What the hell is going on?...

"What happen-"

I feel my chest tighten as a hoarse cough claws its way up my throat, the sharp pricks of pain sending fresh tears to pool in the corners of my eyes and streak down my pale cheeks. I quickly turn my head to the side, my chapped lips brushing against the cold ground as I gasp for air; the dust and grime follows the air into my dried lungs, prompting another strenuous coughing fit.

I can't stay like this.

I need to get out of here...

I blindly brace both hands beneath my torso and flex my arms in an attempt to lift myself up off the ground with what little strength I can muster, but a crushing weight pressing against my legs and waist has me pinned helplessly in place. I let out a strangled gasp as my arms tremble weakly under my weight, leaving me on the verge of collapsing back down into the dirt below. I blink my eyes blearily as I whip my head back and forth, trying desperately to make out my surroundings and a plausible means of escape.

I don't know where the hell I am...but, 'fucked' sounds just about right...

Once my tears clear the dirt and dust from my eyes, I slowly crane my neck upwards, my heart and hopes dropping at the dreadful sight.

A once vibrant and lively city -or rather, what was left of it- was reduced to a tragic shamble of ruins and chaos. Large proud standing towers are now crumbled into heaps of rubble, trees and greenery reduced to nothing but ashes, and the streets paved with large craters and debris. A section of metal scaffolding had collapsed from a nearby building, leaving large pieces of debris covering abandoned streets and crushing on top of what I hoped to be vacant cars.

It was a city that had become one of the unluckily targeted destinations that the monstrous duo set their sadistic sights on; like its inhabitants, it was left broken and hopeless.

Damn them.

Just how many...how many innocent people did they kill this time?

Hundreds?

Thousands?

As for my own fate, a small but dense plank of metal caught the lower half of my body, leaving only my waist and up visible to my eyes. My black denim cropped jeans, black tank top and red oversized military jacket were covered in a stained mix of fresh and dried tears, dirt and blood; the thought of not knowing whether or not the blood was mine causes my throat to burn with bile. My thick shoulder-length ebony hair is clinging to the sweat on my forehead and neck, my bangs just barely long enough to skim the tips of my dark eyelashes.

Fighting through the pain with a grunt, I manage to prop myself up on one of my forearms and blindly reach my other arm behind me, grasping the blunt edge of the metal plate. I flex the sore muscles of my arm and let out a cry with my push, putting what limited energy I have left into this one single motion.

Nothing.

...I...I can't...move it.

I repeat the motion two more times, my frustrated grunts quickly escalating into desperate cries as my inevitable fate leaves me breathless and powerless. The grim reality of the situation settles in.

This is it then?

I'm going to die here?

I release the plate and tiredly lower my chest back to the ground, having a sudden wave of nausea and fatigue wash over my entire body. My head begins to throb in a sickening beat and my vision becomes distorted once again, the buildings around me seeming to blur together. I choke out a defeated sob and rest my wet cheek in the dirt, barely registering the sounds of approaching footsteps and shouting voices.

"Hey! I've found someone!" I wearily tilt my head to the sound of an unfamiliar voice, my initial fear and shock quickly dissipating as I realize the man is flat on his feet rather than floating in the air.

A human?

Just a human.

Thank God.

I watch with hesitant hope and relief as the man, about a good 50 meters down the barren dirt road, suddenly breaks into a sprint towards me, the sound of his heavy footed steps and the details of his body and face becoming clearer with each stride. He skids to a stop in front of me, drops down with one knee in the mud and reaches forward with both arms. His hands delicately shift over my head and arms, pulling back every few strokes to see blood covering his black fingerless gloves.

I swear I hear him utter a gruff "shit" under his breath before drawing his attention back to my face, his expression etched with an unsettling concern which he seems put no effort into masking.

He's quite older than myself, late-forties I assume, with short and messy dark brown hair, and forest green eyes that are hardened with maturity and pain. He's wearing a dirty navy jacket, matching cargo pants and a pair of worn hiking boots. I take note of the red band tied around his left arm, recognizing the iconic stitched insignia belonging to a well-known underground survival group.

They probably heard about the attack on the radio...now, they've sent scavengers to gather and salvage what little resources managed to remain preserved.

"H...help me. P-please..." I manage to croak out, my hoarse and frail voice barely reaching my own ears.

Damn it.

I sound so...weak. Pathetic.

The man silently nods in understanding and turns his head to the side, his eyes focusing on something or someone just out of my peripheral view. One hand raises to cup his mouth while the other is stretched high over his head, clearly waving someone down.

"Sharpner! Hey! Get your ass over here and help me!" I watch from the corner of my eye as another man quickly comes into view, his arms and back carrying several bags on his back and front like a mule.

This one is younger, possibly my age, if not a year or two older, with warm brown eyes and his long blonde hair tied into a messy ponytail at the base of his neck. He's wearing a white tank top, clearly in an attempt to show off the muscles of his arms and shoulders, and cargo pants with a jacket tied around his waist. His widened eyes linger on my lower half, eyeing the situation for a moment, before dropping his bags haphazardly to the ground and kneeling at my side.

"It's my l-leg...please...I can't..." I try to force out more words, but I pause as a soft and reassuring hand rests gently on my shoulder and gives it a light squeeze.

