Blood is everything. It ties us; binds us to the good and the bad. What's important is that with blood … with family, you have someone to share the good times with. And no matter how bad it gets, you are never alone.
-Alberto Reyes
This is what he remembered:
Like the drone of a wasp, the bullet sung in. A heat, a pressure ripped through Jaime's leg. He screamed and reeled away from Peacemaker. Next thing he knew, he was curled into the fetal position, gripping his thigh, squeezing with all his might, straining to keep his blood inside.
The suit buzzed in his head, ordered him to act, to move.
Couldn't. Bleeding. Hurt. Hurt so bad.
Then he was airborne, flying away from the danger.
Jaime Couldn't feel the wind, couldn't hear anything. Weak and sick. Going into shock. He took deep breaths. Had to calm down. Had to think. Had to get help.
Who would help him? He was alone. Didn't matter. Just get away. Far away from the danger. Get help.
Warning. Power levels critical. Deactivating thrusters.
"What? What!" he shrieked.
The jets on his back cut out. He began to slow.
"No. No no." Calm. Had to stay calm. "Turn it on!"
Gravity pulled him gently, then like a wicked child sent him careening to earth. Jaime cut through the air, the ground zooming in like a speeding truck. Seconds before impact, the thrusters kicked in a short burst. His chin knocked against his chest, cutting his screams off. His joints jared and he tumbled to the ground a moment later, body flopping like a stuffed animal as he rolled.
"What the heck, traje!"
Jaime had sufficient warning. Power levels critical. He should have retreated and recharged before confronting Checkmate.
You're the one always telling me to eliminate things- Ay!" Jaime clutched his leg. "I need a doctor. Need a hospital."
Analyzing … Femoral bone: shattered by projectile. Femoral artery: severed by bone fragments. Blood loss: approaching two liters.
"I'm dead. I'm dead."
Remain calm. Priority: Stop bleeding.
"I need a hospital."
Initializing repairs.
"I'm not a machine," he shrieked. "I need a doctor!"
Remain calm.
"I'm shot!" Warm red. Everywhere. Hurt. So bad. The pain drowned out everything. He was going to die.
Negative.
He was going to die alone.
Negative.
Alone. With a freaking voice in his head.
A twinge rippled through his leg. He screamed. "Santo cielo!" Let him die. Oh God. "Stop! Stop!"
Artery sealed.
No more breath to scream. Body shaking. So weak. So cold. He was dead.
"Mami," he whispered. Or thought he did.
He was going to die alone.
Bone splinters realigned.
Then a horrible thing happened. His body … it … it fell apart.
"Ay Dios."
His skin, it was falling off in chunks.
"Ay Dios!"
Hunks peeled away, disintegrating like mud in water. He tried to hold his body on his bones. It slipped as sand through his shriveling fingers.
"What's happening!"
Energy levels critical. Unable to maintain exterior armor in current state. Shutting down defensive capabilities until power levels stabilize. Maintaining low level repairs and protection over injury.
Cold. Tired. Body melting. Jaime lay on his side watching his flesh fall to the dust.
"I don't … I don't understand."
Jaime was physically weakened. Glucose levels -
"Below normal. I know."
Slowly, he recognized his own skin. He had a body under that suit, he remembered. He touched his caramel arm and shivered. He could feel every whirl in his fingerprint. His muscles ached and his skin seared like a thousand bee stings. But this was his body. It was him. Only him.
Subject Jaime was vulnerable to all enemy attacks. Recommendation: seek cover. Regain energy. Ninety percent chance that after three hours Jaime would be subject to debilitating fatigue. After ten hours, Jaime's minor organs and peripheral functions would shut down. After twelve hours -
"Shut up."
His skin. His real skin. Jaime held up his hand, rubbed his chest. His own body. He almost forgot what it felt like. He lay naked except for a band of dark armor around his thigh. The strip encased the bullet wound and the shattered bone. He felt for a seam, but the armor wasn't like a bandage, rather it was rooted in his skin, like a scab, part of him. He shuddered and pulled his hand away.
Once he caught his breath, he eased to a sitting position. Dust clung to his body, streaking where sweat sprouted. A deep ache in his bone. That couldn't be helped. No energy left to heal. Had to find refuge. Water. Food. Water first. So much blood loss. Three hours.
A scan of the horizon. Orange earth rolled to the end of visability. No road. No buildings. No people. Not even a tumbleweed. Only rock, sand, brush, and empty skies.
Nothing.
Jaime struggled to stand, trying not to put pressure on his injured leg. He turned full circle. Blank desert all around. Pink sky arcing above. Stars pricking through the twilight veil.
"What now?"
Priority: Obtain water and food. Find shelter to perform repairs.
He thought of his house. Of how it should be. Him at the table doing homework. Milagro bugging him to play. Mami with her feet up, too tired to change out of her scrubs. And Papi …
Jaime's eyes teared.
Papi rooting for food in the fridge for the fifth time in as many minutes, grease in the creases of his hands. That's where he should be. Home. Safe.
Jaime swallowed. "Where am I supposed to go?"
Satellite imagery revealed a stream nineteen point six miles north, northwest of current location. Recommendation -
Jaime let out a roar. He said every swear he could think of in Spanish. Then in English. Then both. He kicked the ground, punched the air. Still not enough.
Still screaming, he bit into his fist. Hard. As hard as he could, expecting to taste blood.
Warning: Endocrine hormones -
"SCREW YOU!"
His head buzzed with readings on his heart rate, hormone secretion, distribution of blood flow, and other bodily functions he didn't know existed. The suit went haywire with scans, trying to detect the danger causing him to act this way.
Jaime must not move in such a way. His femoral bone needed to be kept stationary.
Jaime collapsed to the ground, yells turning to sobs. He couldn't do anything. He was helpless. He couldn't go home. Even if he survived walking twenty miles —
Nineteen point six.
— on a hurt leg, even if he didn't pass out from bloodloss, didn't die of thirst or starvation, how could he go back? After what he did … Those people he hurt?
Invalid query.
He was alone. What was he supposed to do?
Priority: water.
He flipped to his side and pulled a knee to his chest. Was this punishment for something?
Invalid query.
He needed someone to blame. To lash out at. His helplessness was a bitter and uncomforting hunger. It dwelled in the pit of his stomach, growing little by little, hollowing out a cavern in his chest as it grew, filling him with nothing.
Jaime cried himself into a shallow sleep, all the while one question rolling in his head.
Why?
A fretful dreamworld tormented by pain and exhaustion. Jaime hovered at the rim of consciousness.
"Está vivo?"
"No sé."
The voices floated just above him. He swam out of sleep. Terror shot through his veins.
Checkmate. They found him.
A dark figure loomed over him. Jaime wanted to scream. He couldn't. Couldn't move. Paralyzed. They drugged him. His heart beat so fast. Cold sweat. He was having a stroke. A heart attack. Something. He was dying.
A large hand grabbed his throat.
Jaime screamed.
Loose Spanish translation as taken in context:
ay - ow
ay Dios - oh God
está vivo? - he alive?
mami - mom
no sé - don't know
traje - suit