Chapter 4
I was pinned to the floor, and the gun had been pulled out of my hand and thrown across the floor. I tried to scramble to where I had heard the gun scrape across the floor to, but my hands were pulled back. Let me get the gun, I thought to myself. After the struggle, I only had the energy to collapse in a heap.
The huge weight was crushing me, and I had to find out what it was. I used my hand to feel, and I found out after I poked them in the eye was it was a human. After some more feeling, a shock of smooth hair told me it was Hawkeye.
Hawkeye removed his weight from me. He'd stopped me dying, stopped me ending my life. I didn't know whether to thank him or hate him for it. It was my wish to die, and he'd stopped me. But then, if I had have killed myself, I would have surely regretted it.
Hawkeye tried to move towards me, but I shuffled away. That must have broken his heart, but I was still angry. I wanted to end the pain, but he stopped it. He carried on my pain. Of course I wasn't thinking rationally, but who does when they have a fever of 103 degrees?
"You really wanted to die?" Hawkeye asked.
I looked in his direction, I think. I shook my head. I was so confused, and so overcome with emotion that I did something that very few people had seen me do. Hawkeye had never seen me do it. He'd seen me laugh, swear, throw up, and recently jump off a moving jeep, but he'd never seen me cry.
This wasn't just weeping tears; this was huge, stifling sobs that came from me. I saw a way out of it, and that chance was gone. I hugged my knees to my chest and put my arms around them, not caring about the bleeding arm from where the IV once was.
When Hawkeye moved towards me again, I didn't resist. Instead, I threw myself weakly at him and sobbed into his shirt. He gathered me up in his arms and rocked me calmly.
I wanted to tell Hawkeye how scared I was, how exasperated I had become. He had seen for himself what I had been driven to. I cried harder.
"It's okay," Hawkeye soothed quietly. "I'm here, Beej." He paused for a moment. "I'll help you, BJ, but not like that. This war has too much death in it already. Tom died. Henry died. I couldn't let you die."
How could I live, though? No sight. No voice. What could I do? Just sit there with my own thoughts? I'd had five days of it and I was on the brink of suicide, what would another forty years do to me? It couldn't be done.
"You can't die, BJ. I won't let you. I'm going to keep you alive or die trying." He took my hand and gripped it to let me know he was serious.
His hand. I just realised a way that I could communicate with Hawkeye. It was simple, and may take practice, but it was a go. I shakily took his hand, and began to write on it with my finger. "SCARED," I wrote.
Hawkeye understood. I think he felt relieved that I could communicate with him. It didn't match the relief I felt. Before, I was shut in my own world, able to take in but unable to feed back, with the exception of telling Hawkeye my symptoms of the virus. Now, at least I could reply to him.
He hugged me tighter. "I know you're scared, Beej. I'm scared too, scared enough for the both of us. You'll get through it, though. I'm here, BJ. I'll help you get through it with you."
I took Hawkeye's hand again and wrote "PAIN" on it. "I know it hurts, but you'll get better. I'm here for you, don't forget that."
Hawkeye continued to rock me until I fell asleep.
"He tried to do what?" Colonel Potter's booming voice woke me up.
"He got Frank's gun and tried to end it all, there and then."
"But, I mean, how did he get out of bed, out of Post-Op and all the way across the compound to the Swamp?"
"You're guess is as good as mine," Hawkeye replied.
"So, what happened?"
"I had to knock him over to get the gun out of his hand," Hawkeye explained. "Even after he was on the floor he tried to go for it."
Colonel Potter was probably silently remembering that look of desperation that he had seen in my eyes only hours before my attempted suicide.
"He just totally broke down. All he could do was cry for ages. Then, he took my hand and spelled out in it, to get me to understand. He spelt 'SCARED' and 'PAIN.'
"Probably two words in the up most of his mind at the moment," the Colonel remarked.
"I sat there with him for hours. He fell asleep there, in my arms. He was so light I carried him by myself back to Post-Op," I heard Hawkeye say.
