[TWD x Resident Evil] — Chapter 279 - The Prison United

In the infirmary, Lee Mi-joo had changed into sterile scrubs, but the scalpel in her grip was trembling worse than a Parkinson's patient.

She was a surgical intern.

She'd never even led a single surgery before Leon yanked her away to be his private nurse!

The worst thing she'd ever treated was stitching up a machete gash on a gang member's ass.

And now they wanted her to handle a patient with a punctured lung?

"I... I..."

She stared at Mia lying on the operating table, blood still seeping through the chest wound, and her own face went even paler than the patient's.

Her lips shook. Not a word came out.

"Lee Mi-joo."

Leon walked in. He shut the door behind him, cutting off the noise outside.

He crossed to her side. He didn't scold her. Didn't push her.

He just placed his hand gently on her shoulder.

"I know you're scared."

"But right now, in this entire prison, you are the only one who can save her. Hershel is a veterinarian. You're the only real professional we've got."

"I don't care what you were before. From this moment on, you are the doctor. The best surgeon in this place."

"Be bold. Do it. Whatever you need, I'll find it. And if it goes wrong, no one will blame you."

Lee Mi-joo raised her head. She looked into Leon's eyes, something encouraging in them, then looked at the girl on the table whose life hung by a thread.

She took a deep breath.

That fear, the kind that lived all the way down in the bones, was crushed by something even stronger.

The weight of being trusted. Of being needed.

"Scissors!"

Her voice still shook. Her eyes didn't.

"Gauze! Hemostats!"

She started issuing orders to the freshly trained female inmates like she'd been doing it her whole life.

"No good! She's lost too much blood!"

When she saw the wound still pumping, the tension slammed back into her voice.

"Blood pressure is dropping fast! We need a transfusion now!"

"Take mine!"

Glenn shoved his arm forward without hesitation.

"Hold on! We don't know her blood type yet! Wait for the results!" Lee Mi-joo snapped.

"Go run the test!"

A few minutes later, she held a crude set of results.

"Type B. She's type B."

"What's mine?" Glenn asked, urgent.

"You..." Lee Mi-joo stared at the second report, her eyes going wide.

"You're type B too."

"Then draw it." Glenn thrust his arm out in front of her. No room for argument in his voice.

"Hurry."

The thick needle sank into his vein. Warm blood moved through the clear tubing and slowly filled the blood bag.

The surgery continued.

Glenn's face drained steadily as the bag filled.

"Enough! We can't take any more!"

Lee Mi-joo looked at him, already lightheaded, blinking through the dizziness — and forced herself to speak.

"You've hit the limit. Keep going and she won't make it before you do."

"Don't worry about me."

Glenn clenched his jaw. His forehead was slick with cold sweat.

"Keep drawing."

Then, at that most desperate moment, the prison broadcast system crackled to life outside.

Leon's voice.

"Listen up, everyone! Emergency announcement!"

"The infirmary needs type B blood right now! All type B brothers, get to the infirmary door immediately!"

"Every donor gets ten jin of meat. Plus a full bar of chocolate."

"I repeat..."

The broadcast kept going.

Inside the infirmary, there was nothing but silence.

The corner of Glenn's mouth twitched.

Meat and chocolate?

For a woman he had no connection to whatsoever, Leon was actually willing to pay that kind of price.

Even if Mia pulled through, could she ever be worth that much?

He owed Leon more than he could count.

He hadn't even finished the thought when footsteps erupted outside the door.

Far away at first, then close. A few, then many.

Then the sound became a flood, as if the entire prison had come running.

BANG! BANG! BANG! The infirmary door shook in its frame.

"Open up! I'm type B! Draw mine!"

"Damn it, I'm O-type! Move aside, let me through first!"

"Stop fucking shoving! I'm healthy, my blood runs thick — take mine!"

"Please, with that gut of yours, you'd pump out pure lard. Step aside — draw mine!"

Outside, dozens of inmates who had been beating each other bloody over a single cigarette just minutes ago were now crammed at the entrance, every one of them shoving to roll up their sleeves first.

The urgency on their faces was real.

One inmate who knew Glenn well pressed his face flat against the small window in the door and hollered through the glass.

"Glenn! You fucking hold on, you hear me?!"

"I didn't come for the goddamn meat! I came for you!"

Glenn lay on the bed, watching those faces through the window, familiar and strange all at once, listening to those crude, foul-mouthed, completely genuine shouts.

His nose stung.

➤ Next: Doc Wants to Stay