Brave Fear (boyxboy)

Chapter 15

When Zane came to, there was a soft glow emanating from a faintly translucent window inset into the ceiling. It was harsh and bright at first glance, but dimmed as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness.

The second thing he became aware of was the searing pain in his leg. It throbbed nonstop, sending wave after wave of nausea into his brain. His eyes watered as he forced his vision to remain clear. He moved his head, and found his left ear was able to hear again. The shock of the terribly loud noise had passed and his brain had cleared slightly.

The shirt was tied tightly around his leg to staunch the bleeding. The bullet had torn right through his leg, so there was no bullet to remove and his chances of infection were far less. He repositioned his body, struggling to find a position less painful.

"Just lie still, mate," came Marcus's voice from nearby. It was soft and soothing, but also unnecessarily loud in the silence.

Zane twisted his head so he could see the other boy. Marcus was seated on a backpack just behind Zane's head, his arms crossed over his chest. His cowboy hat sat askew upon his red hair, which appeared almost brown in the dark. His marvelous green eyes had a dark and brooding sheen to them, making him look older and more mysterious. His overall mood had grown darker. Zane recalled the fact that he had been experimented on long before Wawrzynski had perfected his serum. Zane couldn't help but feel Marcus's mood shift was long overdue.

"Where are the others?" Zane asked curiously. He gazed around, but his eyes did not fall upon them. He only saw darkness after a few feet that were illuminated from the skylight.

"They scouted ahead, mate," Marcus stated factually. He tapped his foot on the floor, and the small noise echoed throughout the cylindrical tunnel. "We also couldn't carry you any further."

Zane winced. "I'm sorry to be a burden," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

"Nonsense," Marcus said, but there was an underlying note to his voice that suggested it wasn't nonsense. His gaze shifted so he was looking absentmindedly at the roof. Zane grimaced, knowing he had slowed them down. After several moments, Marcus said, "Joseph was really worried about you."

Despite the turn the conversation had taken, something else preyed on Zane's thoughts. I killed a man. Once again he saw the gun go off in his hand and the soldier slowly topple to the ground. He knew he shouldn't feel so bad, because the soldier was trying to kill him. But he couldn't help thinking that if he hadn't pulled that trigger, the soldier would have gone home to his family. Zane had stolen his future from him to preserve his own life.

What made Zane's life more important than his? Did Zane deserve more in life than any ordinary soldier, or would it have been better if he had died, if he had been the one to lose his life to preserve another? He didn't know.

Zane sat up slowly, his leg protesting vehemently. "Where are we?" he asked, disregarding the previous path the conversation had been following. He longed to reach down and unwrap the shirt from his leg. He wanted to see how bad the injury was. He managed to still his hands by taking in his surroundings.

There wasn't much to see. The minuscule amount of light illuminated very little. He had been laid at the very bottom of the rounded floor, and his backpack lay where someone had placed it under his head. Marcus was half leaning, half sitting on the curved wall, his legs crossed in front of him. In either direction was darkness as far as Zane could see. "Which way did we come from?" he asked Marcus, looking back and forth.

With one thumb, Marcus pointed to his left. "That way," he said. Zane squinted into the darkness, but could not discern any noticeable features. "The others scouted in that direction." Marcus's thumb pivoted a perfect one hundred and eighty degrees to face the opposite way.