"He looks like that. So weak," Colonel Potter replied to him. "We need to find this damned answer soon, before he wastes away to skin and bones. Radar's been on the horn constantly over the few days, but still nothing."
"Tell him to keep trying," Hawkeye said. "He has to."
"What's BJ like now, status-wise?"
"Still has a fever, still delirious, still sleeps most of the time. No sight, no voice. He hasn't thrown up recently, though, which is at least one blessing."
"Just one," Sherm muttered.
I decided that now was my cue to wake up. I started to sit up, to get their attention. Two sets of footsteps came over.
"Hey, BJ, how are you?" I flattened my hand and shook it side to side to answer him.
"SIRS!" I could hear Radar screech into Post-Op. "I've got them! The hospital where that guy you're looking for was!"
"Brilliant!" I heard Hawkeye say.
"You go, talk to them," Potter said calmly. "I'll sit with him."
I felt a bit indignant hearing that, as they were talking about me as if I was a child who had been naughty and needed to be watched every moment. Well, actually, perhaps it was in my best interests, judging from my recent actions.
I remembered the words that Colonel Potter had said to me before my escapade. He tried to encourage me, told me that I'd be back on the horse, and I'd let him down. I felt around for Colonel Potter's hand, and flattened it. I took my finger and drew 'SORRY' into it.
"Sorry?" Colonel Potter asked. "Son, you don't have to be sorry. It's not your fault you got what you got, and I'm just sorry we can't help you. Next time you get that low, tell someone, okay?"
I nodded. It would be okay from now on, I knew it inside.
A/N: This is to the anonymous reviewer in the main: I'm going to be honest and say that I don't have enough medical knowledge to write a story with a real disease in it (hey, I'm just a kid lol!) so I made up the disease. When I read your review saying about Viral Encephalitis (I've never heard of it) I was shocked to see that the symptoms are so similar. I really hope my story didn't offend you or anything like that because I don't set out to do that. I just didn't want to find a real disease and write about it without first-hand experience of it in case I got stuff wrong about it. Thanks for reading.
I was pinned to the floor, and the gun had been pulled out of my hand and thrown across the floor. I tried to scramble to where I had heard the gun scrape across the floor to, but my hands were pulled back. Let me get the gun, I thought to myself. After the struggle, I only had the energy to collapse in a heap.
The huge weight was crushing me, and I had to find out what it was. I used my hand to feel, and I found out after I poked them in the eye was it was a human. After some more feeling, a shock of smooth hair told me it was Hawkeye.
Hawkeye removed his weight from me. He'd stopped me dying, stopped me ending my life. I didn't know whether to thank him or hate him for it. It was my wish to die, and he'd stopped me. But then, if I had have killed myself, I would have surely regretted it.
Hawkeye tried to move towards me, but I shuffled away. That must have broken his heart, but I was still angry. I wanted to end the pain, but he stopped it. He carried on my pain. Of course I wasn't thinking rationally, but who does when they have a fever of 103 degrees?
"You really wanted to die?" Hawkeye asked.
I looked in his direction, I think. I shook my head. I was so confused, and so overcome with emotion that I did something that very few people had seen me do. Hawkeye had never seen me do it. He'd seen me laugh, swear, throw up, and recently jump off a moving jeep, but he'd never seen me cry.
This wasn't just weeping tears; this was huge, stifling sobs that came from me. I saw a way out of it, and that chance was gone. I hugged my knees to my chest and put my arms around them, not caring about the bleeding arm from where the IV once was.
When Hawkeye moved towards me again, I didn't resist. Instead, I threw myself weakly at him and sobbed into his shirt. He gathered me up in his arms and rocked me calmly.
I wanted to tell Hawkeye how scared I was, how exasperated I had become. He had seen for himself what I had been driven to. I cried harder.
"It's okay," Hawkeye soothed quietly. "I'm here, Beej." He paused for a moment. "I'll help you, BJ, but not like that. This war has too much death in it already. Tom died. Henry died. I couldn't let you die."
