He opened his eyes. For a moment he panicked; he was unable to see, unable to move. The air was thick and choking; it stung in his eyes and coated his skin. What was going on? Gradually he calmed himself before trying to move his arms. Something rattled and slid away. He couldn't get a purchase on anything solid enough and only now could he feel the hot pain in his leg and shoulder. Biting on his lip to try and counteract the agony that shot tiny needles up the bone, he began to work out what was wrong. His leg felt broken but his shoulder shrieked with pain and he didn't know why. When his brain chose to come out of the misty shell it was currently occupying, he almost wished he was still unconscious.
He was buried, pinned down on his side by something heavy and wooden. He took a moment to thank his lucky stars that it had fallen the way it had; it wouldn't have just broken his leg. He shivered at the morbid image that flashed through his mind. Fighting against his drooping eyelids he tried to cast his mind back to find why he was entombed under a pile of miscellaneous rubble. The last thing he remembered – the last thing was… screaming at Doyle to run. Bodie's eyes snapped open. The picture was clear in his mind; the way his vision had gone monochrome as he'd realised the danger… the maniac standing just around the corner, his gun pointed at him… the way the bullet had skimmed his shoulder, not too deep but painful enough… and the heat of the explosion.
Had Doyle escaped? Or had – had he been… been…? Bodie swallowed and instantly regretted it, tasting the bile and grit in his mouth. How long had he been unconscious? He opened his mouth to shout but all that came out was a gasping, cough. His throat was as dry as the Sahara Desert. Squeezing his eyes against the pictures that seemed to be burned onto his retinas he took a few shallow, fortifying breaths, but the fear wouldn't disappear. He didn't know how far the destruction had reigned, Doyle could be as trapped as he was or worse. He couldn't decide which situation was more horrifying to him but his fate seemed sealed. With or without Doyle he was going to die here. Closing his eyes he began to pray.
Please God, make him be ok.
A faint sound reverberated around in his prison.
Please God…
Hands began to scrabble above him.
Let him be alright…
Light filtered through the debris trapping him and he groaned as his leg stabbed uncomfortably.
Please…
A face appeared in his vision. A very familiar grey face silhouetted by a dust -coated bush and Bodie nearly sobbed in relief. Doyle's eyes seemed far too bright. From what Bodie could see his jacket was in tatters but he seemed unhurt.
Bodie uttered just three words.
"What kept you?"