Left Behind

Chapter 3

Alex felt pain all over his body; he was cold and weak. He slowly opened his eyes with the sickening realization that he had been left behind. A clone had gone in his place; the clone was going to his home, going to his school. He was going to live his life and do whatever damage he pleased, while Alex was stuck in a mountain, slowly and painfully dying.

Forcing his body to wake up, Alex stretched his arm to knock over the piece of plaster still on top of him. He never was a claustrophobic person, never had the slightest problem with constricted places. Ian had made sure he didn't, in their many adventures exploring deep and dark caves. But while lying under that plaster that didn't even cover all of his vision, he felt like he couldn't even breathe, but perhaps that was from all the smoke he had inhaled.

Alex had hoped that removing it would make him finally be able to fill his lungs with air, but much to his suffering, it didn't. It hurt to suck in air, and the still residue smoke didn't help. He coughed a few times before he could somehow control his breathing.

He lay there for a moment before he tried to get up, immediately crying out in pain; something was wrong. He took a deep breath and gathered the strength to sit up, trying to ignore the pain that it immediately brought. Finally, he did it, but when he saw what the problem was, he immediately regretted it. Looking down at his leg, he almost passed out again at the sight; there was a huge bleeding gash on his thigh, a piece of metal sticking out. He knew that before he determined what his next step would be, he needed to stop the bleeding on his leg before he bled out, although that seemed inevitable.

Fortunately, his uncle had taught him how to make a tourniquet when he read in the newspaper that someone had bled out in the forests after a bear attack. He took out the lace of his boots, wrapping them above the bleeding gash and tying it tightly. For the final step, he grabbed a small piece of steel that was lying on the floor, putting it underneath the laces before twisting it. He gritted his teeth as the tightness increased, making the wound throb and spit out more blood. With that done, he fell back down again, still panting from the pain, his leg throbbing as if it had a life of its own.

With that wound, Alex couldn't go anywhere, but that didn't matter. MI6 would have to come back to the school; he just needed to survive until then. He just hoped he was right, he really did.

He must have passed out once again, since he found himself opening his eyes once again, this time trembling, fog coming out of his mouth with every breath. His leg was numb, no longer throbbing in pain. His body was relieved from no longer feeling the excruciating pain, but his mind knew that that wasn't a really good sign. He pushed himself against the wall, supporting his back on the rough surface so he could sit up. He was left panting when he finally was able to stretch his back. He was trembling with cold; the heating had obviously been turned off, and his snow jacket that MI6 had provided was probably under all the destruction. Why had he taken it off?

He analyzed his surroundings; the light had gone out, only the emergency lights were on. Thank God for that. The lab was completely ruined, broken equipment everywhere, tables flipped, and cables hanging loosely from the ceiling. In the distance, he could see the signal of the emergency exit, like it was taunting him.

He let his head rest against the freezing wall, coughing a few more times. Suddenly, a sickening feeling ran through him. Fortunately, he turned his head to the side in time before vomiting the little contents he had in his stomach. Fuck, he knew exactly what that meant: a concussion. It was to be expected, really; he had hit his head numerous times in the last few hours. He had forgotten that little detail... yeah, that checks out. He spat out the bile from his mouth, straightening himself up; at least the cold of the wall helped with his headache.

Julius wanted to groan out loud. After an hour or so of "resting," a boy entered his room; he knew who it was, Tom. A pity that his brother didn't manage to kill him, but Julius for sure would complete the mission. He just had to restrain himself to not do it now.

Julius sat at the desk, listening as the boy talked and didn't shut up. It was clearly getting to the point that it was getting awkward; the boy clearly didn't know what to say, and Julius didn't help by ignoring him. He drowned out the voice as he analysed the contents of the desk; a photo clipped on the wall caught his attention. It was a photo of Alex and an older man, perhaps his father.

Tom must have noticed where he was looking. "Look, man, I know you miss Ian-"

Ian... he knew that name; he had listened to Alex's interrogation, noting every piece of information that had come out of his mouth.

'Why did you kill Ian? Why did you kill my uncle?' Of course, this was Ian Rider, Alex's uncle, who apparently had died in a way that somehow put the blame on his father.

Perhaps it was too soon to kill Tom Harris. If he continued to babble information to his face like this, it would be too easy to collect all the information he needed to pass as Alex Rider for the time he needed to set his family free.

"Yeah, I miss him," he said, mustering pain in his voice, portraying the grieving boy.

"I'm sorry," the other boy pathetically said. He resisted the temptation to scoff; he wondered how the hell his brother managed to not kill him at first sight.

"Are you coming back to school tomorrow?" Is he seriously going to ask that? "I don't know," he responds.

Alex didn't know how long he sat there in the near-dark, but he could bet it had passed a few hours, maybe a day. He didn't know how long he had stayed unconscious. He moaned in pain against the wall; his head was killing him, actually his whole body was. He realized he was going to die there, die against a wall, in the middle of nowhere. What remained to be answered was if he was going to die from blood loss, from the cold, or if he hung long enough, maybe from dehydration. One thing was certain: it wouldn't be painless.

He looked around, catching sight of a boot sticking out. He knew who it belonged to, Stellenbosch. He shuddered, thinking that a dead body was lying a couple of meters from him. He looked long enough until the boot moved; he remained paralysed against the wall, watching as the woman began to get up, unharmed. Alex could only stare as Stellenbosch looked at him with a wicked grin on her face before throwing herself at him.

"NO," he yelled, bringing an arm against his face in a useless attempt to defend himself. He expected pain, maybe a slap, a punch, anything, but he felt nothing, he heard nothing. Shakily, he brought his arm down; there was nobody in the room. The pair of boots lay in the same place they always had been.