The Conrell Clan

Chapter 10

There was another ringing in my ears, and this time it didn't stop for a while. For about a minute and half, I struggled and struggled to lift up my head, but could not.

         The ringing stopped and I slowly got up. A peice of concrete had been on my right foot, but I shook it off. Adjusting back to the brightness, I looked around. A propeller from the helicopter had broken off and hit close to us. It cut Scott between his right shoulder and elbow. As I saw this, I took off my shirt and wrapped it around his arm. The blood didn't really slow, but it helped.

          Then, I saw Brent. He'd been blasted into a pile of rubble and the propeller piece hit him in the chest. He was unconscious. No. There was too much blood. He was dead.

          It all became a haze. The world glossed over with this feeling of sadness. My eyes welled up with tears. I had been worried about Scott and Denver, my friends who had played a big part from the beginning. But a man who was hired to stop theft and keep order in a water park took on the role of a fighter. Not for himself, but to answer the cries from innocent, helpless people. People who, like him, had been in a fun environment one minute, and were almost dying the next. He gave his life for it. And it would be washed away, with all the others as just a statistic. I wouldn't let that happen. I wouldn't forget him.

          In the blur that followed, Scott and I limped, arms on each other's shoulders, me favouring one leg-with a scrape on the other-and him with his right arm limp.

         There would have been dust if not for all the water in the place. Well, at least there would have been more of it. The same for fire. The news crew and their equipment were on our left as we walked to the corner of the park, where a large staircase led to three waterslides. It seemed like the best place to go, since you could pretty much see anybody coming.

         I grabbed a bag of granola bars that had flown out of the helicopter before it crashed. And then a thought went into my mind.

         "Oh shoot," I used the little breath I had from the knockout, smoke and dust to say. "Brent's walkie-talkie." I dreaded the thought of looking at his corpse again and having to think about all the others who had met the same fate today and would meet it later.

         Scott lacked the energy to speak, so he just nodded his head towards his waist, and there it hung by his belt.

We walked to the foot of the stairs, and then noticed the conveyor that brought back up the inflated rafts used for the slides was still running. It had small groves on it, and we individually grabbed on. The maximum weight capacity was two hundred pounds, which neither Scott nor I weighed, so we would be fine.

          I helped Scott on, but he was in too much pain to stay on. He winced, but insisted we try again. I was able to get him situated well by turning off the conveyor, but when I started it he fell off.

          He hit his face on the conveyor, and I caught him most of the way. He only dropped about a foot, but his feet hit the ground hard and he cried out. His nose was bleeding. He looked utterly defeated. For the first time since I'd met him, he had given up. He was limp and lazy, not even mustering the energy to wipe the blood from his nose. Since I had used my shirt to tie around his arm, I used his shirt (and I felt really bad because it was white) to get rid of the blood.

         I was so thirsty. The sun was no longer blocked by the roof, allowing for hot rays to pour in. I wondered if we could make it back to the lobby. I painfully stood up and looked to the corner diagonal to us; the lobby.

          There was no way. If Dreadmen were walking around, we wouldn't make it a few feet, really. I took a walk to look at the stairs. Five flights. One was broken apart, and there was a gaping hole that we would not be able to cross. I looked back at Scott, who hadn't even moved. The walkie-talkie spoke from his belt.

          "We are alright. We do not need help. Three casualties, but we are safe." It was Brenda. I felt a pain when I heard the casualties.

          "We need any help we can get!" The lobby team screamed. They might be being overrun. Probably. What would happen to Denver? Oh no.

           "We are on our way. Seven of us." Brenda told them. I wondered if the chef had died. Or the guard who had called the first time had.

          "Scott," I turned to him. He was a bit more alert, but not much. Reactive, at least. Squinting at the sunlight. "We have to get moving. The lobby is getting taken. The washroom outpost may not stay hidden for long. We need to get up here, where it's safe."

          He groaned, but let me help him up. He climbed on, stayed on, and easily got to the top. I followed him up, carrying the bag of food.

         "Okay," I told him as I reached for the walkie-talkie. "We will sleep here tonight. If you are ready to go anywhere, or in a position to, in the morning, we will proceed. We have a bag of food I picked up off the helicopter, but that won't last forever. We don't know when we could get help for you. Just stay strong, man." I patted him on the shoulder lightly, knowing there was a terrible cut there.

         "What about water?" I saw his lips were so dry as he said it. I hadn't realized how thirsty I was yet.

          "That is an issue, but it can be fixed later." I tried to jokingly say it, but it was not the time. I started to worry about water.

Nothing else came on the walkie-talkie. I wanted to call, but did not know if the Dreadmen had taken the lobby. If I called for the washroom outpost, it might give up their position. It would let them know that me and Scott were alive and safe, too. And that could not happen.

          I just wanted the sun to go down. It was getting close to that, but not yet. It didn't help my dehydration, and it certainly couldn't be helping Scott.

          My bare chest was being baked. I would give almost anything to have shorts on, instead of my jeans.

I fell asleep in the sun, thankfully. But that meant I woke up in the middle of the night. And it was not a pretty sight.