#deadbyleo [001]

[warriorstranded]

he'd  have  to  warn  the  watch,  maybe  take  an  extra  shift  up  top  for  the  night  to  make  sure  all  sides  were  covered.  they  couldn't  risk  a  break-in.  he  knew  that  sooner  or  later,  someone  would  find  them  again,  just  like  they  had  found  survivors  in  the  city  &  took  them  in,  but  he'd  hoped  for  more  time  to  prepare.  they  didn't  have  enough  guns,  hell  -  they  barely  had  enough  melee  weapons  to  arm  everybody  properly.

but  if  their  enemy  was  armed  with  bullets,  they  had  to  be  extra  careful.  the  other  raiders  had  to  know,  too,  so  that  theycould  keep  an  eye  on  each  other  even  more  than  usual.  partially  so  they  didn't  bring  any  unwanted  attention  back  home,  but  also  so  there  wasn't  a  repeat  of  what  happened  to  leo.

he  made  a  mental  note  of  his  next  steps  once  he  was  finished  with  the  young  raider,  "whatcha  find?  an'  why  the  fuck  were  you  out  alone?"  who  let  him  go  outside  alone?  who  needed  to  be  spanked?  patience.  patience.  elijah  knew  he'd  find  out  sooner  or  later.  "left  anythin'  behind  we  gotta  pick  up?"  something  important?  something  useful?  elijah  did  the  best  he  could  with  the  wound,  pressing  leo's  arm  against  his  chest  &  using  some  cloth  to  stop  the  bleeding  for  now.  "think  you  can  mark  where  it  happened  on  the  map  for  me?  wanna  send  a  group  out  to  scan  the  area."

he  got  up  when  ...mostly  done  -  or  at  least  as  done  as  he  could  be  &  held  out  a  hand  to  help  the  young  raider  back  onto  his  feet  to  lead  him  towards  the  infirmary  while  they  spoke.

Leo glanced down at the blood seeping between his fingers, then back up at Elijah. The other man's gaze was steady, assessing. Judging. Leo's jaw tightened. He didn't need anyone's pity or concern.

But the throbbing ache in his shoulder was impossible to ignore, and he knew he couldn't properly treat the wound himself. Not with his dominant arm out of commission.

Bollocks, he thought bitterly. With a grunt, he shrugged his shirt off his injured shoulder, wincing as the fabric peeled away from the bloody mess. The bullet had torn clean through the muscle, leaving a small hole through the front and out the back. It wasn't life-threatening, but it hurt like hell and would need more than a quick patch job.

Leo's first instinct was to brush off the suggestion. He'd had worse, survived worse. But as he tried to flex his fingers, a spike of agony lanced up his arm, making him grit his teeth. Fuck. Maybe Elijah had a point.

"Yeah, some tosser got the jump on me," he muttered, not quite meeting Elijah's eyes. "But I got what we needed." He jerked his chin toward the pack he'd dropped by the door, desperate to steer the focus away from his injury.

He had to assume Elijah was already rummaging through the medkit. The sound of ripping gauze and clinking metal filled the musty air. Leo's fingers twitched, itching to take over, to handle it himself. But his arm throbbed in protest, the muscles seizing up.

Fuck. As much as he hated to admit it, Elijah had a point. The wound needed tending. Better to suck it up and get it over with.

"Fine," he bit out, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. "Do what you have to do. Thanks, by the way… I'll be more careful next time."

[warriorstranded]

when  someone  was  unaccounted  for,  they  had  to  act  fast.  there  were  several  reasons  for  that  to  be  the  case;  death,  sickness  -  which  ultimately  lead  to  death,  secrets.  he  didn't  demand  everybody  share  their  stories  or  halftruths,  or  whatever  else  people  shared  with  each  other  these  days,  but  elijah  needed  people  to  keep  tabs  on  each  other  &  communicate  where  &  when  they  went.  nobody  was  meant  to  be  out  there  alone,  ever.

they  went  in  pairs  at  the  very  least  —  for  back-up,  for  safety  measures,  for  ..  security.  easier  to  notice  if  someone’s  following,  easier  to  help  if  someone’s  hurt.  he  knew  some  wouldn’t  see  it  this  way,  he  knew  many  thought  they  had  to  do  everything  on  their  own  —  he  …  was  one  of  them.  but  he  tried  to  do  better.  they  were  a  group,  they  had  to  have  &  watch  each  other’s  backs  &  they  had  to  accept  each  other’s  help.  none  of  them  would  be  here  if  they  thought  they  were  better  off  alone,  right?

