An Unlikely Time

The Lost Chapter: The Bullet

(Hi. This is the bonus chapter I added due to my recent and major changes in the story. This chapter falls between chapters 10 and 11. Please read at your own risk, considering it get fairly gory here. There is suffering and removal of a bullet, which could make you cringe if you don't like that stuff. If you don't just skip this chapter and go back to Chapter 11. You won't miss much here. With that said, enjoy the lost chapter.)

I got a few miles into the deep forest where I had left my friend behind, finally taking a breath and sitting down. It had truly hurt me to leave my friend, but I cared more of everyone else's safety above my own. Why? I think it was because after reading that letter, something changed within me. I couldn't figure it out myself, maybe I had lost some value in life, despite how far I had made it.
I forced myself to think the other way.
'You HAVE to live. You HAVE to protect everyone. And you HAVE to distract the Brits long enough for the soldiers to arrive.'
I emphasized "have" in my brain as I told myself this. With the last thing I said, I knew very well I was no hero. And I would never be so. A committed American patriot? Of course. But I knew that if there was anyone who could fix this mess, it's the American army.
At least, I hoped that was true.
I arched over, feeling a strike through my chest and yelling at the pain.
The bullet, I thought. I had never taken it out, or checked on it. And if I didn't get it out, things could get a lot worse.
I cringed as I reached for my bag, pulling out the first aid kit. I reached for the small needle and clear bottle. I knew this was a numbing liquid.
Two things I was afraid of: my parents and killing myself slowly and painfully. I was facing one of those fears now.
"This is gonna suck." I said to myself, not that anyone heard me, and shot it into my chest. I grunted at the sharpness of the needle, but it wasn't so bad. At least, not how bad as pulling the bullet out was going to feel.
Next, I grabbed the hydrogen peroxide. I poured a little of it onto a piece of gauze, and positioned myself to lean against the tree to where I could see the gleam of the bullet.
The bullet was about half a finger deep in my chest. Thank God it hadn't reached my heart. I began to push the gauze toward the wound, noticing how badly my hand was shaking. I was scared shitless.
I finally pressed into the wound and gritted my teeth at the pain. It felt like the devil was branding me in the chest. I said a small prayer that I would be able to perform this self-operation successfully, and continued.
It hurt like hell.
After some cleaning, I looked over at the kit and reached nervously for the tweezers. In my right hand, I held gauze and wrapping tucked under my fingers. This was gonna be the worst part. This would easily be the worst pain I would ever feel.
Shakily, I put the tweezers into the hole and gave it a small tug. It didn't take me long to scream in agony and bang my head on the tree. It felt like a billion tiny needles piercing me all at once. If this had been a shotgun wound, I wouldn't have even bothered to pull them out.
I regained some strength and put the tweezers back around the bullet. This time, I thought, I'll pull it out fast so it doesn't hurt so bad. The thought completely terrified me, but I decided that would be the easiest idea.
I counted to three and pulled harshly, pulling the bullet about half way out. I screamed as I did so. It made me question if childbirth was this bad, cuz if it was, I wasn't having kids.
I took a moment a grabbed a small bottle of water from the kit and chugged down about half of the bottle. I knew I should save this, but I really needed some strength to finish the operation. I set the bottle down and picked up the tweezers once more. This time I got a firm grip on the bullet.
Almost done.
I pulled hard again, screaming and finally getting the bullet out on me. It flew onto the ground in front of me, glimmering with my blood. I grabbed some gauze and put it over the bullet hole, groaning. I looked down at the bullet and picked it up.
"Holy shit, that thing is huge." It was about the size of the end of my pointer finger, and it looked bigger than when I had looked at it inside my chest. I noticed a green shimmer within the bullet and looked at it closer.
"Tracker." I thought. I took the small hammer from the first aid kit and smashed it to pieces. I took the pieces and threw them into the bushes behind me.
"Suck on that, you little shits."
I sighed, relieved that the worst was over. I grabbed some wrapping and wrapped it around my chest, over my shirt but under my jacket.
I took a piece of gauze and wetted it with water and cleaned the instruments. I put everything back, and closed it, sighing again. I couldn't believe I had just operated on myself. I had no medical learning, but somehow, I had known what to do.
I looked up to see the sky scattered with diamond-like stars. It had taken me hours, easily, to complete the whole thing.
Finally, I sat back, relaxed, feeling like most of it was already over. I took deep breaths, inhaling as much air as I could and taking in everything. I felt peaceful for a good few moments, on that cool night, where the moon brightened the world around me and the stars entertained my eyes.
I finally sat up, exhausted, but came to the truthful conclusion.
"It's not over yet."
I grabbed my bag, following the path that would eventually lead to the British headquarters and embassy. I blinked in realization.
"How did I even get this far?" I asked myself. I was not that different from everyone else, so what was different? I looked up and nodded to myself as I thought.
"I want to live. I want to survive."
I realized that was all I wanted.

Survival.