05
Zack squeezed his eyes shut. Hoped with everything that when he opened them again things would be alright. That things would be back to normal. He'd be with his friends, hanging out and fighting putties. Sparring with each other as they readied themselves for the next fight coming their way. Used their zords as their own personal robots to beat each other up, to figure out new maneuvers the robotic monsters hadn't been able to do before.
And simply were themselves.
Zack leaned forward, resting his forehead against his hands. His knees rapidly bobbed up and down, unable to sit still. Typically, Zack would swing himself around the hallways, trying to make all the doctors and nurses smile with his dance moves and jokes. He couldn't do it. Not when he couldn't smile himself. Not when so much had changed.
Okay, when you open your eyes, you'll be in your History class.
Zack's eyes blinked open. No. He wasn't in history class. Taking in a deep breath, Zack tried once more. Closed his eyes, took a deep breath, tried to convince himself he was somewhere else. Anywhere else. You're at Ernie's, helping Jason try to make a bench-pressing record. No. You're in the park, playing basketball with your friends. No. Kimberly and Trini are helping you shop around for some new clothes. No. You're fighting putties, Rita, Zedd, Goldar, Rito, monsters raining down on your city. Tommy's leading you all into battle and you'll save the day, go back to Ernie's and get a standing ovation at the next Power Ranger's Day.
No.
No.
No.
Anything, anything would've been better than his current state. His parents harping on him for preferring dance over football was better. Getting lectures about goofing off in class was better. Being forced to listen to Billy try to explain all things science while Zack numbly tapped a pencil against a desk. Bulk teasing him. Skull's annoying laugh in his ear. Anything. Anything was better than his reality.
Zack sucked in another breath, this time through his nose as he leaned his head back against the wall behind him. The cold wall, equally as cold as the empty hallway that was filled with doctors every few minutes. They'd give him cold looks, barely give him any answers, could only glance at the blood stains smeared over his palms, stained into the knees of his jeans, dripped over his sneakers. Stared at him with accusing glances that made Zack want to curl up and die.
He deserved to die.
The moment the thought entered his head, Zack Taylor broke down and started to cry. He hadn't cried until then. Had been in too much shock. Even when the doctors treated him, asked him questions about what had happened, he didn't cry.
"Who was driving, Zack?" The first doctor demanded, wrapping a bandage around his ribs.
"I…uh…" Zack swallowed hard, winced. His mouth was fuzzy, tongue was as heavy as a bowling ball, he was sure his words were slurred as he spoke. He answered and the doctor demanded the question once more. Who was driving. "I…I don't…." Again, Zack's words were unable to fall from his mouth, like the blood dripping down his chin. They stuck to his tongue, his head swam, his vision slanted.
"Who was driving?!"
The doctor nearly roared, making Zack jump. Finally, he shook his head and murmured. "I don't know."
The doctor looked at him as if he didn't believe Zack and continued to work on him. Wrapped up his ribs, cleaned up his hands the best he could, assessed the rest of his body for any serious damage. Nothing. "You're lucky," The doctor commented. "Your friends were."
And he left Zack in his room, saying police officers were going to come. Zack nodded, lifting his chin to stare at the wall across from him. He brought up a hand and pressed it to his ribs, wincing at the pain that erupted through his body. He lowered his hand and pushed himself to his feet, left the examining table. He grabbed his flannel shirt and pulled it up over his bare arms that stuck out form his black wife beater. He moved slowly, the bruises on his biceps hindering his movements. He left the hospital room. He couldn't stand not knowing what happened to his friends.
Zack lowered himself into a nearby seat and slouched down. He'd wait as long as he had to, to get some information. Even if it meant all night.
And Zack had been waiting for most of the night. Waited for what was going to happen; their parents had been called, they were racing to find their children, and Zack was going to be the first ones they ran into. He was going to take the blame, no matter what. There wasn't anything he could say differently.
He wanted to throw the party.
He overlooked things that made him and his friends worry.
He reassured everyone things would be okay.
He went along with the others even though, maybe, they weren't in the right state to do so.
He made all those decisions and there was no turning back. Zack's façade finally broke. He was no longer numb. He sat alone in the cold plastic chair, crying. Not crying, sobbing. Screaming. Sobbing so hard his hangover was replaced by a migraine of grief. Sobbed so hard his wailing was heard all throughout the hallways.
Sobbed so hard that he didn't see the doctors and nurses rushing around him. Didn't see the blood stains on their scrubs, didn't hear the codes and warnings they called back and forth to each other as they raced from room to room. Didn't notice the police officers standing at the end of the hall, getting briefed over what had been brought to the hospital.
Zack tried speaking to them earlier. Tried to get any sort of answers, information that would come his way. "Excuse me?" He'd tried to get a doctor's attention, but they brushed right past him. "What's going on?" He tried again, still, no response.
