Mania

Chapter Fourteen

Claire

I don't know what surprised them the most: a girl who barely clears five feet shot down a grown man or that the girl who just shot down a grown man didn't fight back when she was getting shoved into a van.

Well, believe it or not, I had it planned out. Kinda. I "dropped" my lighter with hopes of Easton finding it. Easton getting shot wasn't part of the plan, but I knew that there were Maniac Regulators patrolling nearby and there is a base that is close. In order to get the medical help that Easton needs, I knew that I had to get in trouble.

They were gentler with Easton, but not by that much. Blood was already seeping through the front of his shirt and his face is pale. He was slipping in and out consciousness. They better drive fast, or they'll have to deal with a dead body.

I gulp at the thought of Easton dying.

I look around and I spot a first aid kit underneath the seat. It had a layer of dust on it, but if I had the thing I need, it would be like finding a million dollars. It's not like a million dollars matters anymore, but I bet it'd feel nice to hold a dollar. I open the kit and I find a few band-aids and some gauze.

Just what I needed.

"What are you doing?" He asks weakly and I wish he was unconscious for this part because it was going to hurt.

My sensei was an army veteran and he told his students multiple stories about life on the battlefield. He once told us about a man getting shot and he said that the main key was to stop the bleeding. In order to do that, you'd have to stuff the wound with gauze. We'd have to get the bullet out eventually, but stopping the bleeding would be the main concern.

"You'll have to be quiet," I reply softly and a rip off a piece of my shirt. It probably wasn't the cleanest, but it'll do. "Bite down on this."

He nods and I place it in his mouth. I press the first pad of gauze into his wound and he cries out sharply. From the front seat, I hear a man bark out, "You better tell your friend to quiet down or he'll have another bullet in his head."

His remark sets me on edge and I become ultra sensitive to my every move. I carefully pack his wound and he's unconscious by the time I finish.

The car rolls to the stop and I look out the window. The base had a large runway and brick buildings that covered the land. A few soldiers mill around holding heavy looking guns. There were eleven or twelve buildings holding different purposes. From one building, a few soldiers walk out gleaming with sweat and holding water bottles. Another has a hangar open revealing helicopters and jets of all kinds. I couldn't tell what the other nine or ten were, but I'm guessing they're for living facilities.

They load us out of the van and I'm separated from Easton. I'm escorted to something that looks like an infirmary. I walk in and I'm temporarily blinded by the lights. They weren't bright, but I haven't seen anything electric in a year. An electric thrum pulses in my ears and my senses were going into overload from all the things around me. A woman sits at the front and I already hate her. Her face was twisted into a permanent scowl and her dark hair was harshly put back into a bun. Without looking up from her computer, she drawls, "Please remove all clothing and step into the shower."

Despite my immediate hatred, I do as I'm told and I limp into the shower. The door shuts behind me and I'm holed up in a sterile white box. I take off my mud crusted boots, shirt, jeans, and everything underneath that.

The water sprays an icy blast and I jump back to avoid being frozen. Something beeps furiously at me and I step underneath the cold water. My teeth chatter and a mix of blood and dirt go down the drain. I quickly wash my body and hair in record time and I scamper out of the shower.

I look around for my clothes and all I see is a hospital gown. I put it on and it's ill fitting. The gown slips past my shoulders and I have to pull it up consistently.

I come back to the waiting room and I clear my throat. The much loathed receptionist looks up with annoyance. "I came with a bag- it had all of my stuff and I want it." I say and my voice bounces off the walls.

"They're sanitizing it. It'll be back in your room." She replies and goes back to her computer. The sound of the keys clacking against the keyboard sounds foreign. It was one of the many sounds in the forgotten world of pianos and phones vibrating.

Another door on the other side of the room opens and a man walks out. He was wearing scrubs and his eyes we behind glasses. He motions me to come with him.

I follow him into a doctor's office and he instructs, "Step on the scale."

I hesitantly step on it and the numbers flash below me. The number finally focuses on a whopping eighty-seven pounds. Before the Takeover, I was one-hundred and three pounds. It's average for someone of my height.

The doctor scribbles down my weight and takes my height.

Five feet, one inch.

At least that hasn't changed since the Takeover.

They take my blood and they do a few scans on my body. Even though I was wearing an ill fitting hospital gown, I felt naked and exposed. They already know that I have ADHD and I haven't been here for even two hours. They're probably breaking down my DNA as we speak to see what I'm made out of.

A door opens and four doctors walk in. The one who took my measurements motion with his head and I feel a needle pierce into the small of my back. I gasp sharply as my legs lose all feeling and I fall to the ground. "Prep her for surgery." He says and two of the doctors surrounding him grabs me by the arms and hoists me up.

I try to fight back, but my whole entire body has gone numb before we leave the room. My legs feel like rubber and my neck can barely hold up my neck. I shake my head and I try to plant my heels into the ground, but my bare feet skid across the cold tiles.

What would I need surgery for?

I'm aware that I do limp, but I've gotten so used to it, I don't remember what it felt like to walk without it.

They take me to the operating room and I can barely keep my eyes open. The light was already on and I hope that what I see on the floor wasn't blood. It could've been Easton's blood for all I know. I don't even know if he's alive.

They lay me down on the table and my skin is covered in gooseflesh when it touched the cold metal. They slip an oxygen mask over my mouth and my eyes close. My ears are filled with the sound of a heart monitor. The rhythmic beeping of my own heart lulls me to sleep.