~*Chapter Three*~
Henry woke in darkness. Puffs of hot breath settled on the heavy material that had been placed over his body, and came back to warm his face. Bumps rattled his bruised frame, but most of them weren't noticed. His limbs felt frozen. However, as the feeling came back to his muscles, a particularly hard bump caused him to cry out softly. A bloody lump was raised on his forehead. A souveneir of the crash, so to speak.
"Oh God... stop the truck! I think we got a livin' one back here!"
A voice called, somewhere near him. Before Henry's brain could think it out, the heavy white sheet came off and he found himself staring into the face of a relatively young nurse. She placed two fingers to the side of his neck, directly over his jugular vein. The steady drumbeat pulse of blood was there; she hadn't felt it before, since the unseasonably cold water termperatures had practically frozen him. His skin had taken on a lifeless pallor and texture, both of which were beginning to return by now. He was unbelievably lucky. Looking slowly around, Henry saw the bodies of other passengers, all covered with the white sheets. Dead. Faintly, very faintly, he remembered the plane crash.
As the woman continued to examine him, the colonel blinked slowly and looked up, through blurred vision, into her face. "Lorraine...?" Was all he said, before blackness claimed him once more. Henry Blake was alive!
Henry woke in darkness. Puffs of hot breath settled on the heavy material that had been placed over his body, and came back to warm his face. Bumps rattled his bruised frame, but most of them weren't noticed. His limbs felt frozen. However, as the feeling came back to his muscles, a particularly hard bump caused him to cry out softly. A bloody lump was raised on his forehead. A souveneir of the crash, so to speak.
"Oh God... stop the truck! I think we got a livin' one back here!"
A voice called, somewhere near him. Before Henry's brain could think it out, the heavy white sheet came off and he found himself staring into the face of a relatively young nurse. She placed two fingers to the side of his neck, directly over his jugular vein. The steady drumbeat pulse of blood was there; she hadn't felt it before, since the unseasonably cold water termperatures had practically frozen him. His skin had taken on a lifeless pallor and texture, both of which were beginning to return by now. He was unbelievably lucky. Looking slowly around, Henry saw the bodies of other passengers, all covered with the white sheets. Dead. Faintly, very faintly, he remembered the plane crash.
As the woman continued to examine him, the colonel blinked slowly and looked up, through blurred vision, into her face. "Lorraine...?" Was all he said, before blackness claimed him once more. Henry Blake was alive!