the  hope  was  that  -  sooner  or  later,  everybody  got  that.  he  wasn't  going  to  rush  anybody,  he  wasn't  going  to  enforce  it  -  not  more  than  he  already  did,  but  elijah  was  convinced  that  when  he  could  adjust,  others  could,  too.  whether  that  was  viable  or  not,  they'd  find  out  with  time.  with  only  part  of  the  building  cleared  &  the  understanding  nobody  in  the  group  had  an  actual  death  wish,  finding  people  wasn't  too  difficult.

one  door  after  another  checked,  he  found  blood  on  a  doorknob  &  prepared  for  the  worst.  combat  knife  up,  he  pushed  inside  .....  "fuckin'  hell,  kid.  we  got  docs  for  a  reason."  so  it  was  like  he  thought  -  or  at  least  came  to  the  same  conclusion.  knife  plunged  back  into  its  sheath  on  his  belt,  elijah  stomped  in,  boots  heavy  on  the  wooden  floor  &  fished  the  medkit  out  of  leo's  hands,  ushering  him  to  let  him  see  what  they  were  dealing  with  so  he  could  at  least  patch  him  up  enough  to  make  it  to  the  infirmary.  with  a  decent  patch-up  job  done  (elijah  wasn't  clueless  when  it  came  to  these  things),  he  shook  his  head  a  little.

"got  shot  at?  close  by?  we're  gonna  need  t'put  that  arm  in  a  sling  an'  have  one  of  the  docs  check  it  over,  make  sure  there  ain't  nothin'  left  in  it."  he  could  only  do  so  much  himself.  but  that  was  a  bullet  wound,  so  someone  was  in  the  area.  someone  was  close  to  home.

Open To: Anyone

Blood seeped between Leo's fingers, sticky and warm, as he gripped his shoulder. The wound throbbed a dull ache that sharpened with each cautious step through the dark hallway. Dim light flickered from a broken lamp overhead, the bulb sputtering its last breaths. Dust motes danced in the feeble glow.

Careless, Leo chastised himself, jaw clenched. The scavenging run had started smoothly—in and out of the abandoned store, grabbing essential supplies—until that final moment. He'd got cocky, assuming the area was clear. The shambling figure had lunged from the shadows without warning. Rotten teeth snapped inches from Leo's neck as he grappled with the zombie, muscles burning, pulse roaring in his ears. The creature's bony fingers clawed at his jacket until he managed to jam his knife into its skull with a sickening crunch.

But not before the other one blindsided him, a bullet tearing into his shoulder as he dove for cover. By the time Leo whirled to return fire, the mystery shooter had vanished.

Sloppy. Stupid. He'd limped back to their base, a wounded animal desperate to lick its wounds. The old Dallas Morning News building stood like a crumbling gravestone, windows shattered, edges crumbling. Remnants of the lives once lived here lingered—overturned desks, scattered papers, broken picture frames. The musty smell of decay clung to everything.

Leo navigated the maze of debris, his breath shallow, boots crunching on broken glass. Pain lanced through his arm with every jostle, but he gritted his teeth, swallowing any sounds of distress. He couldn't let the others see him like this—weak, bleeding, barely escaping by the skin of his teeth. In this world, vulnerability was a death sentence. Any hint of frailty, and hungry eyes turned your way, eager to capitalize.

No, he had to handle this himself. Patch up the damage and bury any trace of fallibility. Lock it away, just like he'd done ever since the world went to hell. Trust no one. Rely on no one. Survival was a solo game.

Except... it wasn't quite that simple any more, was it? As much as Leo clung to his lone wolf ways, he couldn't deny he'd grown attached to this ragtag band of survivors.

Leo shrugged out of his jacket, biting back a hiss of pain as the fabric peeled away from his skin. The shirt beneath was soaked crimson, the color almost black. He fumbled for the medkit on his belt, fingers slippery and clumsy. Just as he managed to unclasp it, a sound froze him in place.

Footsteps. Steady, purposeful. Growing louder with each passing second.

Leo's heart stuttered, his grip tightening on the medkit. Shit. Someone was coming. He couldn't let them find him like this.

The door creaked open, and a figure stepped into the room. Leo tensed, bracing for the inevitable fallout. For the questions, the pity, the disappointment.