He didn't know what happened, but if no one was answering him, if they were all too busy…it was bad. He knew it intuitively. Knew it from his parents. They were doctors, wanted the best out of life for him. It had been drilled in his head for years, "Education is your way out." "We're expecting a lot of you." "You're making us so proud." Just as he knew every little nuance of hospitals and doctor's offices others didn't.
If he wasn't getting any answers, if people were avoiding him…things weren't good.
As a matter of fact, they were tragic.
"Zachary Taylor left the accident with a couple of scrapes and bruises." Zack perked up as he heard his name. His sobbing subsided, chest heaving as he listened. His breath hitched in his throat every three breaths, making it difficult for him to calm down. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling it rapidly and sporadically rise and fall. A nurse spoke to the police officers at the end of the hall. She spoke quietly, urgently, prompting Zack to get up from his seat.
He inched closer to him, straining to hear.
"His friends weren't so lucky."
No.
Zack swallowed hard. His friends weren't so lucky. What happened to them? Zack brought out his hand, rested it on the wall beside him, worked hard to keep himself up. His legs were starting to give out.
"Any fatalities?" The police officer asked.
Zack continued towards them. He'd stopped sobbing, stopped hyperventilating, but his breaths continued to come out in gasps. Blood pounded in his ears. His heart throbbed against his chest, painfully radiating against his bruised ribs. He watched as the nurse heaved a heavy sigh, looking much older than her young thirties.
He didn't hear her answer. Her lips moved, he couldn't hear her. The police officer said something back and shook his head, pinching at the bridge of his nose. Zack continued to move toward them, his movements desperate.
Wait.
What happened?
Were there any fatalities?
Finally, Zack could hear again. Could only hear the police officer's final response, "Thanks for telling me," The doctor replied as she heaved a weary sigh himself. He shook his head, a paternal expression coming to his face. "They're all so young, they've got their lives ahead of them and this happens…" He licked his lips, took in a deep breath, and steadied himself, rolling his shoulders back. He was back in his element, working professionally. "What we should do is…"
Zack couldn't hear the rest of the conversation. There seemed to be a roaring in his ears, he felt dizzy, sick. Zack slowly collapsed to the ground, pressing his body weight into the wall next to him. He fell to the ground, pressed his face against his knees. He hid his face, worked to hide himself from the world. Everything stripped away from him, he was falling through the void of darkness, straining to remember.
He remembered red and blue lights.
Remembered glass.
Remembered a twisted and mangled car.
Remembered the sound of someone screaming. Screaming. Screaming.
Zack crawled on his hands and knees, glass embedding into his skin, ripping the flesh, causing blood to flow from his palms. He stood up and turned back to look at the car, stared in surprised at how crushed it'd become. Like an empty soda can tossed aside as trash. Smoke rose from beneath the hood of the car, he could see someone lying quietly on the ground, could hear shouting and desperate screams. Sirens filled the area.
He coughed hard, bringing a hand to his chest, rubbed large circles, hoping to rid himself of the pain.
The pain continued to bloom through his chest, ribs creaking each time he took a breath. It increased as his desperation increased.
Desperate to know what was real. He was stuck in a limbo of a dream and reality. That feeling when he stayed up too late with Jason, goofing around. When he'd be in so much of a haze that when he finally fell asleep, it was like everything that happened before may as well have been in his imagination. That was a cruel dream taunting him
"C'mon, think!" Zack whispered, grabbing his hair. "Think! What happened to you?" a fresh wave of tears slid down his cheeks. "What happened to your friends?"
He still had no answers, and still no doctor or nurse would stop long enough to give him an answer. All he wanted to do was go home and cry to his mother. How pathetic. He got hurt and the first thing he wanted was his mom. He was a power ranger for crying out loud. But...his mother always knows how to make things better. He wanted to to her side, cry, and have her tell him that everything was going to be alright. It was then he heard the loud shouts, the rising commotion and looked up to find his parents tearing down the hallway toward him. Zack looked at them and burst out into a fresh wave of tears. His mother and father swept them up into their arms, crying, holding him as tightly as they could, didn't want to let go.
"Mom…dad…" Zack whimpered, holding them just as tightly. He clung to them as he did when he was a child, afraid to let go of his parents in case they left him. This time, if they did leave, he wouldn't blame them.
The only thing that was going through his head was:
Why did this have to happen?
When Zack knew, somewhere in the swirling abyss of memories he worked to untangle, he was the reason it all happened and he'd be the reason if something worse happened.
A/N: Yes, similarly to The Wounded Hart, this story will be told in flashbacks. There will be a flashback in every chapter that reveals a bit more as to what happened as the story moves forward. I hope you guys enjoyed this one. I did say everything was going to start, but I bet you didn't see it coming so soon.
So, what do you think happened to the others? I'll update again soon, I'm happy and excited to be getting back to this.
Also, not all chapters will be this short.
~Av