Thank god they stopped to help me. Otherwise, I'd probably be-

"Don't worry, babe...". I tilt my head up to see the blonde-haired man smirking down at me, his eyes glistening with teenage-boy immaturity and an over-sexualized mindset.

"...you can thank your saviour later."

Wow.

What a douche.

In the moment, I can't decide whether his sudden poor-attempt at flirting is a ruse to distract me from the situation, and the likely impending pain, or if he's really just an idiot.

I'd give him a knock upside the head if I weren't pinned down by a solid 300 pound scrap of metal...in the middle of a desolate city...in 30 degree heat.

The 'idiot' throws me a playful wink and gives my shoulder another suggestive squeeze before turning his attention back to the metal plate. He places a palm against the smooth metal, slowly sweeping over the top before grabbing the edge closest to my hip, eyeing its orientation as if he were trying to visually gauge the dead weight. He tilts his head back down, eyeing my face as he hesitantly gives the plate a nudge, the slightest motion sending a painful pressure shooting straight down my leg.

Knock him upside the head?

No.

More like shove my foot up his-

"She's stuck pretty bad, Cap. We won't really know the damage done until she's out from under this thing." The older man rolls his eyes at Sharpner's simple-minded assessment and pushes himself to his feet.

"I'll lift up this side while you pull her out." He quickly moves to stand at my side, opposite of the blonde boy, and braces both hands on the edge of the plate.

"Right." The younger man, Sharpner, gets to his feet and moves to my front, kicking some of the bags to the side to make room for himself before dropping to his knees once again. I watch, still in a clouded daze, as his hands reach out without hesitation to gently grasp my biceps over my jacket.

"Here." Without even bothering to wait for my response, Sharpner leans his head and torso towards me and guides my hands to rest limply around his shoulders. "Hold onto me as tight as you can, okay?"

Using the opportunity to cop-a-feel or actually being helpful?

I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and assume the latter.

I respond with a small nod and brace myself against him, my arms moving farther up his shoulders to wrap around his sweaty neck. I feel his hands move from their place on my arms to wrap around my upper back between my shoulder blades, holding me firmly against his chest. I hear the grunt of the man to our side and moments later an intense throbbing in my left leg burns it's way from my toes to my thigh. I open my mouth to cry out in agony, but a gloved hand quickly reaches out to press against my lips, effectively muffling the sound and nearly suffocating me in the process.

What's that old saying?

That's right...don't bite the hand that feeds you.

"Shhhh...I'm sorry." I feel Sharpner's warm breath against my ear, his sudden seriousness in his tone and gruffness of his voice effectively reminding me of our situation. "We need to be quiet; we can't risk them hearing you."

Them?

Fuck them.

I harshly bite my lip to silence my sobs as Sharpner slowly pulls his hand off of my mouth and shifts it back down to my waist, gripping me tightly once again as the two men get into position. I close my eyes as I feel the weight slowly being lifted off of me, but the joy of liberation does not follow; all that's left is a searing pain that burns it's way down my body. I feel the heels of my black boots drag against the dirt as I'm pulled out from underneath the metal. I hesitantly open my eyes to see the sheet being held up with no more than a few inches of clearance from my body, the sheet beginning to shake as the man hurries Sharpner along.

I'm carried a few feet across the dirt before the older man lets go of the dead weight, the sound of the metal hitting the concrete echoing down the empty streets. Sharpner's grip on my arms loosen and I'm slowly lowered down so that my upper torso and cheek are resting against his chest. I meet Sharpner's gaze, expecting a cocky shit-eating grin followed by more shameless pick-up lines. Instead, all I can see is a mix of anger and grief as he looks on at the fallen city around us.

When will this nightmare end?

How many cities do they need to destroy?

How many people do they need to kill-

"Damn...It's worse than I thought." The older male voice tune me back in, but my gaze remains glued to the man still holding me, not yet prepared to look at what I'm sure was at the very least a broken leg. "We're going to have to carry her back."

Carry me back?

Back to where?

"Gotcha." Sharper nods at his partner before turning his attention back to me, his hands already shifting to wrap underneath my arms. "Here, babe. I'm going to move you onto my back; it'll be easier for me to carry you that way."

There's no way!

I can't just let them take me...not after I came all this way.

I open my mouth to protest, whether for the sake of my pride or the reluctance to be taken by the two strange men, but before I can utter a word I find myself being unwillingly maneuvered onto Sharpner's back. I keep my hands firmly grasped onto his shoulders and open my mouth to protest, but the throbbing pain of my leg and head continue to dull my senses and leave me gaping like a dying trout.

Shit.

This isn't good.

I feel...myself...slipping...

I watch through half-lidded eyes as Sharpner's brows furrow in a mix of confusion and concern before he opens his mouth again. I close my eyes as the voice becomes distant, no longer able to fight the fatigue washing over me. I can't seem to focus on his words enough to retain all of what he was saying to me, the sounds seeming to trail off into a void of silence.

"Just bear with us..."

"...sorry...I know..."

"...we need to get moving...not safe..."

..."you can rest..."

Rest?...

Yea...that sounds good...right about now...