20. Toto, I Have a Feeling We're Not in Kansas Anymore (Lost | Field Medicine | Medieval)

His whole side ached. That's what he noticed first.

His head was especially tender, a sharp throbbing against the side of his skull. Groaning, he shifted where he lay, feeling the gritty, rough texture of dirt against his fatigues. Although, it felt firm. And flat.

Risking a look, Adam peeked through blond lashes, squinting painfully against the bright sunlight. He looked to be on the side of a country road, spindly, weak trees lining the path.

Urging himself to move, Adam managed to push himself up to all fours.

Where the hell was he?

The last thing he remembered . . . he was at the base. Eating breakfast with his team.

How did he get here?

Pressing a hand against his aching head, he moved to a sitting position, struggling against the sharp hiss of bruised ribs and a battered hip.

Reluctantly, he looked around, still trying to filter out as much light as possible through narrowed eyes.

And he froze.

Another man laid beside him, cold and gray, a wicked smear of red on his chest. Adam looked down, stunned to find the same red on one hand.

Had he killed him?

Surely, he'd remember that?
Breathing deeply, he continued his quick glance at his surroundings.

He found the bloody knife on his other side. Clearly, it was his.

Blinking harshly, he looked up and down the dirt road, searching for clues as to where he was or where his team was. He was starting to grow more and more uneasy with the facts laid before him. And he was desperate to remember even just one thing that got him here.

After all, he should've remembered killing a man.

He had to have had a reason.

Was he on a mission?

Was his team in danger?

Collecting his knife, he patted down his pockets, taking stock of what he had. He looked for a pack. For a rifle. But all he had was a few meager supplies in his pockets, a knife, and a sidearm. He couldn't remember which direction he and his team were going. And he didn't know if they were intending to pass this way again.

A thought came to his sluggish mind, and he dug uncoordinated fingers into his ear.

No comm.

Maybe it had fallen out?

Blinking past the pulsing headache, he searched the flat dirt, hoping his comm was intact.

No luck. It wasn't even there.

It was possible it had been knocked into the tall grass just down the short slope, but if that were the case . . . there was no way Adam would find it.

With a hopeful huff, he checked his body cam, finding it a little scuffed but intact. It looked like it was operational, but there was no way to communicate properly with the people on the other end of the feed. Adam was on his own. With no water. Little food. And no assurance that help was coming.

He couldn't stay out in the open.

Sweeping a blurring gaze over the road, he pushed himself up to stand, stumbling some as he forced himself upright. He had to get out of sight—just in case.

His vision swirled and tilted, and he widened his stance to keep from falling. Nausea slithered in his stomach, pressing against his stomach lining. Breath hitched and stuttered against aching ribs. He was in no condition for long-term survival.

But he just had to get out of the road.

Just get out of the road.

Unsteady on his feet, he tripped and shuffled down the short slope into the grass. Everything ratcheted several degrees, pulling uncomfortably at his head, chest and abdomen. Colors ran together, watery and unclear. Up was down. Down was up.

And Adam fell heavily into tall stalks of grass, his body landing sloppily on hidden rocks and pebbles, grinding his ribs together. He let out a pained yelp of surprise, and the twisting, coiling nausea lashed out, forcing him back to his all fours to empty what little remained in his stomach. Breathing strangely against the many aches that assaulted him, Adam collapsed again to his side.

He closed his eyes against the now constant spinning, the angry swirl further waking the throbbing against his brain.

And he blissfully slipped back under.

-0-0-0-0-0-

"Deputy director," Noah called, twisting in his chair to look at Patricia. She looked up from a fresh report in her hands, eyes glancing up to the main screen to see Adam's camera move.

He was alive.

When they'd seen him tumble out of the back of the pickup, they'd suspected the worst. At that speed? Falling like that?

Throwing the report aside, she approached Noah's chair. "No way to contact him?"

"No, ma'am."

She watched the screen, pursing her lips as Adam struggled to get himself upright. "When the team's accomplished the objective, send them back for Dalton."

"You got it," Noah answered hastily, the two of them quiet as they continued to watch Adam's camera feed. The team leader moved drunkenly, pushing past obvious injury.

"Be sure to convey the urgency of the situation," Patricia added, stiffening when Adam fell harshly into the grass. Her own heartbeat skipped and skittered at each new scene.

And she swallowed the worried spike at his final collapse into unconsciousness.

-0-0-0-0-0-

When Adam woke up again, it took several long minutes to remember where he was. Pain gauzily wrapped around his thoughts, making him clumsy and slow. Batting away the tickling blades of grass from his face, he pushed himself up and waited for the dizziness to pass. It was hot. He was unbearably thirsty. But he didn't have his canteen, and there wasn't a local water source.

