Day 2

The cave enclosed them. Dust occasionally trickled from the ceiling, until all of the cave's inhabitants were cloaked in a uniform sheet of grey. The space was filled with coughing. Though no one mentioned it, everyone was thinking that this cave was coming closer and closer to becoming a tomb.

With a snap of cloth, Mike finished changing the bandages of the man with the cracked ribs. He patted the man's shoulder as he finished, a motion he had seen others perform at his sister's hospital. He had never really cared enough to want to comfort someone before. But now, knowing the scope of his patient's pain, he had to find some way to bring relief.

"How many supplies did we end up with?" he asked Jack as they walked to the back of the cavern. This was becoming a habit of theirs, both of them confessed a joy of being alone. Neither of them realized that on their walks together to be alone, they weren't, in fact, alone.

"Well, let's see," Jack recollected. "We've got a couple of packed work lunches, 3 granola bars, a couple bananas, and a box of cookies. As well as five medium sized bottles of waters.

"Using minimal rationing, that might be able to last us for three more days," replied Mike quickly, doing some mental calculations. "That has to be enough time for them to find us."

Jack shook his head in admiration. "Wow man, you really know your stuff. What, were you planning to go run a missionary, or something? You're so devoted, you act like you've been helping people your whole life."

"What? No! No, nothing like that. It's just, I really want to-"

"Someone stop him! He's running away with our water!"

They spun at the cry. Their camp had dissolved into commotion, as a young man, the rebel form yesterday, sprinted away.

Mike never did understand where the youth had planned on running to. There was nowhere to hide. All he knew was that every hour that passed, the boy's panic had increased. And now, burdened by their satchel of plastic bottles, all he could do was scream as two other youths caught up to him, and tackled him to the ground, the satchel spinning away.

The room watched in horror as the satchel fell, bounced, and spilled. The water bottles flew out, settled, and stilled. All except one, which broke open, and drained into the dust.

Mike walked up to the delinquent. The boy struggled in the dirt against his restrainers.

"What are you going to do now, great leader," the boy sneered, eyes bulging as he recognized his observer. "I broke your law! What are you going to do, beat me up? Are you going to make a whip out of your cloth, and attack me? Huh? Or will you kill me, to give more water to yourselves?

"You have the control, right? That means you're our God."

There was silence. The youth forced his way to his knees, and spat at Mike's feet. "I don't care. I know what's going to happen, either way. No one's coming, and you know it. We're all just going to die here, die like rats in a trap. One by one."

With a cry, the mother stooped to hug her daughter, covering her ears and pressing her against her shaking form.

"Someone hit him," came a voice, a snarl from a woman of at least 50. "I said hit him, shut him up! Shut him up!"

The rebel took a breath, and stared at Mike.

Mike met his gaze. Then, walking over, he stooped to exam the bottles. He straightened up. "That bottle was only half full. That was the amount of my ration. Don't worry, I won't have anything to drink from here on out." His gaze swept the room, and he smiled. "It's going to be all right."

The victims met his gaze, unable to speak.

They heard a choke. The rebel had slumped into the sand.

Day 3

"Mike! Mike, get over here, we need you!"

Blinking, Mike batted the dust out of his eyes, and sat up. He immediately swayed, pain swamping him.

What was going on? It felt like his lower abdomen was filling with acid, every time he moved, fire filled him. Every day it got worse, along with the dark, purple blotches. Grimacing, he stumbled forward.

Jack met him, dusted face stricken. "Mike, something's gone seriously wrong." He indicated the man with the punctured lung, still sitting on his cushion.

Frowning, Mike crouched. "Hey, you doing okay?" he turned the man's head toward him. His blood froze.

The man's grey eyes stared back, unblinking, unseeing. No. No, NO, NO!

His breath coming in gasps, Mike rapidly laid the man down on his back. Placing the palms of his hands on his chest, he started compressions.

"57, 58, 59, 60!" he gasped, voice cracking. He leaned down, feeling his heart pound as he pumped air into the man's mouth. He checked the pulse. No response. No, unacceptable. He quickly returned to compressions, "1, 2, 3…"

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Mike…" Jack whispered. "It's all right. Let him be."

Mike's fists clenched, as he felt hot tears sting his cheeks. No, it wasn't fair… Damn it…

It doesn't make sense. After Lizzie's death, and, through her life… I thought I might have found my purpose. I thought I might actually have found a way to help the world, to be worth something.

