Why is it that waking can be as simple as opening your eyes and at other times, it's harder than swimming through concrete?
Alex groaned softly, struggling to wake. He cursed weakly once he managed to open his eyes and they were immediately assaulted by a bright light.
Were it not for the arm around his shoulders stopping him from turning away, he would have thought he was in a hospital. Rather than try opening his eyes a second time, Alex chose to use his other senses to figure out where he was.
He was able to smell fresh air, the faint scent of decaying plants, and several things he could make neither heads nor tails of.
He felt hard-packed dirt under his legs, a single, muscular arm holding his torso up, and the heartbeat of someone larger than he against his cheek.
Hearing wasn't difficult either. It was making sense of the voices around him that was proving to be a bit of work. As the pounding in his head eased, he found it easier to focus.
"I'm telling you his eyes opened. He's coming around."
"What happened?"
The real question is: How long have I been out? …This doesn't make any sense. I was shot. Why is someone holding me? Why am I outside? …Did Sherry get out alright?
Alex took a deep breath… and opened his eyes.