His chin dipped into the water and he swallowed a mouthful, then coughed out a spray of dark red. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep himself from sinking; his arms felt as heavy as lead and each breath was a struggling gasp torn from his lungs. He tried to kick himself a bit higher but the movement was sluggish and he sank down again, choking on the bloody water. The rough surface closed over his head and he sank slowly down, his vision filled first with red and then with a black so deep it was as though there was nothing there at all.
He woke again on a rocky beach, his eyes opening to a plain gray sky where nothing moved. Gingerly he turned his head and saw the beach was as gray as the sky, and stretched as far as he could see in either direction. His chest still burned and it was a struggle to take a deep breath; when he carefully pushed himself up to sit he saw that there was a bloody, ragged hole in his chest. He stared at it for a moment, trying to remember what had happened, then got up on his knees and from there to his feet. Blood slid slowly down his side, cold and somehow slimy.
The rocks slid and shifted under his feet as he picked his way up the beach towards the gray hills beyond. Each unsteady movement sent a sharp spike of pain through his tattered chest and he could hear his own breathing whooping in his ears. Once he went down on his knees and tore holes in his jeans but though the rocks gouged into his skin, there was no blood there. All the blood seemed to be concentrated in his chest and, after a while, in his throat. He started coughing and each deep, wet cough sent a fine spray of blood from his mouth and painted his lips candy red.
He stumbled over the first rise in the ground that led from the beach to the hills and almost went down on his knees before catching himself. The effort of walking up the nearest hill made him cough harder, and he barely reached the top before falling to his knees again. This time he couldn’t force himself back to his feet, and could only kneel there, listening to his breath whistle in his throat.
A shadow fell across him and he fought to raise his head and look. In the grey surroundings, below the grey sky, she was a bright spot of colour with her red hair and lime green tank top. She hooked her thumbs in the loops of her jeans and stood with one hip swung out, studying him.
“You’re a pain in the ass,” she said finally. “Did you have to go and get your dumb self shot?”
He tried to speak and couldn’t; the effort just produced another racking cough deep in his chest. Her mouth twisted in distaste, the woman stepped aside to avoid the spray of blood.
“Okay, so now isn’t the time for a deep philosophical conversation.” She extended a slim hand. “Let’s make a deal, you and me. Take my hand and I’ll get you out of here.”
Even though his strength was failing and his vision was beginning to fade, he still hesitated, looking at the horns nestled in her curls, and the thin tail curling behind her. A spasm went through him and he felt blood dribble over his bottom lip and down his chin. Reaching up what suddenly seemed a long, long way, he took her hand.
He knew he was awake when he heard the steady sound of machinery humming and beeping. From somewhere nearby he heard muffled voices, and briefly the sound of brisk footsteps passing by. His eyes felt gummed together and he couldn’t raise his hands enough to clear them. He tried to take a deep breath but it sent burning pain all up and down his torso. The sudden pain made his eyes open wide and he stared up at the fluorescent lights above him, trying to decipher where he was just from that.
A face came into view, round and pleasant and surrounded by a few stray wisps of dark brown hair that had escaped their owner’s ponytail. She was wearing a white smock and had a name badge above her right breast, though he couldn’t quite make out what he said. He tried to ask her where he was but found there was something in his mouth that prevented him from talking. With an effort he raised a shaky hand to try and remove it, but she caught his wrist and gently, but firmly, pushed his hand back down.
“Leave that in for now,” she told him. “It’s helping you breathe. Though you’re awake and moving, that’s a good sign, Mr. Jones.”
His eyes narrowed in confusion and he wondered if he had misheard her. His hand felt like it was coming from a long way away but he managed to raise it and point a finger to himself. She nodded, patting the covers in around him and adjusting some of the various wires attached to different parts of his body.
“I suppose some amnesia is a given after a shock to the system like you had. We took your name off the dog tags you were wearing when you first arrived, since it was the only ID you had on you. Hopefully you’ll be able to tell us more when you can speak again.” She gently patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Mr. Jones, this is Edgemount General, the best medical facility in the country.”
I’m not Jones, Shasta thought but his voice was sealed inside the tube they’d pushed down his throat and he was helpless to correct her.
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