Chapter 2- Dan
Phil always has a habit of being in the worst place at the worst time. In an apocalyptic world, he hasn't changed a bit. Only now, with no one to help us but each other, it threatens his life. When a bomb blast broke glass in a building near us, I easily avoided it, but Phil got glass embedded in his leg.
I'm trying to press my jacket against the wound, but the blood isn't stopping. I'm too afraid to remove the glass, because, even though I have no medical knowledge, I can guess that he'll just bleed more. There's nothing I can do. I kneel beside him, supporting his head, watching a crimson trail collect in a pool beside him.
Shit.
He's lost more blood than I thought. How long does he have? He's the only familiar face left. I don't want to be alone. I try to talk to him, but my voice cracks and won't let me speak above a whisper. I think he hears me anyway, because he looks straight at me. I wish he hadn't. The fear in his eyes stuns me to absolute silence, and I am powerless. I can't help him.
I hear footsteps. At least, I think I do. It's so dark, I can barely see anything. But I feel like I am being watched. There is someone there. The person realises they have been heard, and walks closer, letting her footsteps be louder.
A girl stands in front of me. I would say maybe in her late teenage years, even though she is quite short if so. But I am not interested in her. I am just interested in the first aid kit she has slung over her shoulder. I only care about the look she has in her eyes, as she assesses Phil's wound. She is studying it carefully. Maybe she knows what to do. Maybe she will help.
"Please," I croak. I am barely audible. I barely hear it myself, but she hears.
She looks at me. Her face is impassive, impossible to read. But she nods curtly, and kneels to help, opening her first aid kit.
She puts on some gloves, and cautiously removes the glass. I was right, he does bleed more. It's awful to watch. I look away, and desperately try to ignore the sounds of pain Phil makes. He's gritting his teeth, and trying his best to endure it, but obviously, he can't. I feel a tear roll down my cheek. It physically hurts, to listen to him like this.
I think she must have finally removed it, because Phil's quieter now, only letting an occasional sob escape him. I dare to look again, and I regret it. Blood spills everywhere, staining the ground a dark shade of red. Phil looks like he's made of porcelain, as he lies in too much pain to move, skin white from blood loss. I am worried he will shatter, splinter into a million irreparable pieces.
After what seems like eternity, his leg is bandaged. The girl, who we now know as Amaris, or Amy for short, did a pretty decent job. She explains that Phil will be weak for a while, unable to walk for extended periods of time, but he will heal with no permanent damage. With his arm around my shoulder, and my arm around his waist, he can stand, and, since we are all tired, we search for somewhere to sleep.
We soon find a shelter, a part of what was a building. There is no roof, like all the other ruins, but some of the walls have leaned inwards, forming a bit of a roof. It kind of works.
Amy claims she doesn't feel the cold, and sleeps in the less sheltered part of the place, where she is vulnerable to a biting wind. Despite the chill, she falls asleep quite quickly. Phil and I snuggle together, trying desperately to keep warm. We both have nightmares that night, about what we saw during the day. But, at least for the moment, we are not dead, and right now that's enough for me.