His eyes swept the area, falling on the body on the side of the road.

Had he . . . ?

Yes, that's right. His knife. Right? Yes. Sure. Probably.

And he was . . . trying to move away?

Something about safety?
Sure, that sounded right. Yeah. Okay.

With a frown, he managed to get to his feet, swaying dangerously.

Then one step at a time, he moved away. In case . . . someone came back?

His fingers brushed against his ear, the pads of his fingers finding empty space where there should've been a comm.

Where . . . ?

He gently shook his head. He felt all out of sorts. Somehow, he knew the answers were floating just under a bewildered ripple in his brain, but he just couldn't grasp them. And the heat just seemed to blur it more.

Instead, Adam focused on moving, crouching some into the tall grass as he walked parallel with the road. Truthfully, he didn't know if this was the right direction, but he also figured he couldn't make it to his team in his condition.

It was already getting harder and harder to remain steady on his feet, and the headache was hammering relentlessly into his skull. He stumbled. Then tried to pull himself together for a little extra coordination.

But the stumbling grew sloppier and more drunken. Somewhere in the distant parts of his brain, Adam knew this wasn't ideal. He couldn't think properly, and he felt discombobulated. The thoughts he could manage to hold onto were just a buzz of not knowing where he was or how he got there. There was a thin fear of what he may have gotten himself into. And while he normally adapted well to the unknown, this was chaos.

Those thoughts should've been heavier. They should've been at the forefront. But his aching, dizzy head couldn't spare the space, and they felt more like whispers within dulled emotions.

Adam was getting tired. He didn't know how long he'd walked, but the pain in his side tightened and pressed sharply into his ribs. From his scalp to his hips, there was just pain, radiating across nerves.

He realized with a muffled start that he was struggling to breathe against the pain, his lungs inhaling and exhaling shallowly to avoid the ever-present agony. Weakening limbs trudged on, but now it was only a matter of time.

Looking back, Adam was somewhat pleased to see he was at least fifty yards away from the body. But now his vision was graying, and his limbs were losing strength.

He fell to his knees, the concern registering too late as collapsed again into the grassy dirt. The drop punched against his aching side, and there was a dark shot across his vision.

And he faded back to unconsciousness.

-0-0-0-0-0-

"Package delivered," Preach reported sternly, following his teammates as they swiftly made their way back to the pickup.

His eyes flitted to the bed of the truck.

"Good work, team," Noah replied, his tone clipped and focused. The team held their breath as they piled into the truck, Preach and Amir in the cab with McG and Jaz in the bed.

Noah had to let them go back.

He had to.

They could still remember Adam being practically launched over the side of the truck bed, his assailant clutching him with a white-knuckled grip in a desperate attempt to take Adam out of the equation. Adam had his knife poised and ready, but it'd been too late.

He fell over the edge. And they had to go on without him.

They'd left him unmoving on the side of the road as they surged onward, spitting dirt and pebbles behind them. And they'd had to tear their attention away to continue to fend off the attacking vehicle beside them.

They'd had to abandon him there.

Abandoned him.

"At least tell us if he's alive," Jaz requested quietly, gripping her rifle tighter.

"We think so," Noah replied. "But we honestly can't be sure."

There was a beat of silence over the comms as Preach turned the ignition.

"Go get 'im."
They all inhaled sharply at the command, Preach stomping on the gas as they tore back down the road.

-0-0-0-0-0-

". . . Top ca . . . hear me . . . ?"

Adam slowly came back to consciousness, his brain assaulted by the steady and slow digs of an icepick. It hurt to breathe. Hurt to be conscious. And he felt like he was on fire, the heat itching just under the surface of his skin.

". . . hit his he . . . etty hard . . ."

Inhaling slowly, he risked opening his eyes to slits, daylight forcing them back closed.

". . . op?"

He was having the hardest time clinging to the sounds around him, piecing together only fragments as he steadily pulled himself to consciousness.

Damn, the pain. He didn't remember his side hurting this much. What had once just been his ribs now burned down his whole side, vines of agony worming their way into his flesh.

Despite it, he tried to focus.

". . . op? Can you hear me?"

He was getting somewhere. Though muffled, at least the gaps were fewer now.

"M'G?"

"In the flesh."

Adam tried to pry his eyes open again but was unpleasantly surprised by McG's fingers forcing one open, flooding his vision with painful daggers of light. He released a weak cry, trying to shut his eyes again, but McG simply moved to the other, forcing it open like the other.

And then he was finally allowed to block out the painful light of day.

"Looks like a concussion," McG sighed, hands already probing down Adam's body, starting at the shoulders and gently working his way down.

