Where They All Go

~Chapter six: Don't think about it~

Day three, 8:32 a.m.

I can't tell if it's blood or water soaking my shirt, but I safely assume its both.

I squint in the dim light. Where, what, and why was I? I see a twitching body nearby. I try to go to it, but pain splices it's way up and through my left arm.

In desperation, I grab the body with its long dark hair and pull it out of the water. It isn't breathing. I lean over as much as my wrecked body would let me, and, pinching their nose, pressed my mouth over theirs and pushed air into their waterlogged lungs. They jerk away, coughing up water.

"Oh, Thank God," I whisper.

They open their eyes and I squint, trying to make them out.

"Ja-Jac?" Swazi chokes out.

"Swazi," I say, out of breath for some reason, "Are you ok?" Stupid question, she's obviously not.

"No, you just kissed me. And my left arm and leg are stuck under this blasted rock!" She snaps, slapping said rock in frustration.

I close my eyes, trying to ignore the splitting pain in my head. "I didn't kiss you Swaz, it's called CPR, you know, saving your life?" I lean my head against the cool rock behind me.

"And what if I didn't want to be saved?" she shoots back angrily.

I open my eyes and stare at her. Jesus Christ.

"Tough, I'm not letting you die."

She scowls at me and looks about our predicament. I examine my wounds the best I can. I really wish I had gone to medical school as my dad wanted me to before...

I press a bloody hand against my aching shoulder and grimace. Don't think about dad.

"I don't suppose you can get out of your stone encasings?" I ask, shifting closer slightly.

Swazi shivers. "Nope, I'd need help." She looks at me.

I probably wasn't so pleasant to look at right now. My teeth bared in pain as I try to wiggle my arm free. I press my hand against the stone trapping my arm. A scream of agony escapes me and I slump against the wall.

"Hey. Don't' kill yourself, I don't want to be left with your disgusting corpse," Swazi says dryly.

"I wonder how long we're going to be stuck with each other. We've got air and water, but no food, no source of warmth, and we're both bleeding, so if we don't die of hunger, blood loss, drowning, or hypothermia, we might have a chance of surviving," I say, leaning my head against the stone again.

She doesn't respond. I guess she had already calculated the odds. She has survivor written all over her. At least one of us will make it.

"Do you have anyone out there, you know, special?" Swazi looks just as surprised as I feel at the sudden question. She doesn't know, nor does she mean harm with the question. But, God, what a poorly timed question.

"Just my mom," I answer quietly, "What about you? You gotta have someone out there."

She shakes her head. "No one."

Such lonely words.

"Not even your parents?" I furrow my eyebrows and brace myself for the answer. I'm not sure I want to know.

"I don't have parents-" This took an unusual twist, "-I have two people who feed me and give me clothes." Doesn't even look like they can even get the feeding part down, "But they're not related to me or anything, I just call them my parents so that I don't have to explain my whole bloody life story to everyone I meet." She sighs and rubs her face.