Claire, Monica, Zack, and the others scrambled back into the apartment like a pack of stray dogs.
Slamming the door shut behind them, the whole group stood there soaked in cold sweat, panting heavily.
The worst off were the ones who'd been hit—Zack, Peter, and Gary. They were the vanguard during the assault, the ones who'd gotten closest to Ethan's reinforced front door. And they paid the price.
Claire and Natalie, on the other hand, had stayed in the back, keeping their distance the whole time—intentionally. Not a scratch on them.
That made it even worse.
All seven of them had gone out there, and now only three returned unharmed—two of them conveniently the same women who'd dragged everyone into this mess in the first place.
Initially, the men didn't feel the full extent of the pain. The sub-zero temperatures had numbed their nerves. But once back inside, as they stripped off their layers and checked their wounds, every last trace of adrenaline drained away.
What they saw turned their faces pale.
If they had been shot with ordinary arrows, it would've been bad enough. Pull it out, disinfect, pop a few antibiotics, and hope for the best.
But these weren't ordinary arrows.
They were rusted. Intentionally so.
Without antibiotics or proper treatment, infection was inevitable—and in this apocalyptic deep freeze, infection meant death. A slow, agonizing death.
"No... no no no, this can't be happening!" Zack trembled, pupils dilating as the reality of his situation set in.
SMACK!
A sharp slap rang out in the room.
Monica had just struck Claire across the face.
Every injured man in this room was her friend, colleague, or family. And all of them had gone along with Claire's brilliant idea to raid Ethan's apartment. This was on her.
"You fucking bitch! You said all he had was a reinforced door! You didn't say anything about arrows! You knew, didn't you? That's why you and your little sidekick stood so far back!"
Claire clutched her face, stunned, tears welling in her eyes.
"I-I didn't know! I swear! He never used arrows the last two times we went to his door!"
Peter, despite being wounded, crawled over to shield Claire with his body.
"Monica, stop! It's not her fault. Claire didn't know."
Monica looked at her idiot cousin like he'd grown a second head. She was furious. But before she could snap again, Natalie piped up with a snide mutter.
"You're not hurt either, Monica. You've got some nerve pointing fingers."
"Oh, fuck off," Monica snapped. "I was lucky. That's it. But you two... you two were standing all the way in the back the whole time!"
She pointed to Claire and Natalie. "Get the hell out of here!"
Zack raised a shaky hand to stop her. "Wait... we need help. Someone's gotta tend our wounds."
Even Monica had to admit—he was right.
She turned back toward the women with gritted teeth. "Don't just stand there. Help them."
Claire and Natalie looked at each other, hate flashing in their eyes, but they obeyed.
As they helped peel away layers of clothing, their hands trembled.
Ethan's bolts weren't toys. They were professional-grade hunting bolts, the kind that could pierce a wild boar.
Now they were buried deep inside human muscle.
There was no doctor here. No clinic. No tools. No antibiotics. Just desperation.
Monica finally said, "We have to call Dr. Chloe. She's the only one who might be able to help."
Dr. Chloe.
The same woman who'd saved that little boy's life a few days ago with nothing but a trauma kit and sheer willpower.
Monica stepped into the hallway and made the call.
Ten minutes later, Dr. Chloe arrived—wrapped tightly in a black, knee-length down coat, a metal med-kit slung over her shoulder. Even buried under all that fabric, her elegant, slender figure couldn't be hidden.
Monica greeted her like she was the Second Coming.
"Dr. Chloe, please! You're our only hope."
Chloe glanced around, then moved inside. Her eyes locked onto the wounded.
Another frown.
"Arrows again?" she said, voice flat.
Monica blinked. "Again? Someone else got shot?"
Dr. Chloe stiffened for a moment. "No. Just... previous hospital cases."
She didn't elaborate.
Monica didn't have the time or energy to care. "Please, just help them."
Without wasting time, Chloe knelt beside Peter and checked the wound.
Her frown deepened.
"The damage is deep. Without proper surgical tools and an OR, I can't guarantee anything."
"We don't need guarantees," Monica said. "Just try."
Dr. Chloe shook her head slightly. "These bolts are rusted. If we don't remove them, they'll bleed out. But if we do remove them and we don't have antibiotics... they'll get infected."
"And once the infection sets in..." She didn't finish the sentence.
She didn't need to.
Everyone knew what that meant.
Monica's composure cracked. Her eyes welled up, and tears spilled down her cheeks. Zack, Peter... her people were dying.
All because of Ethan.
"That bastard. That absolute psycho! He did this on purpose! He planned it!"
She clenched her fists. "We just wanted to share his house. That's all. We weren't going to kill him! Why did he have to be so cruel?!"
"Ethan Cross?" Dr. Chloe paused. The name sounded familiar. She vaguely remembered a young, confident guy she'd seen once or twice. Handsome. Quiet.
She hadn't paid him much attention. That wasn't her nature.
But now...
"I'll do what I can," she said coldly. "But you need to understand—without antibiotics, they're probably going to die."
Claire's eyes suddenly lit up. She jumped to her feet.
"Wait—medicine! Ethan has medicine! I remember seeing it!"