With eyebrows drawn together, he bent over the clicker's corpse and inspected the hole. The bullet was still lodged in its skull, perfectly placed to quickly wipe out the infected one.

Whoever had fired that shot was a good aim.

But it wasn't the perfect shot that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

It was the blood. It wasn't much, just enough to fill a hand with. But blood meant being wounded. And an injury in this world usually meant an infection.

"Shit!", cursing, he stood up and followed the trail carefully.

The spots were not large, barely discernible enough to make out a clear trail.

He traced the red drops to the doorway through which he and you had entered. Carefully, he pushed open the door and took a peek outside.

A heavy sigh left his lips.

It was actually easier to see blood in the snow, but mixed with the dirty earth it was almost impossible. Anything could look like a bloodstain if one had enough imagination.

His lips curled as he pulled his head back. It was a risk to let the one who was bitten go. If the one was bitten.
But as long as there were no strangers in the museum, Joel could at least sleep peacefully.

"I'll take care of that later...", he mumbled, noticing the icy cold clothes on his body again for the first time. "First I want to get undressed and dry."

When there was a knock at the door, you flinched in surprise. You hadn't expected Joel to knock. On the other hand, it seemed quite convenient, then you didn't have to be afraid it would be a stranger and the probability of accidentally shooting him also decreased.

You quickly wrapped the new bandage more tightly around the bleeding wound.

Just at that moment Joel entered the room. A relaxed expression was on his face. But it immediately faded when he saw your leg.

"You are hurt?", he asked and took a step back.

He looked as if he had seen a ghost.

As a matter of course you nodded.

"I cut my leg while fixing the car in my workshop.", you explained, showing him the deep wound that stretched from your ankle to your calf. "It's a little older, but the wound just won't close. Sometimes it tears open. And I have to change the bandage as often as possible to avoid infections."

Cautiously, he came closer to take a closer look at the leg.

Deep wrinkles appeared on his forehead. His shoulders were tense and he held his breath as he let his eyes wander over the leg.

You noticed the gun in his hand.

"You're nervous.", you noted. "What happened?"

Torn from his thoughts, he raised his head.

"Someone was fighting outside with a clicker.", his fingers loosened on the gun. "There was blood, so the person had probably been bitten."

With a grim face, you nodded in understanding and bandaged the rest of the leg.

"As you can see, this is not a bite mark. Based on your statement, I assume you didn't find them?"

He nodded, still tense.

"It wasn't you?"

You shook your head.

"I prepared our sleeping places.", you pointed to the couch, which was now clean and covered with blankets.

Two pillows lay side by side and you had also found a thick blanket to cover up with.

His eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Where did you find that?", he asked, letting his fingers brush over the surprisingly soft sheets.

"There's a basement at the end of the hall. They have a laundry room there.", through clenched teeth you grabbed the sheet you always kept wrapped around your injured leg and pulled it over the bandage like a shield.

"Did you get bitten?", you put a hand on his shoulder.

Somewhat aggressively, he shook the hand off immediately. When he turned to you, his face was dark.

"Do you think I would come back if I was?", he growled and threw the weapon away to peel the wet clothes off his skin.

Demonstratively, he spread his arms and let you look at him from all sides to make sure he had nothing to hide.

Then he looked at you.

Your eyes locked.

A sigh left your lips.

"If you insist.", you mumbled and took off all your clothes except your underwear.

As you turned you could feel his eyes looking you up and down, watching every inch of your body. He already knew the wounds on your neck and face.

But his eyebrows rose in surprise at the scars on your back.

"That is..."

"The past.", you cut him off with an annoyed look on your face. "Like I said, my history isn't all too pretty."

He swallowed thickly. The look in his eyes softened and a hint of regret appeared.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to mistrust you.", he tried to explain.

Again, you cut him off with a raised hand.

"It's fine. I would be worried too, but I trust you. You need my help and I need yours. We don't stab each other's backs until we succeeded."

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I- I don't want to do anything like that. It's just... well you being bitten would have been a loss to me."

Amused, you smirked and dropped onto the couch.

"Thanks for the compliment?", you winked at him.

"How did it happen?", he suddenly asked, taking you by surprise.

"Huh?", your eyebrows rose.

"The scars."

"Hm."

"Don't want to talk about it?"

"No, that's not it. But you might think ill of me."

He laughed, peeling the last remaining wet fabric off his skin and hanging it next to your pants to let everything dry.

"I told you my dark shit. It's your turn now."

"Hey! I already told you I left my parents behind."

"Yes, but I'd like to know about the history of your body."

"Sounds dirty."

He laughed and crawled next to you.

Both smiling, you two stared at the ceiling for a moment. Silence filled the room.

"They tortured me, you know...", you whispered after a while. "The others. They weren't happy that I helped them. Not as the child of my parents."