-1The time between falling toward the icy lake and finding his way onto the shore would always be a mystery to Cain later in his life. It was not supposed to be possible, not even in the O.Z., to fall that distance and survive. Even without breaking through an iced over lake. Or even without being shot and knocked out of a window, especially after being beaten by three men (who cheat) and then shot out a window, falling dozens of stories and breaking through an icy lake to land in freezing cold water.
He remembered coming up for air at the edge of the lake, his hands grabbing at the snow covered rocks for purchase. Chest pounding with pain where he had been shot, he pulled himself out of the water, crawling on hands and knees until he was a few feet from shore.
Snowflakes caught on his eyelashes and in his hair, before darkness overtook him.
Zero taunted him in his dreams, his mind replaying the scene where he had been shot. His family was alive. Years he had said, years! Annuals lost, he had been so sure Zero had killed them both. After he had…Adora…gods…he had dragged both Adora and Jeb behind the house and two gunshots had rent the air.
The sound of someone approaching, of someone opening a door nearby (where was he?) broke through the pull of unconsciousness. He had his gun cocked pointed at the possible threat before he even opened his eyes. Or even came fully awake.
It was hard to breathe through the pain in his chest, entire left side felt like it had been stomped on and then hurriedly popped back into a normal shape. Oddly it did not feel like a gunshot wound, but he knew for a fact that Zero had shot him with his own gun. All the same, it still hurt. As did his back where he had hit the ice, his entire body was wrapped in the sensation of being bruised, but somehow not nearly as badly as it should have been. What in Ozma's formerly green O.Z. was going on?
The gun was being pushed away, and for a reason Cain did not know, he knew who it was. But when had he gotten his gun back? It felt like his gun; same weight, texture beneath his fingertips, shape in his hand. Zero had shot him with it, how was it in his hand again as if it had never left at all?
Zipperhead was talking, comparing him to a baby. Well, thanks. Cain opened his eyes, fighting the heavy feeling of his eyelids for a brief moment before closing them again. He had thought right before he hit the ice that the Witch had finally killed them all. Never before had he been so relieved to find that he had been wrong. Both about their deaths, and that Zipperhead was utterly useless.
Jeb's horse? The small wooden animal now had a bullet lodged in its heart, while it had been carefully tucked in a pocket over his own. The figure had been new when he had fled Central City with his family, when he had tucked away his gun and badge. His son had insisted the small token be hidden away as well, Cain had not really understood his boy's logic, but had indulged the kid and then picked him up to tickle his sides until he screeched like a wounded Papay and squirmed to get away.
Curling his fist around the little horse, he held it to his chest, back over his heart where it belonged. When Zipperhead answered his question about DG, it hurt far more than even the impact of the bullet had. His jaw clenched as his eyes shut against the images the Sorceress's name had conjured, of what she could be doing to her sister. Family meant nothing to her, as evidenced by her mother being overthrown and then disappearing into the dungeons. DG in her hands was a concept that just burned with pain to fathom.
Asking about Furball was more of a desire for information than anything else, as he was quick to distance himself from any small attachment to the Viewer. He was already far too attached to the girl, and the Zipperhead saved his life so now he was indebted to the man. It was easier to offer the idea that Furball had fled than to think of yet another person capture by the Sorceress, even if it made him come off as an unfeeling bastard. No, especially if it made Cain come off as an unfeeling bastard.
Maybe then they would see that it made more sense not to get attached to him, and it would be easier on them all.
Still…he owed Glitch his life. Thankfully he passed out from a mixture of exhaustion and pain from the soreness throughout his body, so that he did not have to hear the zippered man no doubt yammer on for several hours.
Damn, unconsciousness never sounded so good.