reason I'm not losing my shit? I'm drugged the hell up.

I don't know what it is, and I don't much care. It's relaxing me without dulling my senses. I feel calm. Concerned about everyone out fighting at the moment, but not anxious with worry over what's happening. No amount of hand-wringing is going to change what happens. Letting my food get cold or skipping a post here today won't either.

Being in the clinic means that I'm not totally out of the loop since medical staff come and go with casualty reports and the occasional new patient. Triage teams have popped in for supplies once or twice, and they know me well enough to rattle off what details they know without being asked.

It's a group of New Breed, but they didn't come from any direction we expected. They hit us from the south, which has been abnormally sparse of them when our scouts and Beaters head that way. We assumed it was because we operate south of New Haven more than most places, and they avoided gathering in large groups there.

But another detail makes me wonder. These New Breed appear to be more ragged and disorganized than the ones we usually deal with. Makes me think they might have come from a long way off with few meals, and we were too tempting a target to pass by. Says something about their self-control that they'd lose cohesion at a certain point. Hunger is one of our deepest primal urges. Even living people will go nuts when they starve long enough. Can't expect better from the undead.

Apparently they're not as spry or strong as their well-fed cousins, either. Our people aren't having too hard a time scything them down, especially since we've got so many new defenses here. There aren't many new patients here at present, and only one so far with a bite. That guy got hit high on his shoulder, almost his neck. He's probably not going to make it. Can't really cut that off, you know?

What's scary is that he was on the wall when it happened. Even weak and disorganized, these New Breed managed to work together. Two of them lifting with interlocked hands as a third sprang onto them, shooting up to grab the top of the wall. How so many of them avoided being annihilated by the air cannons and spear-throwers I don't know. Those defenses should have chewed up at least a hundred of them if they came at us all at once.

Come to think of it, I haven't heard many of the loud hisses that ring out when the air cannons are fired. Almost none at the start of the fight. That's curious.

Ah. Phil just brought me a long roll of raw gauze. He wants me to cut and fold it in case we need it soon. Need to sterilize my hands and go. I'll report in later if possible.