𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐤 | 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐔𝐬

37. Way Down We Go.

T H I R T Y - S E V E N
Way Down We Go.

Down. Down. Down.

When I hit the ground I want to continue falling, because landing hurts like shit. The impact knocks every last piece of air from my lungs, it all coming out in a cough that feels like it expelled a few organs.

My vision is blurry, focusing on anything is impossible. I can, however, see the outline of a hole in some stupid plywood. It looks like it's a world away, but the distance changes every other second. One moment it's an inch from me, the next a mile.

It's not just my vision affected by the fall, my other senses have been thoroughly scrambled also. My ears ring, occasionally making out a thump through the ringing, but that's all that makes it to my pounding brain. My mouth is invaded by a disgusting metallic taste, coating my tongue I can feel it not only in my mouth and throat, but seemingly everywhere. Running down my face, from my nose, soaking my shirt. Everything is so warm.

No matter how hard I try I can't get my brain to convince my mouth to make a noise, it opens but only a pained noise comes from the back of my throat. Very much not useful.

Using all the strength I still possess I gingerly roll from my back, where I somehow ended up, to my side.

Everything hurts.

Globs of deep blood splatter onto the floor, and more of the crimson liquid rolls from my nose and other places I'm not yet aware of.

Using the discarded wooden palette next to me I haul myself up, my hearing slowly returning. I expect to hear shouts of my name ringing around the large, abandoned construction. But nothing. Not even a mumble.

Surely they heard me falling down a story or two, and hitting the ground like a sack of rocks.

After squeezing my eyes tightly shut, then opening them widely a few times I gain a clearer picture of my surroundings. It does seem I fell at least two floors. It certainly feels like I did. I've been shot, shot at and much, much more but somehow this hurts more than anything else. Perhaps because it's not just one spot, it's everywhere.

Everywhere but specifically my thigh, glancing down I figure out why.

"Fuck," I whisper.

A piece of snapped-off rebar sticks out my thigh, going through the back of my thigh, and coming out the front. Seeing a thick piece of metal impaling one of your most vital assets isn't a nice sight. Nor a pretty one. It's torn and bloodied my good trousers.

All I can see is blood, it comes from my hands, my face, it's clotting against my forehead, and rivulets of the crimson liquid wave their way down my face, jaw then chest. Drops hang from my eyelashes, tickle my top lip, warm my shirt.

My bag.

I look around for it, but I don't see it, I see two men, they look surprised to see me in the state I'm in.

My throat tightens as they eye me, I look right back. I can't run, not until the metal is out my leg, and then I could pull a Joel and almost bleed out. Except, I don't have an Ellie or Bobbie to save my sorry ass. If I pass out, and I'm pretty sure that's imminent, I'm fucked.

Men. It's always men.

"Fuck, Bobbie?" One of them laughs, taking a step closer. Their face lightens and I see Omar staring at me, amusement across his features. "Of course, you of all people fall through the floor. Holy– is that rebar?"

I grunt in annoyance. Of course, it is, does he think his eyes are playing tricks on him? "Just keep going wherever you're going, I've got people to find."