Life Lost and Found

29: Blood and Wishes

She was first aware of the rain on her face, then the cold, damp street beneath her, followed by a strange chill permeating her skin. It wasn't merely a cold chill—although it was certainly that, too—but more of a Something Is Wrong chill. Her eyes opened slowly.

Wet hair clung in thick strands to her face. Her vision was unfocused and dark around the edges. She was lying on the wet, oily asphalt, her face to the sky. She stared heavenward, her eyes glassed and empty.

Rain.

A single thought registered, a word. Rain. It was raining. Lightly. She could feel it on her face, splashing into her eyes and running down her lips.

Rain... Sky.

She blinked once, slowly. More words crystalized. Sky. Trees. Cold. Light?

Almost by itself, her head rolled to find the source of the light, but instead she found... what was that thing called? A... hand?

Yes. Hand. But whose?

She tried moving her fingers a little. Oh! It was hers. But it didn't look right. She attempted making a fist, but a sharp pain lanced through her thumb and index finger and down her arm. She gasped with surprise and was met with another powerful sensation as pain seared through her chest.

The pain came with a silver lining of adrenaline, and the lights in her head started flickering back on in earnest.

Breathing. Why was breathing difficult? Why did it sting? It wasn't supposed to do that, right?

The more she woke up, the more body parts she discovered. Which would normally be a good thing, finding parts of yourself—except that they hurt. All of them. Especially her right leg. Her right leg felt like... it was difficult to process... It felt like that awful sensation of wrongness that came from having a bad flu—including the nausea—except it was all coming up out of her leg. Somehow. It was... confusing. And painful. Really, really painful.

Wait, was she dreaming? Her brain felt like dreaming. But—dreams didn't hurt like this. So, no. Not dreaming. Probably.

She tried to sit up, but she didn't make it far. Her left arm felt slightly less terrible than everything else, so she propped herself up on that.

The dim light was coming from the taillights of the car that had hit her—because that's what had happened, she had been hit by a car, and—SHE HAD BEEN HIT BY A CAR!

She screamed with horror. Or, she tried. It came out as more of a gurgle-yelp, as her throat was full of fluid.

This was not a dream! She was not dreaming!

The car was firmly embedded in a utility pole down the street. She couldn't make out if anyone was inside it. The utility pole was cracked and tipping, and electrical wires sparked angrily at the top.

She turned her attention to her body—and almost vomited. Her clothes were soaked with rain and blood. The right leg of her pants was torn open, and the flesh underneath was dark. Her sock was completely red. And the worst part—she could barely manage to look at it—her foot wasn't aligned with her leg anymore. Not even close. Bile surged in her throat.

She remembered: She had heard the squealing tires and turned toward the sound. The car had been coming around the corner fast. Way too fast.

A dozen thoughts had raced through her mind in a single second. Could the driver see her in the rain? Should she run left or right? The car was beginning to swerve. If she remained still and it swerved right—but if she ran, and it went left—right. No, left! No—