CHAPTER #2
When she reopened her eyes, the world seemed to be the smell of smoke, heat, sweat and pain. Oh, and the whole lot of metal at her face. She was panting, like she had run a marathon, and she realized she was out of air. And while she was sure breathing shallowly would not get her much oxygen, she was not sure if the amount of smoke she kept gulping was much better either. She had to get out of- where was she? Just now, she really did take in her narrow surroundings. Crates at both of her sides had stopped her from being crushed, much as they had prevented her being filled with bullet holes, but they could barely be called crates anymore. Their distorted metal dug into her arms, she realized, had already penetrated them at some spots. And she couldn't move her leg, inmobilized by what seemed to be a chair. But there was something else, a weird feeling, a numb one. She looked down on herself, to find a big tube that had stabbed through the side of her waist vertically. Was that, was that really herself?
…Well… shit.
There were worst ways it could have gone, she decided, she could be hurting like crazy and unable to think.
Of course, being numb meant it was serious. And she was pretty confused…and there were no obvious options.
She sagged against the ground, not like she was going anywhere anytime soon, and tried to think. Kein. Kein had gotten her into cover, thrown himself over her so- where was he? He couldn't be far, she decided, and if he was, it was better if someone listened. "Keeeeiiinnn!" She called out, loudly, but got no answer. Three seconds later, she opened her mouth again, closed it, looked down on herself, and shut her eyes tightly. Freaking pathetic, she thought, so that was enough calling out for help. If he was not here, he either abandoned her, or he was looking for help. Either way, she wasn't staying. Drawing on the last of her strength, she tried to push everything from her. It worked- somewhat. She had a little more breathing space, her arms were kinda freed, but all in all, she was still stuck and stabbed. And she- she wasn't sure if- if- "Fuck! Goddamnit, concentrate!" She screamed at herself, panting, hyperventilating, almost, if she wasn't bleeding, it would be hyperventilating. She took one last gulp of terrorized air, and stopped, finding the rhythm of a babe in sleep.
It wasn't a good idea, she knew it wasn't a good idea, but she couldn't stay. She needed to get to a hospital, they wouldn't question her badly enough because she had bullet wounds, and her burns, she supposed, were minimal. She grabbed the godforsaken chunk of metal, and with a guttural cry, pushed it out of herself, letting it instead press against the ground beside her. Why couldn't it have been there in the first place? Would have made everything easier. With detached horror, she watched as blood began sputtering out of the wound like a newly cleared pipe, and crawled backwards with mostly her arms, her legs feeling way too weak to do much helping.
She came out into the sunlight, and closed her eyes at the brightness, and as she opened them again moments later to take in her surroundings, she noted with what could be defined as cold resignation that suddenly everything seemed blurry, squares of color. Her back hit the mud again, took her a few seconds to realize her arms had given out from underneath her. She couldn't tell if she cared or not anymore. She told them to move, she told everything on herself to move, but the only answer she got was a light, frustratingly, desperately, small jerk of her right hand. She couldn't smell the smoke, or the humidity anymore. All she could see was black, and she blinked, she blinked, made sure her eyes were wide open but all she could see was black.
Later, she would be able to dimly recall the sound of engines, splashes and distant, urgent voices.