(Shawn)
I wake up to someone whispering my name. After a minute or two, I realize it's being yelled, but in the distance. I could have sworn I also heard Gus.
It's the middle of the day. Fortunately, the trees shade most of the sun. My arms ache from being in their uncomfortable position for what feels like days. But I know it's been less than one.
I look over myself and don't like what I see. Dry blood covers me like a second skin.
Without looking, I call over to my dad. When I get no answer, I steal a glance.
I cringe when I see him. My father is covered in cuts and bruises, the blood looking like it had always been there.
He's still knocked out cold, but I know I should wake him up.
My voice still hoarse, I yell-whisper to him. It comes out in broken pieces.
"Dad! Dad!" after about the fourth time he responds.
"What?" he grumbles, a little anger in his voice. It only takes him a moment or two to remember what happened. His eyes open wide.
"Shawn!" he turns to me quickly, then winces in pain.
"Dad. It's okay. Don't do anything too sudden. I'm going to get us out of here." I try to say. I'm not sure what all actually comes out.
"Shawn, what did he do to you? I only remember him punching you. When did he do all this?" he asks.
"After you… passed out... while he was, as he said, 'using you as a punching bag,' he came over to me. But, forget me. Dad, what about you? You got the worse of it." I say.
He takes a sharp intake of air, and I can tell he's in pain. "Oh, I'll live. Sore for a while, but alive. You, on the other hand, have more open wounds. How do you feel? Don't worry about me." when I try to speak about him.
"Well, I didn't get stabbed in the stomach. That's a lot of blood. I feel... I don't know, nauseous?' I tell him, ignoring the pain part.
"That's probably due to the loss of blood… No, no. I said don't worry about me. Now, how are we going to get out of here?" my dad says, thinking.
"I can try and rub my ropes against the tree, see if it will wear away," I suggest, already trying.
I have to constantly stop, as it hurts to do it, not to mention the slow flow of blood still coming out of my cuts. After a while, I can tell they are looser than before.
"It's working!" I cry.
A moment later I hear my name being called again. And my dad's.
"Shawn!" and "Mr. Spencer!" even "Henry!" are yelled, a pause between each one.
I look over at Dad. He heard it too. Knowing I can't yell, he does it. Turns out he's a little weaker than he thought.
"Here!" he yells out, but not as load as it would've been two days ago.
"Oh no you don't!" the attacker from last night appears, and knocks my dad out with a shovel.
My strained whisper, "Hey!" doesn't help. He just smiles and walks to me. De ja vu creeps through me.
I watch as he swings the shovel at me, missing the first time, and smiles wider when it hits my injured shoulder. "Oops." he tries again, successfully hitting his mark.