Dawn

Fractured

Zuma woke up slowly. Every movement was hindered by strong, sticky strands of sleep that tugged him back down. He shook them off and flexed his sore muscles, wincing. He sat up shook his head, trying to remember what had happened to him. He looked down at his chest and forelegs, confused. White cloth bandages were wrapped around his rib cage and trailed all the way down to his paws.

"What...?" He staggered to the side and roughly bumped into a wall. The shock jarred his body and made him yelp in pain.

Immediately, there was a rustling sound a few feet away from him. "Zuma? Are you awake?" Marshall's voice was instantly recognized.

"Marshall? What... what happened?" He squinted a little as a soft light turned on overhead. When he opened them Marshall was at his side.

"You're... awake...." Marshall breathed the words out in disbelief. "You're really awake!"

"What do you mean? Why the... shock?" Zuma tottered to the side and gasped painfully.

This seemed to bring Marshall back down to earth. "You should lay down, Zuma; you shouldn't be up yet." Marshall cautioned, gently nudging him toward a large, plushy circle a few feet away from him. Zuma wordlessly obeyed and curled up, flicking his tail. Marshall sat down beside him and sighed.

"You were hurt pretty... badly." He began hesitantly. "Do you remember any of it?"

"Any of what?" Zuma mumbled. "The only thing I remember is waking up here."

"You were badly shot, Zuma. Multiple times." Marshall bit his lip. "When you got back here, you were riddled with bullets, had a fractured tibia, four broken ribs... and extensive nerve and organ damage." Marshall's voice faltered, and he hurriedly rubbed a tear out of his eye. "You barely had any blood left. We managed to give you a blood transplant... but not before you died twice on the operating table. You scared the hell out of all of us."

"When.... When was this?" Zuma asked, numb with shock.

"Almost a week ago, now." Marshall's voice trembled again. "It was... uhhh..." He hit his head, squirting his eyes shut. "Severe hypoxia. Your brain was without blood for eight minutes, Zuma. You went comatose after one." Marshall took a deep breath to collect himself, slipping back into his professional role as a doctor. "I'm glad you survived, Zuma. How do you feel?"

"Well... everything hurts... a lot." He whined. "And my head feels foggy. I can't think straight..." He blinked his eyes and squinted. "...or see straight either."

"You are going to have some delirium for a while, Zuma. While your brain repairs itself, some things aren't going to make sense. I am tentatively hopeful that this will pass when you get completely better." Marshall said, opening a drawer on the wall and rummaging through it with his paws. "If you get better." He mumbled the last part under his breath.

Zuma sank onto his chest, his mind reeling.

"With one being the lowest and ten being the highest, how would you..."
"Rate my pain? Ten. Absolutely ten." Zuma responded immediately.

Marshall closed the drawer and turned back to Zuma. Between his teeth he held a small needle with a clear liquid inside it. He set it down beside Zuma.

"What's that?" He asked, flinching away from the needle, alarm flashing in his eyes.

"It's morphine. It'll alleviate your pain. I must warn you though," Marshall motioned for Zuma to stretch out his forearm. "It'll take longer for your delirium to wear off." He picked up the needle.

Zuma shut his eyes as hard as he could, tensing his body up. "I don't care.... Just make it stop!" Please don't stab me, please don't stab me, please don't..."