"You almost killed her," Santana sneered.
"He saved her life," Puck defended.
"She is yellow," Brittany stated, as if it was a common occurrence.
Mike, who was staring off into nothing, looked over at the bickering group.
"Her wound is infected," He said. "The antibiotics will help fight of the infection."
"And if they don't? What if you gave her the wrong stuff?"
"What do you care, anyway?" Quinn shot. "You're a bitch to her."
Mike stood and exclaimed, "Enough! I know what I'm doing."
"Come on, guys," Blaine, who had been quiet for an entire day, said, "We can't fight."
For a few seconds, everyone took in Blaine's words. He sounded like he was talking to a group of children. That's how they were acting. For the first time since the crash, they were fighting. A bunch of bickering children couldn't survive for long. So if they wanted to get off the island alive, which they did, they were going to have to act like adults. They were scared kids who were going to have to try to act like adults.
"We went through the plane wreckage three times. I'm pretty sure we've got all of the luggage that survived," Finn proposed. "We need to go through it all and pool what we have."
There was a silent wave of agreement. They broke apart, walking over to the large pile of luggage. The luggage was next to their small pile of airline food. The blankets they had found were folded outside the makeshift huts.
Mike followed, hoping to create a medical kit. Some of the group still had wounds. He wanted to fix them soon to avoid further infection.
"Hey, Mike."
It was Kurt. Like Blaine, Kurt had been quiet since the crash. Mike gave his friend a weak smile.
"Yeah?"
"They aren't coming," Kurt stated. "We're stranded."
"Come on, man," Mike said. "You have to keep hope."
"It's been a day. They aren't coming."
Kurt walked off to salvage clothes, books- anything he could find, leaving Mike to wrestle with his words. Mike didn't want to think about it. Of course, the thought was in the back of his head. He couldn't hold on to the feelings for long. If he was going to survive, he was going to have to give it his all.
They separated the things they found in their luggage. Rachel decided it'd be best to make piles; electronics, textual, clothing, medical/hygiene (though Mike already had a considerably large medical stockpile going), and other.
The electronic pile: A few iPods containing a wide variety of music, a camera, and a busted watch.
Clothing: Some sunglasses, a few pair of boots, sneakers, sandals, and a massive amount of clothes of every size and style.
Hygiene/Medical: Three bottles of sunscreen, toilet paper, an inhaler, some tampons, Q-Tips, Band-Aids, some soaps and shampoos.
Other: Lighters, a few flashlights, a Swiss Army knife, some miscellaneous bottles, Ziploc bags, a deck of cards, a fanny pack, a sleeping mask, and a large roll of tape.
Mike took the liberty of adding the Band-Aids and inhaler to his pack of medical equipment. It already held some leftover strips of the t-shirt, the sewing kit, the straight razor, and medicine ranging from antibiotics to Aspirin to.
As they were moving the piles, there was a pained moan coming from the spot where Mercedes' body lay. Mike grabbed his medical pack and rushed over. After an hour or so, Puck had left her alone, getting bored sitting idly. Mike didn't think much about it at the time, but now that she was violently coughing and starting to stir, he thought maybe it wasn't such a good idea.
"Mercedes!" He flopped to the ground. "Stop moving!"
"It hurts," She wheezed.
Mike gave her a sympathetic look, "I know. I'm going to give you some more medicine, okay?"
He dug around his bag, searching for the antibiotics found in the wreckage. The medicine, Tetracycline, was used to cure urinary tract infections. It was a bacteria fighting antibiotic, but it wasn't nearly strong enough to help Mercedes. It was better than nothing, though.
He slipped the pill in her mouth and tipped some water in her mouth. She had already passed back out. Mike sighed and trekked back to the main set up.
"Hey, Kurt," Mike called out.
Kurt stopped fiddling with the broken watch and stood up. He walked over to Mike and gave a weak smile,
"Yeah?"
"Is there any way you can make a… tent… or shelter… or something for Mercedes? We can't just leave her exposed anymore."
