The first thing he felt was the rain. Ice-cold droplets were striking his face, and streaming down onto the hard concrete under him.
With a gasp, he rolled slowly onto his back, feeling as though the ground under him was shifting. His eyes fluttered open, only to shut again as more cold raindrops struck them. It took a few more minutes before he could squint them open again, taking in his surroundings.
Clouds. Rain. The sharp, dark outlines of two buildings rising overhead.
More rain was streaming over him now. It seeped into the grooves between his plastrons, streamed over his skin, pooled in the edges of his shell. He was vaguely aware that he was shivering, hard enough that his fingers were trembling against his side.
But somehow, that knowledge seemed oddly distant and hazy, as though he were looking at something across a far distance, through a thick fog. His mind felt as though it was stumbling and floating its way through his thoughts, sluggishly, as though it was disconnected from the rest of him. He knew that he ought to be thinking more clearly. More quickly. Something was wrong.
A faint groan came from his lips as he forced himself to twist onto his side. Then something happened — his right arm suddenly blazed with pain, as though someone had jammed a burning brand into his shoulder.
He gasped, and huddled forward, clutching the arm to his stomach, as though shielding it from something. For a moment the pain seemed to blast through the grey fog in his mind, allowing him to realize that something was seriously wrong with him. The arm seemed to be dangling uselessly at his side; no matter how he tried, he couldn't move it. A hot, pulsing pain was rising in every muscle of his shoulder, beating in time with his heart.
I need to get out of here, he thought wildly.
He wasn't sure why or how he knew this, only that he had to find a safe place. Another groan came from between his clenched teeth as he heaved himself to his feet, and took a hesitant step towards the street.
But the ground under him seemed to slip sideways, as though he were walking on a mattress. His fingers dug into the brick wall at his side, clinging to it as though it were the only thing keeping him from falling. Something hollow and metallic crashed into his left thigh, and it took him a moment to realize that it was only a trash can. Nothing dangerous… only a trash can…
Outside the alley, there were burning white lights that seemed to pierce his bleary eyes. For a moment he wondered if he should go out there at all, or simply find a place here to hide until the rain had passed…. no… no, he needed to get somewhere else. Somewhere less exposed.
As he rounded the corner, he clutched his throbbing arm to his side, and tried to force his stumbling mind to focus. The grey mist had settled back over his brain, and thoughts seemed to slip from him like the rainwater between his fingers.
He had to focus. He had to think. He had to make himself see what was happening…
His eyes drifted up to the street signs on the corner, and recognized one of them: Adams Street. He had noticed that name weeks ago — or at least he thought it was weeks ago — he wasn't entirely sure what day it was, or how long he had been lying in that alley… but if he followed the street, sooner or later he would find April's home…
He groaned again as he began plodding down the street, keeping as close to the building walls as he could. He needed to stay in the shadows — needed to stay quiet and unobtrusive — if he was going to make it there.
The icy rain was still pelting against his bare green skin, and every nerve felt like it was blazing whenever that happened. The pain in his shoulder was seeping down his side, as if the pain itself were something liquid and he was somehow bleeding it down into his ribs…
Bleeding… maybe something more than an arm injury had happened. Had he been stabbed? He touched his side gingerly with his good hand, and felt another flash of white-hot pain, along with the strange sensation that something inside him had splintered. When he raised his hand into the dim light of the streetlight, he saw that it was wet only with water. Not bleeding. He hadn't been stabbed — but something was horribly wrong…
Dark shapes were moving on the sidewalks. For a moment he wasn't sure if he was really seeing them. The ground under his feet still seemed to be shifting, making him stumble, and the shadows on the walls seemed to be writhing and twisting toward him.
Then the sound of other voices floated through the chilly air. Voices. He had to leave before they saw him.
Another shiver ran through him as he stumbled into the street, out of the bright circles of light cast by the streetlights. The shiny black street under his feet seemed to stretch into eternity, and as he raised his eyes again to the street signs, they seemed to fade into vague blurs of color. More rain streamed down his face, making him blink as he tried desperately to remember the address he was looking for…
He was so cold. His skin felt clammy and icy, except for the pulsing, jagged heat in his side and shoulder.
He took a long shuddering breath, which sent more splinters of pain through his side. The shapes on the sidewalks seemed to have not noticed him thus far — but if they did, he wasn't sure if he could defend himself. His right arm — his dominant arm — was worse than useless. And he couldn't think… couldn't anticipate… couldn't plan… his thoughts were like dead leaves blown by whatever wind came their way…
In the distance, the city lights shone like fallen stars. He needed to find just one of them.
The ground seemed to shift under him again. He stumbled forward, falling to one knee and huddling forwards. Either the earth itself was quivering, or he was suffering from dizzy spells, he thought with another shiver.
Something appeared through the darkness ahead of him — two pale lights, shining like the eyes of some nocturnal beast — coming closer — tearing through the night —