Blackheath
***
The rock floor bit at his bones through the thin mattress, raising him from the darkness. He tried to shift his body onto thicker padding, but heaviness and weakness dragged at his limbs, and his leg throbbed furiously. He clutched at it but a groan escaped despite himself. Hard footsteps brought someone closer.
"You still with us then?" a voice said, and Blackheath struggled to focus on the face, blinking sweat from his eyes. Friend or foe?
"Didn't know if you'd make it, for a while there," she continued, bringing a lantern up to him and checking his leg, firmly removing his clutched hands. He relaxed slightly to see the human dullness rather than the reflective silver of a Soul in her eyes.
"Still bleeding a bit," she frowned. "You'll have to keep still."
He knew better than to ask for No Pain. Soul-free settlements prided themselves on their independence, and Soul products were only traded between trusted friends.
She handed him a bottle of water and he drank deeply, drowning his thirst and fear.
"What is this place?" he asked quietly, dribbling water from the bottle into his hand and wiping his face.
"Griffith," she replied, handing him a rag, "we found you in the truck when we were unpacking. Don't supposed you meant to end up here?"
He shook his head.
"I have to get back," he whispered, pulling his leg to edge of the mattress and grimacing as pain burnt through him, "Where's my gun?"
"Not for a little while yet, buddy," she said, making no move to stop him, or help him, "Or you'll kill yourself trying."
He paused, catching his breath. She watched him as she opened the locked lower drawer of a filing cabinet, and his gun and knives slid into view at the bottom of the drawer.
"For safekeeping. And I'd appreciate it if you kept your mouth shut about it: I don't want visitors in the night." She eyed him until he nodded.
"Give me a knife anyway," he said. She hesitated, but passed him one. He strapped it to his good calf, pulled his pants down over it. This little activity left him wasted and light headed.
"Truck's gone anyway," she continued, refolding her rags. "Won't be back for a month."
A month, he thought, panic flooding his blood. Too long, much too long…
"I can't wait that long," he muttered, swinging his leg onto the floor and trying to stand.
"You'll have to, or longer, if you don't rest," she said, anger seeping into her voice as she pushed him back down. He lay limply against the wall, sweat coating his skin easily, waiting for the wave of pain to ebb away enough to allow speech.
"Don't be stupid," the woman muttered, pressing a soaking rag to his forehead, "Your life so cheap you can waste it that easy? Haven't you got any family to look after?"
He lay down on his bruised hips again and let exhaustion consume him.
Family…