How could I live, though? No sight. No voice. What could I do? Just sit there with my own thoughts? I'd had five days of it and I was on the brink of suicide, what would another forty years do to me? It couldn't be done.
"You can't die, BJ. I won't let you. I'm going to keep you alive or die trying." He took my hand and gripped it to let me know he was serious.
His hand. I just realised a way that I could communicate with Hawkeye. It was simple, and may take practice, but it was a go. I shakily took his hand, and began to write on it with my finger. "SCARED," I wrote.
Hawkeye understood. I think he felt relieved that I could communicate with him. It didn't match the relief I felt. Before, I was shut in my own world, able to take in but unable to feed back, with the exception of telling Hawkeye my symptoms of the virus. Now, at least I could reply to him.
He hugged me tighter. "I know you're scared, Beej. I'm scared too, scared enough for the both of us. You'll get through it, though. I'm here, BJ. I'll help you get through it with you."
I took Hawkeye's hand again and wrote "PAIN" on it. "I know it hurts, but you'll get better. I'm here for you, don't forget that."
Hawkeye continued to rock me until I fell asleep.
"He tried to do what?" Colonel Potter's booming voice woke me up.
"He got Frank's gun and tried to end it all, there and then."
"But, I mean, how did he get out of bed, out of Post-Op and all the way across the compound to the Swamp?"
"You're guess is as good as mine," Hawkeye replied.
"So, what happened?"
"I had to knock him over to get the gun out of his hand," Hawkeye explained. "Even after he was on the floor he tried to go for it."
Colonel Potter was probably silently remembering that look of desperation that he had seen in my eyes only hours before my attempted suicide.
"He just totally broke down. All he could do was cry for ages. Then, he took my hand and spelled out in it, to get me to understand. He spelt 'SCARED' and 'PAIN.'
"Probably two words in the up most of his mind at the moment," the Colonel remarked.
"I sat there with him for hours. He fell asleep there, in my arms. He was so light I carried him by myself back to Post-Op," I heard Hawkeye say.
"He looks like that. So weak," Colonel Potter replied to him. "We need to find this damned answer soon, before he wastes away to skin and bones. Radar's been on the horn constantly over the few days, but still nothing."
"Tell him to keep trying," Hawkeye said. "He has to."
"What's BJ like now, status-wise?"
"Still has a fever, still delirious, still sleeps most of the time. No sight, no voice. He hasn't thrown up recently, though, which is at least one blessing."
"Just one," Sherm muttered.
I decided that now was my cue to wake up. I started to sit up, to get their attention. Two sets of footsteps came over.
"Hey, BJ, how are you?" I flattened my hand and shook it side to side to answer him.
"SIRS!" I could hear Radar screech into Post-Op. "I've got them! The hospital where that guy you're looking for was!"
"Brilliant!" I heard Hawkeye say.
"You go, talk to them," Potter said calmly. "I'll sit with him."
I felt a bit indignant hearing that, as they were talking about me as if I was a child who had been naughty and needed to be watched every moment. Well, actually, perhaps it was in my best interests, judging from my recent actions.
I remembered the words that Colonel Potter had said to me before my escapade. He tried to encourage me, told me that I'd be back on the horse, and I'd let him down. I felt around for Colonel Potter's hand, and flattened it. I took my finger and drew 'SORRY' into it.
"Sorry?" Colonel Potter asked. "Son, you don't have to be sorry. It's not your fault you got what you got, and I'm just sorry we can't help you. Next time you get that low, tell someone, okay?"
I nodded. It would be okay from now on, I knew it inside.
A/N: This is to the anonymous reviewer in the main: I'm going to be honest and say that I don't have enough medical knowledge to write a story with a real disease in it (hey, I'm just a kid lol!) so I made up the disease. When I read your review saying about Viral Encephalitis (I've never heard of it) I was shocked to see that the symptoms are so similar. I really hope my story didn't offend you or anything like that because I don't set out to do that. I just didn't want to find a real disease and write about it without first-hand experience of it in case I got stuff wrong about it. Thanks for reading.