"We don't have a lot of stuff left," Kurt thought. "But I could probably use parts from the plane. I'd have to get help lifting them, of course."
Mike patted Kurt's back, "Thank you."
Kurt scuttled off to grab some muscle. Mike walked over to where Quinn and Santana were begging to start the fire for the night. He set his medical pack down and flopped next to it.
"Do we have any food left?" He questioned.
"Not much," Artie said. "We have a few more meals- they might last us one more day or so."
"We're going to have to hunt," Mike stated.
"I'm not eating meat!" Rachel contributed flatly.
Santana shot her a nasty look, "Have fun starving."
"What about fish?" Artie asked. "There is a whole ocean of fish."
"Tina- Tina knows… knew how to cook fish," Mike said quietly.
The fighting stopped as everyone looked at him. They'd been pretending it never happened, just as he did. The same goes for Mr. Schue. They all saw him get sucked into the razor sharp blades, but none of them wanted to believe he was really gone.
"Maybe I'll eat meat," Rachel mumbled.
"Mike! Mike! Come here!"
A few hundred feet away, Blaine was waving his arms frantically. He was standing with Kurt, Puck, and Finn. They had a good start on a makeshift tent out of plane parts for Mercedes, but something seemed to be wrong.
Without blinking, Mike grabbed his medical bag and rushed over to Blaine. He dunked behind the plane wing and was greeted by a shock- Mercedes' abdomen was more yellow than it was before, and now it was beginning to speckle with tiny blisters.
"Shit," Mike breathed.
"She was fine when we started putting this stupid thing up," Puck panicked.
Mike rubbed his jaw, "The antibiotics aren't helping. The infection has spread. I think it may be in her bloodstream."
"That isn't good, is it?" Finn said grimly.
"It isn't good," Kurt stated.
Mike agreed, "I can give her more of the antibiotics, but chances are they won't help. She's experiencing septic shock."
"What does that mean?" Blaine asked, dunking into the small, blocked off space.
Mike hesitated for a second before saying, "Her organs are failing."
As much knowledge as Mike had retained, he had missed something important. Mercedes fever and chills was a red flag for sepsis, or the entire body becoming inflammatory. The extreme conditions and terms of the crash sent her into septic shock. Septic shock resulted in her organs failing. The infection was spreading rapidly, attacking her immune system.
Mercedes was going to die. Mike wasn't sure how long it would take, he tried to remember… anywhere from a few hours to a few days.
"She's going to die?" Puck asked.
"Oh my God," Kurt stifled, covering his mouth.
It wasn't Mike's fault entirely. He had tried to save her. She would have died if he didn't do anything. And now that he did do something, she was going to die. It was a lose-lose situation.
He stormed off, ashamed of himself. He ventured into the thick woods. Nobody in the group had explored the intimidating brush. Mike didn't care. He wanted to get away. He weaved through trees. He told himself he wanted to get lost, but knew if he did, his friends might not survive. Who knows, maybe they'd be better off without him.
Back at the camp, the rest of the group began to worry about Mike. It was starting to get dark. They didn't know what was out there. They couldn't risk going in after him. They just had to hope he'd come back.
Puck slowly removed himself from the fire. He grabbed a long sleeved shirt from the separated clothing piles and shoved it under his own shirt, just in case anyone saw him leaving. Sneakily, he wandered across the sand and dipped behind the plane parts he had set up hours earlier.
Mercedes was emitting small, pained moans. It was almost too much for Puck. No, it was too much for Puck. He wasn't going to let her suffer any more than she already had.
He kneeled in the sand next to her body and pulled the shirt out. He stared at it for a long second. He was struggling with himself, what he was about to do. Carefully, he bunched the shirt and placed it over Mercedes' face.
"I'm so sorry, Hot Mama," He whispered, his voice cracking. "I love you…"
Before he could change his mind, he stuffed the shirt into Mercedes' mouth. He placed his hand over the shirt to keep it down, and he pinched her nose to block the passageway. His tears flew freely.
Mercedes struggled for a few painful seconds, but her body was weak and tired. Her body went limp. She was gone.