Whumptober 2020 Day 3: Running Out of Time—Caged/Buried Alive/Collapsed Building
Word Count: 1480
Author: Katie/Ally (aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl)
Rating: T
Characters: Vato Falman
Summary: Falman really does get the worst assignments.
Notes: If I had been a very diligent writer, I'd have looked up some science/math stuff about how fast air runs out. I am not that diligent of a writer, it seems.

Quantity of Air

Air took up space. That was a fact. It was one of many facts that Vato Falman knew. Air took up space, and anything that took up space had a quantity to it. That was another fact that he knew. Normally the quantity of air was not something that Falman thought about, beyond the fact that it was, well, a fact. Air was, typically, in plentiful supply. The quality of the air could easily be in question, but it was, still, there, and typically plentiful. There were only a few situations where one had to worry about the quantity of air that they had.

Which, unfortunately, was the type of situation Falman found himself currently in.

Despite being in the military, patrols had never been Falman's favorite part of duties. In fact, most of the duties that were required he didn't really care for. He did them because, well, they were his duty. Every so often he got assigned a duty that he enjoyed. His favorite, by far, had come from then-Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, who had ordered him to go read books on any and every subject he could in the library every Thursday. That had been back when he had worked for the man for a brief period of time and it had been his favorite duty. He had looked forward to those days. He had thought that his least favorite duty had been when he was babysitting Barry the Chopper. That assignment had been days of awful and it had ended awfully. Honestly, there was only one way that whole situation could have ended worse, and that was if someone (aside from Barry) had actually died. And while that duty still ranked up there in terms of his worst duties, it turned out, there were other equally as bad duties.

And Falman was pretty sure they all existed at Briggs.

Patrol was one of the duties that they all rotated in and out of. Not everything that happened at Briggs happened in the fort. The fort was the main hub up this far, farther north than even Northern Command, but there were still plenty of places to patrol, and outposts that needed supplies. (He wasn't entirely certain that he wouldn't mind an assignment to an outpost. You sit in a cabin all day long, warm and cozy, and watch for signs of Drachma. He was sure there was other unpleasantness to it, but still, it didn't sound half bad). Every so often everyone took a turn going on patrol to in the mountains and going on supply missions to the cabins. It was, it seemed, a routine mission, despite Falman having been warned not to treat anything in the Briggs Mountains as routine.

There may have been something to that.

It was clear from the moment it came in sight, that something had happened at this outpost. The cabin itself looked like there had been a fight, with an open and busted up door, windows that were cracked and falling, and signs in the snow of fighting. The soldier who was supposed to be there was nowhere to be found, either, and, beyond the signs of a fight, there were no clues as to what had happened to him. All of this was very concerning, and the team had fanned out to search for him. Falman, being the new guy and therefore inexperienced, was ordered to stay at the cabin in case the soldier—or someone or something else—came back. Nervously, Falman did so, although he was more than a little worried about the someone or something else that could come back. The only good parts was that the cabin provided some shelter from the biting wind.

He never should have let his guard down.

That protection had been a false promise. There had been a loud booming somewhere above him and the sound of the other men yelling. Falman had turned to look, only to look in horror as an avalanche of snow came his way. An although he had a plethora of facts about avalanches and what you were supposed to do if you were caught in one in his head, there was no time to work through them. The best he could do was to duck back inside the cabin and brace himself.

The next few minutes had been disorienting to say the least, with sounds and snow and force and cold and movement, and when things had finally settled down, he was in darkness, with a great weight pressing down on his legs, the rest of him free. It was dark, too dark to see, and he tried to work his way loose. But when he tried to move too much, there was an ominous creaking around him, and he stopped, not sure exactly what that meant, but having some pretty decent guesses. He still had his pack on, and he had managed to get to his tender, and lit a match, hoping to see, well, something hopefully.

The light didn't improve his situation any.

He was still in the cabin. Only, the cabin wasn't all there. It was mangled and partially (mostly?) collapsed around him. He himself was stuck under a mix of fallen in cabin and avalanche snow. The only upside he could see to this, was that he had a longer time to wait for a rescue, because he had more air then if he'd been in a small pocket. But that wasn't really much of an upside. Especially when he could calculate about how much air he'd have and about how long of a time span that might be.

It was enough to make him want to panic, which would really not help the situation in the slightest. Instead, he started a countdown in his head and did everything he could to reduce the amount of oxygen he would be using. He tried to free his legs, again, for a moment, but they were stuck tight, and digging them out, he figured, would cost more air then it was worth. So, instead he laid there.

He turned on no light, because that would also use up oxygen.

He didn't try to free himself because that would use up oxygen.

He did move too much, because that would use up more oxygen.

He didn't cry out, or cry, or scream, because that would use up more oxygen.

Instead, Falman laid very, very still and very, very quiet, listening for the sounds of what might be a rescue, and not entirely sure that he believed that one would come.

And in his head, he counted down the time until he ran out of breathable air.

He wished he could say that he lost track of time, but he knew exactly how long he had been laying under that snow. He knew that his time was dwindling, and that he only had about five minutes left. He was already feeling lightheaded and dizzy, when he heard what sounded like the sounds of scraping or footsteps. He shook himself more awake, forced himself to be more aware, and listened again.

It was people! But Briggs, or Drachma? Then again, did it really matter as long as he was alive? No, not in his book. He only had a little air left, though. He had no idea if they could see this half-collapsed cabin in the snow or not. He only hand a little air left. If they passed him by—

Well, he'd be dead before they came back. Might as well try to get their attention, even if it would use up what oxygen he had left faster.

Falman opened his mouth, took in a breath, and tried to channel the energy of Breda freaking out of Hayate. "Help!" he yelled. "Help! Help, I'm trapped! Help me!"

It was hard to hear anything when he was yelling, and the extra lack of oxygen was making him dizzy. But this was his last shot, and he knew it. He yelled out again, anyway, hoping, praying for a response or for someone to hear him. Mercifully, there was a shout back, and even in Amestrian.

"Hang on! We'll get you out!"

He was getting dizzier. He needed to let them know how dire the situation was. "Hurry!" he shouted back. "I think… I've only got a couple of minutes of air!"

There was a pause, and then the digging seemed to intensify as suddenly what sounded like several people were above him. He could hear orders being shouted, and reassurances being called to him.

Falman laid his head back down. It was still dark. He was still cold. He only had a couple of minutes of air left. But he was going to be rescued, and that meant, if nothing else, he hadn't failed the Colonel. With a sigh of relief, Falman relaxed, and waited.