Survival in the last days of America

Anna led Brian and the others into the clinic. On the left, a few scattered quarantine zone residents sat in the waiting area. In the center of the clinic, several men with deep cuts were supporting each other, shouting for help.

Blood streamed continuously from their wounds—on hands, arms, and legs—dripping onto the smooth tiled floor. A small crowd had gathered around them, which explained why the clinic looked so crowded from the outside.

Moments later, a few nurses in white coats rushed down from the upper floor. They quickly guided the injured men to seats and began frantically cleaning their wounds. But first, as always, they had to confirm whether the patients had supply cards.

It might seem inhumane, but in the quarantine zone, every resident who was willing to work could earn supply cards. If someone didn't have cards, it either meant they hadn't contributed to the zone's labor system—choosing not to work—or they had been robbed. The former, if they refused to contribute, were seen as having no value; if they died from their injuries, few would mourn them. As for the latter—well, they could only consider themselves unlucky.

That said, the zone didn't tolerate robbery. If a theft was reported to the Management Center, the police would investigate. Ever since supply card thefts had started occurring, all residents had been made aware of the need to protect their cards. As a result, actual robberies were relatively rare.

Anna glanced briefly at the slightly chaotic scene beside her, then turned her attention forward, walking straight to the front desk. She addressed a young female nurse behind the counter, who appeared to be around her own age.

"Hello, I'm looking for someone named Marlene. Is she here right now?"

"Ah… ah…!"

The young nurse had been staring at the commotion in the middle of the room when she suddenly heard someone speak beside her. She hadn't been expecting it and took a moment to react.

When she finally turned her head and processed the question, perhaps out of nervousness, she abruptly stood up from her seat.

"M-Marlene isn't here," she stammered. "S-she left not long ago with some soldiers to pick up medicine from Zone G. What… what do you need her for?"

Hearing this, Anna's face fell slightly with disappointment. But she quickly composed herself and asked, "When will she be back?"

The nurse scratched her head, eyes rolling upward as she thought. "I'm not exactly sure… but they've been gone a while. They should return soon."

Anna nodded gently, not pressing further. Since they'd already confirmed Marlene worked here, there was no need to rush. Waiting a little longer wouldn't matter.

She turned and gave a subtle glance to the three behind her, then walked toward the nearby waiting area and took a seat.

"Ah—!"

But just as they passed through the crowd again, a man's agonized scream suddenly pierced the air, followed by a girl's startled cry. The shriek instantly drew the attention of everyone in the clinic.

A large man, his leg badly gashed, was clutching his thigh in obvious pain, roaring at the nurse who had fallen to the floor in front of him.

"Damn it! Can't you even stitch a wound properly? Are you trying to kill me with the pain?!"

The young nurse was fresh out of school—she had never faced a situation like this. She was completely frozen, sitting there in shock, unable to react.

The other nurses who had been preparing to treat additional patients also froze mid-motion, startled by the sudden outburst.

Brian stood silently, observing. He looked at the nurse on the floor, then at the man's leg resting on the treatment table, and at the suturing tools beside it. He raised an eyebrow in confusion. Wasn't suturing something nurses weren't supposed to do—especially not trainees?

Then he remembered: this was the apocalypse. In the early stages, skilled personnel were extremely scarce. Anyone willing to work was a blessing. No one could afford to be picky. As long as the wound was closed, it was considered a success.

Moreover, he noticed the nurse hadn't used any anesthetic. No wonder the man was screaming in pain. But then again, anesthesia was a precious resource—why waste it on a simple suture?

Seeing the terrified girl frozen on the floor, the man slammed his hand on the armrest and shouted toward the front desk, "Don't you have any real doctors here?! I paid my supply cards! Are you seriously letting some rookie girl treat me?!"

The young nurse who had just finished speaking with Anna and was about to relax jumped at the shout. She stammered, "D-Dr. April is… is treating another patient right now. Y-your wound… it's not… not that serious…"

"What?!"

Before she could finish, the man erupted in fury, cutting her off with a roar. He pushed himself up from the chair, clearly ready to cause a scene.

The young nurse, terrified, snapped her mouth shut, tears welling in her eyes as she shrank behind the front desk.

"Sir, please calm down!"

Anna, watching the man's behavior, frowned deeply. She pushed through the crowd in front of her and stepped forward without hesitation.

"They're clearly new graduates," she said firmly. "I'm sure stitching a wound isn't beyond their ability—they just lack practical experience."

"Practical experience?!" the man snapped, almost laughing in disbelief. He pointed at his bleeding leg. "So you expect me to be their practice dummy? I paid my cards!"

Anna let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Let me remind you—this isn't the old world. Paying doesn't make you king here. The world's in ruins. Honestly, if someone's willing to treat you at all, you should be grateful!"

She tilted her chin toward the clinic entrance. "And by the way, there are armed soldiers guarding the door. I'd suggest you think twice before causing trouble."

"You—!"

The man was furious, his face turning red. Instinctively, he looked ready to call on his companions to act. But then he paused, glancing toward the entrance. Sure enough, the soldiers were watching them. He clenched his jaw, hesitated, and finally swallowed his pride. Reason won over rage.

Without sparing the man another glance, Anna turned to the nurse still sitting on the floor, dazed and overwhelmed.

"Don't you have a senior nurse guiding you through sutures?" she asked. "And why didn't you use anesthesia?"

The nurse opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her eyes were wide, still not fully recovered from the shock.

"Well…"

Before Anna could grow impatient, one of the other nurses stepped in. A younger one, clearly anxious, said:

"There's only one experienced person in the whole clinic—Dr. April. Everyone else is new. But just now, an emergency case came in, and she took the patient upstairs. Right after that, these men arrived with serious wounds. We informed her, but she said it was just a simple suture—something we've all learned in training—so she told us to handle it ourselves. So… we did our best."

She swallowed hard, then remembered the second question. "As for the anesthesia…"

She hesitated, glancing around at the others. After a pause, she continued: "Unless it's a critical area—like the face or torso—we're not allowed to use anesthetics for wounds on hands or legs. If the injury is severe, we're supposed to refer the patient to the university hospital in Zone G."

This admission sparked quiet murmurs among the onlookers. But no one foolishly stepped forward to protest or call the policy unjust.

Everyone understood, deep down, that the military's approach was reasonable. Resources had to be used wisely. But understanding didn't erase the discomfort people felt.

Anna looked back and forth, then pointed at the man's wound and asked the nurse on the floor, "Can you still finish the suture?"

"No!" The man shouted before the nurse could respond. "If she does it, I'd rather not get stitched at all!"

"Then leave!" Anna snapped, turning sharply to glare at him. "But don't say I didn't warn you—without stitches, your wound will take much longer to heal, and it's highly likely to get infected."

She turned back to the nurse. "Well? Can you finish it or not?"

By now, the young nurse had regained her composure. She looked down at her still-trembling hands, her expression a mix of shame and fear. Slowly, she shook her head. She didn't say a word.

"Alright. Get up."

Seeing the nurse's silent refusal, Anna showed no sign of frustration. Instead, she reached out, helped the girl to her feet, took the suturing tools from her hand, and said firmly:

"If you can't do it, then I'll show you how. You just watch."