Adam let out a pained growl when McG pressed against his ribs. Alarmed, McG yanked up Adam's shirt, hissing at the bruising along Adam's ribcage and his purpling abdomen.

"Dammit," the medic spat. "We've got to get him out of here."

Preach and Amir moved to take hold of Adam, moving urgently.

"Careful, careful," McG coached, slinging his pack over his shoulder as they moved Adam to the bed of the truck. As soon as Adam was carefully placed, McG shoved his pack under his CO's feet and continued his steady inspection to get the full picture.

But for Adam, it was all just pins and spikes of pain. Wounded grunts slipped past his teeth as ribs scraped together and bruised flesh screamed against investigative finger prods. Everything was swirling again, though this time, it was just a whirlpool of light blue, dotted with an occasional cloud. The truck rocked, and they were on the move again. Spindly trees brushed the edge of his vision as he stared at the sky, trying to distract himself from the washes of pain.

McG was talking to him, but he heard nothing. Blood was rushing in his ears, and the threatening unconsciousness was beginning to loom over his mind.

As the truck rumbled over a pockmarked road, Adam's eyes closed.

Grateful he was no longer lost.

-0-0-0-0-0-

"Well, he took a pretty bad beating."

"I know that, McG. I'm just saying he's been unconscious for a long damn time."

"The doctor did say he should probably wake up in the next handful of hours."

Adam struggled to catch the sounds around him, grasping at familiar voices. McG. Jaz. Amir. He knew these voices.

Beneath him, he no longer felt gravel and rocks. It was soft. But firm. There was a soft beeping nearby, and something lay over the top of him. A blanket, he determined.

Experimentally, he moved his fingers, feeling the tug of something on the back of his hand. An IV. Something familiar.

"The man did fall out of the back of a moving pickup. And he had some surgery to stitch up his insides. I think he's entitled to a little nap."

"God, sometimes I hate you, McG."

"Only sometimes?"

Adam could almost hear the bitter smile on Jaz's lips. Because he knew this. He recognized this. He could picture everything in crystal clarity.

He figured it was time to open his eyes.

Peeling gritty eyelids apart, he squinted into the dim overhead light, nearly overwhelmed by the sudden reemergence into the world. But he wasn't as confused. And the world wasn't spinning anymore. He still didn't remember how he'd ended up on the side of that road.

But he wasn't lost.

He was safe.

"Top?" Adam felt small hands taking his, enveloping his own rough fingers.

"Give him a minute to get his bearings."

"Stop crowding him, McG."

"Oh, yeah, Amir, like you're one to talk."

"I'm not crowding."

"Hm, I think Top would say you're all crowding."

At Preach's low timbre, Adam felt the quirk of a smile pulling at his lips. "M'ss'd you g'ys." He blinked, the picture growing clearer. Four figures stood around him, waiting. Figures he knew.

"Can't shake us that easily, Top," McG chuckled.

Preach patted his leg with a smile. "If you didn't like my driving, you could've just told me to pull over."

The joke hit Adam unexpectedly, and he let out an involuntary huff of laughter that quickly turned to a groan as bolts of pain spiked through him. "Oh, God. Don' make m'laugh."

"You remember what happened?" McG asked, his light tone strangely soft.

Adam licked his lips, remembering how thirsty he was. Someone moved, and he heard the familiar sound of ice cubes in a cup. A spoon met his lips, and ice slipped into his parched mouth. He nodded weakly. Gratefully.

"No," he finally answered. "I's all kinda . . . foggy."

"You fell out of the truck," Jaz supplied. "We were making a delivery and got blindsided. Sound familiar?"

Adam shut his eyes, trying to think back through the swaths of a headache. He got snippets. Flashes of memories that felt arbitrary and out of place. He reopened his eyes, trying to focus on the blurry image of Jaz. "Sorta. Guy tackl'd me?"

"That's the one," Jaz said quietly, a flat smile gracing her features.

"Hit your head kinda hard," McG added. "And you did a number on your side. Broke some ribs. And there was some internal bleeding. Got some nasty bruises on your arm and leg, but I think your side and head took most of the impact."

"D'mn," Adam mumbled, his tongue clumsy in his mouth. "Th't 'splains it." The figures shifted, some stepping closer.

"Before you ask, they're not letting you out anytime soon," Amir supplied with an apologetic purse of his lips.

"But at least you get the good drugs, huh?" McG piped in, patting a gentle hand on Adam's shoulder. "And some good company."

Adam smiled sleepily, already feeling the welcome pull of sleep.

Honestly, that didn't sound so bad. The good company.

He could handle that.

Fin.