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“Holy shit!” I scramble up. “What happened?”

He grips the back of the sofa, his knuckles white. “It’ll heal.”

“Sit!” I rush past him and grab supplies from what’s left of my moving boxes. When I get back to the living room, he’s sitting on the floor, his head tilted back as he rests against the sofa.

“I just need a moment.” He bats at my hands as I yank his shirt free of his pants and lift it.

Deep red cuts run along his chest, and there’s a vicious stab wound in his side just south of his ribs. “This …” I can’t form words, only action. With a yank, I lift his shirt the rest of the way up. “Arms up,” I command.

He lifts them slowly, a bemused look on his pale face. Blood is splattered across his cheek and temple.

I toss the ruined shirt aside and pull on gloves. “What did this?” I decide the puncture wound needs care first. The other slashes are deep, but not internal-organ deep.

He groans as I prod gently at the wound.

“It’s not bleeding too badly, but there may be blood inside. Lie back.” I take his forearm and help him to the floor. “God, if this has pierced your kidney …” I wipe at his bloody flesh with alcohol and gauze to get a better look.

“Went straight through. Better that way. Heals faster.” He has the nerve to put his hands behind his head and look down at me with half-lidded eyes.

“This wound is fatal.” I keep wiping the gore away.

“Not for me.” He tenses as I feel around his side to see if there’s an exit wound like he says. There is. A narrow gash mars the flesh on his lower back.

“You could have severed intestines. Sepsis.” I’m out of my depth. “There could be a foreign body still in there. I can’t see well enough without imaging.”

He takes my gloved hand. “I just need time. Save your doctoring for the weak humans.”

I pull my hand away and go back to treating his injuries, cleaning the cuts in his skin. There’s no venom in these like last time. The wounds are clean, probably made by a blade. “Are you going to tell me what happened?” I can’t stop thinking about his kidney, about internal bleeding. He says he’ll heal. He has before. But what if he’s lying? Shit! I should work on the things I actuallycanheal.

Distant gunshots puncture the quiet as I work. “So, that’s a no then? No explanation?”

“You think humans are the only ones at war?” he asks.

“We aren’t at war.”

“You truly believe that?” His voice is mocking.

“I believe we’re surviving. Despite the plague, despite our divisions, we’re surviving.”

He gives me a pitying look. “Most aren’t.”

“They will. We’re going to find the answer. Right here in this lab.”

“So certain?”

“Mock me all you want.”

“I don’t need permission for that, but thank you all the same.”

I swallow down the desire to punch him right in one of his wounds. Instead, I tape some bandages across his chest a bit more roughly than I intended. “What I was going to say is, this virus isn’t the end. We’ll find a way.”

“The virus might not be the end of humanity, no.” He somehow manages to disagree while also agreeing.

“Stop trying to distract me. Why do you show up here injured half the time? Tell me the truth for once.”

“Like I said, my people are at war.”

“Over what?” I eye his bloody shirt and wonder if I can somehow sneak it away from him.