Alex didn't know how many days had passed, but it was starting to look like nobody was coming back. Nobody had noticed that a fake had gone in his place. He didn't know why he was surprised or shocked. Alex was starting to realize that if he didn't save himself, he would die out here. The problem was that it was damn near impossible to save himself. He was still hurt, if anything, his injuries had just gotten worse. His head was still killing him, making him see double most of the time. His leg had gotten to the point where he was pretty sure it was infected, and now he was dehydrated. The only reason he didn't feel hungry was that his concussion made him nauseous all the time. Even if he had a whole buffet in front of him, he thought he would skip.
"Alex," a voice called out, making him instantly look up. A figure was standing at the lab entrance, too dark for Alex to make out who it was. He could only watch as the man slowly walked until he was in front of him. Alex froze. It was the man with the scar on his face, the same one he had talked to the other day, the same creepy guy who knew his name.
"No. I'm not doing this," Alex said out loud, taking his eyes off the man. He looked around, trying to find something that could help him stand, when his eyes spotted a piece of metal lying close to him. He grabbed it, pressing it against the floor as a makeshift cane. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath before pressing his body forward in an attempt to lift himself up.
He cried out as his wounded leg throbbed in protest, but Alex just focused on not bending it, on not putting any unnecessary strain on it. Eventually, he managed to get himself on his feet. But the moment he straightened himself up, his whole vision doubled, making him feel like the room was spinning around him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had to focus. If he lost his balance, he wouldn't be able to lift himself up again, and he would just further injure his leg.
He stayed there for a couple of minutes, not moving, waiting for when he opened his eyes again for everything to be in its place. As his heart rate slowed down, he took a final breath and opened his eyes. The room was no longer spinning. He had spent a good chunk of his time just trying to get to his feet. How the hell would he be able to get out of here?
He took his first step, supporting most of his weight on the pipe he had found, dragging his leg behind. He could do it. He just had to push through the pain. But he would manage. It was this or die abandoned in the lab. He didn't know how much time it took him to get to the door of the lab, but he let out a breath of relief when he finally stepped out of there. In a sense, he felt like he had been set free from the nightmare it had been these past few days. Finally, he was out of that place, away from Rothman's corpse that had been tormenting him. He knew if he managed to live, he would have nightmares about that. But now he wasn't worried about nightmares; he was worried about the flight of stairs in front of him.
"How are you going to get up?" the man asked next to him. Alex didn't look. "Don't know," he replied. He felt stupid doing so. He knew he was talking to no one, but unfortunately, no one was there to watch him go mad.
"So, are you just going to give up?"
This time, Alex stared at the man next to him, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Seriously, how could his brain be such an asshole to himself? He stared once again at the stairs, gripping the handrail with all his strength. The piece of metal was freezing, and Alex could almost feel it sticking to his hand, but he needed the support.
He pushed himself to hop onto the first stair. It made his leg flare up, but he was down one step. He sighed. It would take too long, and although he could stand the pain now, he knew that it wouldn't be the case in a few steps. And if that happened in the middle of the stairs, he knew it would be impossible for him to get to the top.
Alex knew what he had to do. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. He didn't let himself think too much and just pushed on the rail forward, and forward, jumping from one step to the other, never letting himself focus on the pain, just taking the next step right after the last one.
He managed to get himself to the top of the stairs. Right after the last one, he let himself fall to the ground with a groan of pain. He gritted his teeth, the pain coming all at once, climbing up his leg and stabbing him all over.
He lay there on the ground for quite some time. He didn't know how much time he lay there on the freezing ground, but eventually, the throbbing of his leg slowed down to a bearable level.
But now he had to get himself up again. He was pathetic. He grabbed onto the wall, climbing up, so once again, he was on his feet. Practice makes perfect after all. He looked around, to what once was Point Blanc. It was all destroyed, bullet holes all over the walls, a faint smell of gunpowder still clinging in the air. It made him sick thinking about what happened in those hallways. So much death, so much suffering, and it still didn't end.
He stumbled to the exit. He knew the way to the street. He would just have to hope that a car would pass by without running him over this time. He opened the door, shivering when the strong and cold wind hit him. Why did he have to take the jacket off when he was fighting Stellenbosch? Now the only protection he had was the yellow jacket. It served its purpose in not freezing him to death the first time. He just had to hope it would do so this time also.
"You'll freeze," his hand stopped on the door. It still didn't go away, and it probably would stick to him until he finally managed to get to a hospital.
"If we're lucky, you will freeze with me," he said, stepping outside.
After he took the first steps, he knew that this was going to be even harder than he thought. The snow almost swallowed his whole foot. Every step felt like twenty, and his makeshift cane wasn't cutting it.
It didn't help that he couldn't move faster than a snail. About an hour later, he was just a little further than the school. He let himself fall over. He couldn't anymore. His legs didn't respond to him anymore. Instantly, a freezing sensation rushed through him. He was numb all over. He couldn't do it. His teeth clanged against each other in protest, but he couldn't do anything. The road was still a long way to go, and Alex was already on the ground, his face pressed against the floor.
He knew that this was it. He wouldn't make it. But now, instead of blood loss, he would die from exposure. He would end up
buried under the snow that eventually would cover him, and no one would find him until the summer.
He now knew that he shouldn't have left the lab. At least if he died there, someone would find him and realize that they had taken a clone home. But now? Now someone could be living his life, could hurt Jack or Tom in his name. The clone could do so much damage, but all he could do was lay on the snow, waiting to freeze to death.
He closed his eyes. Point Blanc would take the life of another Rider.
YOU ARE READING
Left Behind
Fanfiction"We have to go; Jones wants us out of here. Apparently, there's a storm coming; they're doing the cleanup when it passes." They were leaving, and they would be taking a fake Alex with them. Alex tried to call out to them as they left the room, tried...
