I awoke to a horribly sharp pain in my side. My breath comes out as a wheeze as I inhale and exhale in pain. Then something feels like it jabs right into the bullet wound, and I groan in pure pain.
I look at the woman in loose scrubs who was pulling a bullet out of my side (with no anesthetics might I add) with tweezers. 'Was' being the key word in that statement, because she stopped and dropped the bullet upon hearing my scream. It must've shocked her.
Poor her.
I lurch forward and dig my nails into my side an inch away from the wound as if that would make it better. As if that would make the pain subside. As. If.
After taking a deep, pained breath, I clench my teeth and press my eyes closed to grab a handle on reality. And to collect my thoughts. I don't know which would be more important in this situation. I take a quick look at my surroundings (I'm in a hospital room on a hospital bed. I mean, we're in a hospital, it's kinda obvious), before grabbing the tweezers, wheezing as an inhale, and clenching my teeth tighter.
"You need to do it better," I growl and carefully take the bullet out of myself, by myself.
"How- what- I- are you o-" the woman stutters.
"Obviously I'm not 'okay'. Clean the wound and get me the best stitching supplies you have," I demand and lie back, digging my finger nails into my palm.
After a moment, I feel the wound sting and a slight sound of pain escapes my mouth. A few minutes later, the woman is nudging my shoulder.
"I will do it. You shouldn't do this to yourself, I was just letting you kno-" the woman starts.
"No. Give me the threaded needle," I interrupt and, after a minute of me giving her the death stare, she complies and hands me the needle. "Also, four Advil will suffice. I can believe that you are able to bandage it once I'm done."
She's looking at me in both fear and awe, which I'm not exactly used to because I'm really not great. I do the stitches without another thought. No other words are said. No other words, nope.
Just the pained cries I make after every stitch.
Once I'm finished, I lie back, still in immense pain, but less so thanks to the Advil. The woman bandages it, stutters that she's going to go get my friends, and leaves. I roll my eyes and notice crutches by the door, good enough for my height.
Glancing out the door's windows to make sure no one is coming, I hurriedly push myself off the bed and shuffle over to the crutches. I grab one and push the door open. The hallway is clear... for now, so I'd better hurry. I quickly limp down the hall. 204. 205... I go faster, much to my hip's dismay. 209!!! I found it! I push the door open and go to my sister's side.
Her golden blonde hair looks clean, and there's no longer any dirt on her. It's like going to the hospital... before all this. She's in a hospital gown now, which means they probably changed her while last changing her bandages. The shoulder of the gown is covering her bandages, and when I pull the shoulder down to check, there's just a little bit of blood on them, but it's dried.
"Sis? Nashlie?" I hear a familiar voice croak. "Nashliana is that you?"
"Hey Riles. Or Anariley if that's what you want to be called," I smile and sit on the edge of her bed, taking her warm hand in my own.
"This is your fault," she groans hoarsely. "Once I can move without feeling like I'm going to die, I am so getting you back."
"Please don't shoot me, I feel like one bullet wound in one lifetime is one too many... for both of us," I say leaving out that I got shot.
"Yeah, okay. I thought you got shot, or you needed help. I had to go and try something," she says and I squeeze her hand.
"I'm fine. I was fine then, just in shock a bit. Next time something dangerous happens and you think I'm in trouble," I start and look her dead in the eye. "Swear to me you won't put yourself in harm's way to help me. You will do nothing. I can take care of myself. You are like 10, Riles, whereas I'm almost 17. You can't do that again, got it?"
"Got it," she repeats, staring me in the eye the entire time, ensuring that she was being truthful.
"Nash!" I hear a panicked voice from behind me shout.
I stand up and drag my crutch out so it's out of sight from my sister, so she doesn't worry. I force myself not to limp until I'm out in the hallway, where Tucker near runs into me. He puts his hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eye, searching my face.
"Are you okay?" he whispers and I smile, almost laughing.
"Why wouldn't I be?" I jokingly ask.
He wipes a thumb across my cheek then promptly pulls it away and shows me a dark, ashy substance.
"You're still dirty. And in old clothes. AND you performed your own surgery," he says and I glance to my sister's room.
"She doesn't know... keep it down," I say and he locks eyes with me.
"Nash..." he says and I give him a tight hug before pulling away and entering my sister's room again. "Nash, wait!"
My sister and I look at him as he enters and I sigh tiredly.
"Yes?" I say and he gives me a sorta... sad (?) smile.
"Their leader wants to talk to you... she... you know her. She told us not to tell you who she is though, so please, please don't hate me," he says and I raise an eyebrow.
"Okay? And there's little you could do that would make me hate you," I say and he smiles.
"How ya' feeling, Riles?" he asks and crouches next to the bed, putting a comforting hand on my little sister's forehead.
"Could be better," her sweet voice responds.
I laugh and put a hand on Tucker's shoulder, remembering to ask him something.
"Have you contacted our hospital? Are they on their way?" I ask and he smiles brightly.
"Actually yes! Sorry I forgot to say, yeah, they're coming! We used the radio tower to get to any radios over the states and they responded. They'll be here tomorrow night, so we're having a feast in the restaurant of the giant, fancy hotel a few streets away," he explains to me.
"A feast?! How is there that much food?! How many people are there?" I ask.
"Too many to count," a familiar voice says from the door. My heart stops in my chest and I feel Riley's hand grip mine as a sob escapes her throat.
I look up to the door, right into the shimmering blue eyes of my mother...
YOU ARE READING
Survival Inc.
Ciencia FicciónNash was looking forward to graduation. She was in Sophomore year, sure, but she was working hard, and was excited for the finish. In fact, she was at school when it happened. It. Not as in the freaky clown that those good scary movies are based on...
