21st October 1805
This must be what Hell smelt like, smoke and blood and sweat running along Alek's face. And it hurt. God, it hurt everywhere, a poker pressing white-hot into his ribs, hurting, hurting so bad he wanted to scream. His legs didn't seem to be able to cope, they were soft like cotton fabric, like his mother's dresses...
"Mutter," Alek gasped. "Mutter, hilfe mich, bitte, bitte, bitte,"
Mother, help me, please, please, please...
The hands holding at his coat tightened and Alek yelped as more of his weight was taken.
"Shu'p, y'daft sod." The voice was burred with a thick accent. "We're almos' there, see?" Dylan. Always Dylan, voice a little quicker and higher than usual now. "Stop gree'in', would y'?"
It was hard to understand the words. Unfamiliar, sounding like metal striking off glass, not the crisp pronunciation Alek was used to. He could normally make out meaning in the thick Glasgow brogue, but it hurt and it hurt and the sounds washed over his head. It was so loud down here, loud and hot and smoke catching his eyes, so many people...
"Hilfe ich, mein Gott..."
Help me, my God...
"For the love o' Christ." Face, pale, streaked with black, narrow features, bending towards him. "Y' dinna need God, Alek. Y' go' me."
Hurting, hurting like the fire. So much fire and so much noise, noise everywhere, inside his head and out of it, hurting and hurting and hurting and hurting...
"Get yer arse doon here. Aye, tha's reet. Y'll do fine Alek. Surgeon'll see t'you soon, after all these others, go' i'?"
"Ja..." It hurt. It was darker down here, and smelt like rust. Like blood. Everywhere had blood, all the people and all the wood and screaming.
"I've go' tae go noo, see? Back soon." A hand around his arm, quick squeeze and Dylan had slipped away again, and he was here and it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt –
This is more of an introduction than anything else - there'll be several chapters coming up. Please do read and review this, and any constructive comments would be very gratefully recieved.