But I'm still useless. He was my patient, and I still had to watch his life slip away. There was nothing I could do to stop it. Nothing has changed. My life is still nothing more than a waste of energy.

Not that it's going to last much longer. I can't hide from what's happening. I ruptured something in the crash. Judging from the area of the internal bleeding, I'm guessing my stomach, or some other intestine. Stomach acid must be leaking, that's why I'm being eaten from the inside. Huh.

Not that it matters anyway. We're almost out of supplies. My throat feels like dry toast, butterless-and-cooked-to-long. That boy was right, no one's coming. Everything I did for them, it was all useless. We're all going to die here, after all.

In the darkness, a single tear made its way down his face. Blinking, he held back the rest. He didn't deserve tears.

B: Breath In

Day 6

Mike and Jack lay splayed out on the ground, breath coming feebly, choked with dust. He couldn't remember the last time someone had spoke, or moved. He couldn't remember the last time he had opened his mouth for food, water, or anything.

He honestly didn't understand why he kept on living. The pain in his stomach had increased, until he had abruptly stopped feeling anything at all. He knew that wasn't a good sign. Now, his head just buzzed feebly, memories playing on a faded projector.

"Hey Lizzie, you better get to bed," he admonished. "It's getting late."

"But Big Brooooo," she complained energetically, giving him the Bambii eyes. "It's only Nine! I want to stay up and read!"

He snorted. "All right." Leaning across, he brought a quilt across her thin frame. "Don't want you to get a cold. Who knows what would happen then."

She nodded solemnly. Then, out of nowhere, she said, "I wish I had a donor. Then maybe, things would be different."

Mike's eyes flung open.

Reaching into his pocket, his fumbling hand brushed aside his cell phone, and shakily withdrew his wallet.

"Hey… hey, Jack?"

There was seconds of dust filled silence. Finally, he heard Jack roll over. "Mike?"

"Do you have a pen I can borrow?"

"Uh… yeah, sure." He tossed over a ball point.

Squinting in the failing light of the emergency strips, Mike withdrew his driver's license. He flipped it over. Kidneys, yes, lungs, yes. His eyes were shortsighted, but they'd do. He didn't circle small intestine, he knew what was left of it would be unusable by now.

And heart, of course. Then, he signed.

Jack had been watching him attentively. Now, he sighed, and blinked. "Oh, I swear. Mike… you're something." Then, with a flash, Jack McPherson's driver's license was out as well.

A middle aged man was watching them, slumped against the wall. "Hey… what's that?"

"It's the organ-donor list on your driver's license," Jack explained.

"If you sign it, even if you die… Your life still has use. You still go on to help another."

The man grimaced, his breathing labored. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he reached for his wallet.

The couple straightened up. Exchanging a glance, they dig through their pockets.

Jack watched incredulously as all around him, driver's licenses and pens appeared in the hands of those a step from death minutes before. He knew many people were hesitant to sign their organ donor sheet when they first received it. No one wanted to think about death. Somehow, that wasn't bothering them anymore.

Hesitantly, their rebel ducked his head. Procuring a stubby pencil, he began to scribble.

Mike groaned from beside him. "Oh… Jack, I just want to tell you thanks. Thanks for everything you did. I'm sorry I was so useless, awkward and useless.

Jack chuckled. "Mike… as far as awkward, there's something you've got to know. Everyone here could care less about how awkward you are. You lift us up. And here's some advice: if you're worried about getting to know people and being awkward… just stop. Don't worry about it, just talk to them!"

He could barely hear Mike's response. "Thanks… I'll remember that, if I ever… I…" his voice passed out of hearing.

At the edge of hearing, there was suddenly a noise. A little less than a shudder, a little more than a shake.

"Just look at everyone. We were all in the pit of despair… and now we're thinking about the joy of others. Mike, you've saved all of our lives. We owe you so much."

The rumbling increased. The middle aged man looked up in confusion as a stream of pebbles began to stream down the face of the cave in wall.

"Thank you, Mike. Mike?

There was no reply.

"Hey. Hey Mike, can you hear me?"

There was a series of strangled gasps, as the stream of pebbles escalated into piles of rocks, rolling down the stone face.

"Mike, please," Jack repeated, his voice breaking. "No…"

Suddenly, a light appeared at the top of the cascade. A lantern flooded the cavern, the beam of light illuminating the sightless eyes of Michael Carter, Medical Student, organ donor, and big brother.