Chapter 22: Aunt Irma

His tall frame landed with a heavy thud.

"Fuck!"

"Sniper!"

"Kill them!"

The enemy convoy erupted into chaos—gunfire and curses filling the air. But against this group of true killing machines, their resistance was as fragile as paper.

On top of the truck bed, Mitch worked the bolt of his rifle, each shot sending another spray of blood into the air. Theo had somehow already reached the flank of the convoy; every swing of the surgical scalpel in his hand was followed by a strangled scream.

Jack’s heavy machine gun spat continuous fire, shredding both the men who dared fight back and the vehicles they hid behind. Alex trailed behind with a cheerful smile, his compact submachine gun firing short, precise bursts that claimed every remaining life. Ace leaned against a door, smiling as he pressed the detonator in his hand.

A deafening explosion swallowed the last off-road vehicle that had tried to flee in a towering column of fire.

The entire fight lasted less than three minutes.

What had been a swaggering convoy of survivors was now nothing but scattered limbs, shredded flesh, and burning wreckage.

May sat inside the truck, a chill creeping through her body as she watched through the windshield. Yet strangely, there was no fear. Only a peculiar sensation—as if something had clenched tight around her heart, then wrapped it in a rush of scalding heat.

Ray walked over to the headless corpse, the still-smoking Barrett in one hand. He planted a boot on the crackling radio lying beside the body and crushed it underfoot. The device gave a final, overloaded crunch.

Before the signal died completely, his voice traveled through every open channel on that stretch of highway:

"Listen carefully. Anyone who dares look at my person again—" He paused, each word edged with ice. "—I’ll dig their eyes out with my fingernails."

Ray climbed back into the driver’s seat and tossed the still-warm Barrett onto the rear seat without ceremony. The truck started up again, rolling over the carnage and continuing in their original direction.

The almost one-sided slaughter that had lasted under three minutes left a deep impact on May. She leaned against the passenger seat and stole a glance at the man beside her. His face was expressionless, as if the person who had just blown someone’s head apart with a single shot had nothing to do with him.

Hot is hot... and also crazy...

She muttered the thought under her breath and pulled the jacket that still carried his scent a little tighter around herself.

She had soaked in the water too long last night, been thoroughly frightened, and now the constant jolting of the truck finally pushed her body past its limit. A dull, dragging ache began in her lower abdomen. At first she ignored it. But as the heavy vehicle raced over the pitted wasteland road, the pain grew sharper and more insistent.

"Ugh..." She sucked in a breath, curling in on herself as her face drained of color.

Then she felt a warm rush of liquid spill out from deep inside her, completely beyond her control.

For fuck’s sake...

Her mind exploded with a single realization. Her period had arrived. And the worst part—she had no sanitary supplies of any kind at hand.

"What’s wrong?"

Ray noticed her change instantly. He kept driving but turned his head, brows drawn tight.

"N-nothing..." She bit down hard on her lip, the pain so sharp she could barely speak.

In the cargo bed, Jack’s military-dog-level sense of smell twitched. His honest face suddenly changed color.

"Boss—blood!"

The atmosphere inside the truck plummeted to freezing. Mitch jerked awake from his half-doze and shot upright, eyes locking on May.

"Fuck, where the hell are you hurt?"

Screech—

Ray slammed on the brakes and brought the heavy truck to a clean stop at the roadside. He unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned his large frame straight toward her.

"Where are you injured? Show me."

His voice was low and left no room for refusal.

"I’m not..." May was trembling from the pain. She wanted to explain, but the waves of cramping in her abdomen made it impossible to form a complete sentence. Warm liquid continued to seep out; she could feel the fabric beneath her growing steadily wetter.

Seeing her face so pale, Ray didn’t believe a word. He frowned and reached for her clothes with a large hand.

"Don’t move. Let me check the wound."

"Don’t!"

Panic flooded her. She clutched her clothes tightly, on the verge of tears. "I’m really not hurt!"

"If you’re not hurt, where’s the blood smell coming from?"

Mitch had already climbed into the cab from the back. He stared at her. "Stop stalling and just strip her so we can look. If the wound gets infected, we’re fucked."

"Yeah, May, let him check."

Jack crowded in as well, face full of anxious concern. Ray and Mitch’s hands were about to touch her clothes. May closed her eyes in pure despair and forced the words out between clenched teeth with every ounce of strength she had left.

"I... Aunt Irma is here!!!"

...

Dead silence filled the cab once more. Ray and Mitch’s hands—ready to tear her clothes open for a "wound inspection"—froze mid-air, less than a centimeter from the fabric.

"What?"

Jack’s honest face filled with complete confusion. He scratched his head, the first to break the bizarre quiet. "Aunt Irma? Where is she? Nearby?"

"Yeah," he continued with serious analysis. "Then we should go pick her up right away. It’s better to have an older woman to... help May with... this."

May desperately wanted to laugh. What was he talking about?

Mitch’s anxious expression solidified. He stared at Jack like the man had lost his mind, mouth opening and closing as he searched for something to yell—only to realize he himself had no idea what "Aunt Irma" was supposed to mean.

Behind them, Alex let out a soft snort and quickly covered his mouth, shoulders shaking as he tried and failed to hold in his laughter.

On Ray’s usually hard, cold face, those eyes that could see through everything now held something entirely new:

Pure, blank confusion born of a complete knowledge gap.

He slowly withdrew his hand, brows knitted tight, voice carrying a note of uncertainty.

"This auntie you mentioned... is she strong? Is she carrying weapons?"

May was speechless. She genuinely wanted to stage a full soul-leaving-the-body performance right then and there just to end it all.

Seriously? No one knows what "Aunt Irma" is? And yeah, she does carry a weapon––a weapon that punches my uterus for seven days without a break!

While the group of these silly men was still debating the combat power of "Aunt Irma," Theo—who had remained silent until now—swept a calm glance over May’s ashen face and the seat beneath her. On the makeshift pad of fabric torn from Ray’s shirt, a small dark-red stain was already seeping through.

"Everyone move."

Theo’s voice was cool and level. He pushed past Mitch and Jack without hesitation and dropped to one knee in front of her.

"Aunt Irma is not a real person. It’s a term for menstruation."

He shattered the awkward layer of misunderstanding with the simplest, bluntest, and most merciless words possible.

Menstruation?

Author’s note: While the more popular term is Aunt Flo, I decided to sneak a little reference to IT Crowd, which is one of my favorite shows :)