They were gone. For a few moments he barely dared to raise his head. It had taken a bit to remember where he was, and when that returned to him, so did the memory of what had happened. Along with the pain. His shoulders shook - he must have blacked out. Something had stopped his attacker, and right now he didn't care what. The other one must have gone crazy to pull a stunt like that.
You can't just wait for him to come back.
His friend had meant to kill him, he knew that. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself up, putting his weight on his other leg. Another choked scream passed his lips and he felt the ground shift under him. After a few seconds the wave of pain passed and he stuck a hand in to his pocket. For a second he thought they had taken the bottle from him, but his fingers met hard plastic and pills rattled inside, a comforting sound. He licked his lips, finding it hard to breathe, and opened the lid with some difficulty.
They were gone.
It was difficult to swallow without a bottle of water, but he downed three of the pills and put the bottle away. Holding his breath, he glanced down at his leg, but there wasn't a way to tell how or where it was broken. Blood had seeped through his jeans, and he wondered how long he had been out. He didn't really remember sitting up either, come to that. The other piece had been left behind as well, but staring at it, he didn't see the point.
They knew who he was now.
Still, he found himself crawling over to get it, dragging his leg painfully over the rubble. One could say he felt lost without it. He bumped a metal pole at one point, something like a curtain rod, and he paused. Splinting up his leg seemed like the most obvious thing to do at this point.
He could barely think through the pain. He just knew what he wanted, and he wanted out of this building.
It had been hell to pull down the plastic flap covering one of the windows, and more irritating to tear apart. The rain had stopped, but the mud remained behind, making it all the more irritating to walk slowly and painfully down the street. He didn't think he had ever been so happy to see concrete ever. Thinking left him to conclusions, and he knew his choices of action were limited. Hitching a ride would be great, but anyone who saw him would either think he had done something illegal, or try and take him to the hospital.
So he wouldn't hitch a ride.
The road led in to town, he remembered that much. He tried not to think too much, just concentrated on being able to move. One of the boards served as a rather half-assed crutch, but he didn't have a choice. Progress was slow, and painful. He stopped, staring at a bench in disbelief. It looked almost like the bench for a bus stop, but there wouldn't be one this far out. More likely someone had dumped it.
Knowing it would just hurt more the next time he got up, he sank down on the bench. He had been there barely a moment, bad leg stretched out almost to the edge of the road, when he heard the car. A pang of panic settled in, and he glanced up briefly, then stared down at his knee. Maybe it would pass on by.
It slowed, and he heard the whirr of the window rolling down. He swallowed, glancing up. J's eyes were fixed on the mask lying on the bench next to him, and then they shifted over.
"Tim?"