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 Posted: Thu Jan 29, 2015 9:46 pm
Emergency
He doesn't know if it's hunger that wakes him or the throbbing heat of pain from his right arm that does. It's definitely the pain that immediately takes up all of his attention, though. It's not just his arm, but also his shoulder, face, and a migraine like pickaxes splitting his skull.
It's all to much, and he throws up. It's all stomach acid that burns all the way up, and he feels no better having done it than he did before.
Chris groans. Ava's voice makes everything worse by tenfold.
She repeats.
He fumbles for his backpack, which the creature had thankfully left alone, with his good arm. It takes him four tries to get the zipper open with his left hand, and even then he can only get it half way. It's enough for him to work out the relatively small kit though.
Chris's brows furrow. So much work. Medical is so much effort. With sluggish movements he works a bottle of water free (he notes, absently, that he's only got a half bottle left after this) and uses his knees and good hand to paw at the cap until it falls to the ground with a clatter. He clumsily spills water over himself in the process.
Ava hisses.
He soaks the extra shirt with the water and scrubs at his face. The white cotton comes back black in the blue light of Ava's runes, but that's probably better for his sanity than seeing what it actually looks like. He can only manage to wipe away at his face for so long before he gets too tired. He wants to use the shirt to wipe the blood off his arm, but since he can't move his right arm he can't reach. He settles for pouring water on his shoulder and hoping gravity does a good enough job of washing the blood away.
He reaches up to feel the edges of what feels like a massively gaping wound and hisses. From what he can tell by touch alone, it spans from the edge of his jaw all the way up to his hairline.
Finding the needle in the medkit is easy. Luckily, it's pre-threaded, he just has to open the little package. But when he touches the could metal to his skin, he can't put the pressure on it to sew it shut.
Ava's voice is a harsh command that makes him press the needle harder, but he doesn't pierce the skin.
He knows how to do stitches. He can make the perfectly neat zig zag in a person's skin just like every other moon and life can, because it's what he was trained to do. But he can't ******** do it to himself. He's too scared.
Tears well up like a hot wash of shame as the needle clatters to the ground. "I can't. I can't," he repeats with an exhausted sob, like he had when Ava told him to attack.
and stop the bleeding.>
"Stop the bleeding. I can deal with my arm." Even as he says it his entire arm throbs, but he knows bleeding out is a surer death than a ******** up break. Ava growls, but she doesn't argue.
He wants to say thank you, or apologize, but he doesn't have the energy for either. He fumbles with bandages from the kit for what feels like hours, even though it's only minutes, until he's shittily wrapped the claw marks on his arm and uses the excess to help staunch the bleeding from his face.
That's all he can manage before he blacks out again.
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Posted: Thu Jan 29, 2015 10:38 pm
In and Out
He wakes up sometimes. Usually because of pain in his arm, his face, or his stomach. The growling hunger is like an animal that crawls up his throat begging for relief, but he has nothing but half a bottle of water. Sometimes he manages to get the bottle open and take a sip, but more often than not it's too much effort.
Sometimes he thinks he wakes up, but his vision swims and he sees things. He sees the monster again, with its black eyes and claws. He sees it as Chel, gripping his wrist and staring at him with blatant malice. He sees it laughing at him with her face, it's smile just a little too wide. His vision is hazy and he has no idea if it's a hallucination or not. Panic grips at him either way.
Ava tries to talk to him, but her voice gets lost in translation. He has no idea what she's trying to tell him.
The biggest relief is when the edges of his vision go black and unconsciousness takes him again.
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Posted: Fri Jan 30, 2015 12:22 am
Saved
"Down here, down here."
Voices echo through the tunnel, distant and urgent. Chris groans, covering his face with one hand like it will stop the hallucinations from happening.
"I heard something. Move, faster."
The voices get closer, and Chris curls in around his backpack. Everything hurts and he's covered in dirt and blood from head to toe. From what he can see of himself, his coat isn't white anymore. His right arm has gone stiff, but it still hurts like a b***h if he moved too fast. His stomach feels like it's given up on eating him from the inside, but maybe he's just gone numb to it.
If the monster is coming to finish him off, it's probably too late.
His head is filled with a rhythmic pounding that sounds like people running and he whines pathetically. Can't he just black out again?
Chris hums disagreeably and refuses to move. He's not given much choice when he's jostled hard. He screams as his arm is jarred.
"He's alive! I need a med team and a stretcher! Now!"
This is the cruelest of the hallucinations, Chris thinks. At least before it was all taunting death and failure. But hope? That's the worst thing that could be dangled under his nose now that it's so far out of reach. It makes him clench his jaw in annoyance.
He slits his eyes open and everything is a flurry of movement and white light that makes his eyes burn and water. He sees so many shoes, and then a pair that's a little too nice for a cave stops in front of him. A face soon follows.
"You look worse for wear, my friend," says one of the Matthews. "The maiden will be please we found you, though."
Chris's brows furrow and he blinks heavily, trying to process that information. When he opens them again, Matthews is gone but they've begin the process of moving him to a shitty field stretcher. It hurts, but it feels better than the cold stone ground.
"Ch-" he tries to speak, but his tongue is thick and clumsy in his mouth. It's like trying to move sandpaper across his gums. Someone must notice, because they pour some water over his lips.
"Chel," he tries again, and it's easier this time. His voice is like rocks scraping against concrete, all gravel and no grace. But he talks anyways. "Chel. Where's Chel. She's alone." Once he starts he can't stop, but it's too much. He sends himself into a coughing fit that makes his lungs burn and his body ache. Someone pushes his head back against the stretcher (he hadn't even realized he'd lifted it, looking for her), and slips a mask over his face. The air inside it smells too pure.
He can't keep track of time anymore, so he doesn't know how long it takes them, but somehow they make it outside. The sunlight is agonizingly bright as it bounces off every snowy surface and right into his eyes and Chris doesn't even try to keep them open to see his surroundings. It hurts too much.
The stretcher slides against metal and then he hears heavy doors shutting hard.
"Get him to the portal. He's been in there for a week."
A week, he thinks. It felt like a month.
He lets darkness take him as engines rumble to life around him. He hopes when he wakes up next, this won't have been a dream.
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