She was frustrating him quite a bit. But only because he was a little on the grumpy side, thanks to not feeling his best, and her slowing him down. He could have already been in and out of here by now!
He nodded, taking mental note of her potential threat, and repeated it back to her, "for now." Right. And for he record, no, he didn't know a damn thing about her, other than the fact that she had a machete, a flashlight, was on the bossy side, and had a pretty face. If she had wanted to tell him more, he would have been happy to listen. But, for some reason, he had his doubts about any of that ever happening. She didn't seem like the sort that would want to share her stories. Or talk to him, for that matter.
"Fair enough," he said plainly. That was too bad. He didn't want any enemies. Especially pretty ones.
He glanced back toward her, "so, then, there shouldn't be any of the zombies, right? And Penicillin, amoxicillin, any antibiotics. I don't know a whole lot about them, but I need something for an infected gunshot wound. Doesn't matter which, so long as it works.
"I wasn't loud, by the way," he started in ahead of her to give a look around the office before starting over to one of the shelves, "and my name's O'Brien," in case she even cared. He did, "what should I call you? Miss Machete? Or is it too soon to ask you your name?"
Moving to carefully and slowly kneel down near a box to start rummaging through it, O'Brien began his search for any bottle that was labeled antibiotics. He really hoped he found some.