Chapter 4
He'd been slogging through the river for hours now. He was exhausted, sore, and frightened. He was sitting on a rock near the edge of the river, finally taking the time to examine his wounds. His head felt like someone was playing a drum on his brain. He felt around his temple and hit a deep graze. From a bullet, maybe? That would explain why they thought he'd been shot. He had been, just not seriously. He pulled up the tattered remains of his pants and stared in horror at the hamburger that remained of his legs. They were a mass of bruises and cuts and scrapes. None were serious by themselves, but taken together explained well why his legs hurt. He took off his jacket which was also torn and examined his arms. They too were cut up although most of the damage was to his hands, in particular, the tips of his fingers. Hmmm...
His reflections were interrupted by the sound of someone... or something approaching. He stood and looked around. He wanted more than anything to talk to someone, but he didn't dare trust anyone out here. He looked out into the river and saw a place to hide. He slipped through the shallow water and quickly hid himself in the bushes on a large sandbar. He watched as two men walked out of the trees and down to the riverside. He didn't recognize them. He laughed silently at the thought. He probably wouldn't recognize his own mother if he saw her.
As he spied on the two men searching the bank, he began to think that he was going crazy. The men he saw were familiar, but he didn't know them. Part of him wanted to shout to them, but the louder, more insistent part wanted to curl into a little ball and hide. Instead, he watched as they walked along the bank. He could only guess that they were looking for him, but for what purpose, he didn't know. He hated this feeling. It was like he was two different people, but one of them was on holiday, leaving the other behind to clean up the mess. With a feeling of relief and anxiety, he watched the two men head back upstream as the sun sunk behind the trees again. Another very long day was ending.
"What am I going to do now?" he asked himself. He looked around the overgrown sandbar. This was a good enough place to spend the night. If he slept now, he could get a good start in the dark before the sun came up. Before he could prevent it, he started to wonder what would happen if he didn't get any treatment for his injuries. He was also hungry and thirsty. His stomach was protesting loudly at its emptiness. He had finally given in and taken a drink from the river once, but he wasn't sure how safe that water was.
"It's not that bad," he told himself sternly. "Gibbs has gone through much worse and been fine." He blinked. Where had the name Gibbs come from? He grasped desperately for more details on who this Gibbs might be. A friend? A colleague? Once again, his mind refused to give him any answers. He grumbled to himself and tried to find a comfortable position. It wasn't easy. It seemed that every position involved some measure of pain. Finally, he sighed and gave in to his exhaustion.