Losing Eight Lives

22 | Alive

My entire body pounded in pain with every heartbeat.

But I was alive.

Breathing became hard, and even opening my eyes seemed to take too much effort.

But I was still there.

Dust flew in the air above me and most of the sky was covered by the wall of the flying vehicle. A ray of sunlight reflected from the snow and provided me with the only light I had. It shined through a large crack in the metal.

I inhaled a large amount of air, and let it go. I attempted at lifting my arm, and my eyes immediately landed on the blood coating it. Cuts covered my skin and blood slowly ran down my arm.

My fingers curled as I squeezed them into a fist--not having a strong grip--and then relaxed it.

I swallowed and had to put my arm down--my stomach couldn't take it.

I laid there for about ten minutes before trying to move again. How was I alive?

I took another deep breath, before slowly pushing my elbows against the metal under me, and sitting up. I bent my head forward to help, but an unbelievably sharp pain in the arm I lifted earlier, made me fall to the floor again.

Another pain sliced through my spine as I hit the metal, making me wince.

"Ah," I groan. Instead of trying to sit up again, I turn my head to it's side and take in the scene before me.

Bodies of large men, still wearing black suits lay scattered in the little space that's left. Blood smeared their clothing and visible skin, and big pieces of metal laid on top of them like blankets.

None of them moved.

A sob caught my throw and I forced myself to swallow it.

My eyes closed, blocking me from the view. I leaned my head to the other side, and dared to open my eyes again.

Becka laid on her back right next to me. Her head was tilted toward me, her eyes closed and the skin dripping with blood. One of her legs was curled toward her, the other straight out. Her arms reached above her head and were just as scraped as her face.

Her chest slowly and steadily rose and fell.

I let out a sigh of relief that turned into a cough that hurt my throat. "Becka?" I asked weakly.

Her eyes suddenly fluttered open and looked right at me. She looked in pain, but not panicked. She simply looked tired. "Phoebe," she said, just as weakly.

I involuntarily smiled, but soon wiped it off my face. I wasn't alone.

She had a coughing fit, before succeeding in sitting up the first time she tried.

After she was comfortably leaning against something behind her, she studied me. "Need help?"

I shook my head, and tried to sit up again. The same pain in my arm made me stop halfway up, but I didn't fall back down.

Becka smiled and helped me despite my refusal. She grabbed my arm, and pain exploded in it. I winced and sat up quickly, holding the arm she hurt.

"Sorry," she mumbled, and sat back in her spot.

I examined my right arm--blood coated it along with dirt and shards of metal. Towards my shoulder, a lot more blood leaked out then anywhere else, and I realized I must have cut it pretty deep.

Becka saw me looking at my arm and gave me a concerned look. "That might need stitches," she had to look away.

"We don't have stitches." I looked around the tiny space. "Maybe something to wrap it for now . . ." My eyes wandered until I looked at the bodies behind me again.