Outsider

Twenty-two

I was bleeding heavily, mainly from my wounded abdomen.  Faintly, I remember taking my trench coat, feeling like I was going to pass out, and tying the sleeves tightly around my waist.  Quickly, I piled snow on top, thinking it would freeze the blood.  I staggered somewhere, telling myself that I needed to find shelter for the night.  My eyes were tired, my vision clouding and blending with the snow, and I tripped over my own feet.  Falling down a hill, I landed in a cove hidden from the wind's howls.  And I just lay there, my body was weak and cold.  Slowly, my eyes drooped and I was met with darkness.

When I emerged from my slumber, my body felt more at rest.  Stiffly, I sat up- my gunshot wound still felt like a ton of bricks had hit it.  I realized the snow had stopped, and from above I saw sunlight trickling into my hiding spot.  The warmth felt so pleasant against my frozen face, and I basked in the sun's glow.  Now that I was thinking clearer, it was time to treat the gunshot wound.  If anything, that would kill me.

Tenderly, I removed the trench coat and snow from my stomach.  Grimacing, I stared at a gaping hole into my insides, empty and red.  Blood still trickled out, except more slowly.  Suddenly, an anxious thought crossed my mind:  What if the bullet was still inside me?  Frantically, I probed at the injury, shooting pains firing up my chest like daggers.  But, sure enough I felt something foreign.  One thing was for sure, I needed to get that damn bullet out of me.

Hydra never taught us medical care; in their eyes, if we got shot we would have to deal with it or die.  However, I had a vague idea on how to remove a bullet, from a memory of one of Papa's history lessons.  It was about World War II, a German doctor crawling from soldier to soldier, dying himself, removing bullets and bandaging them with merely a surgical knife.  I loved Papa's history lessons, I just never imagined I would actually need to use them.  

Well, I did not have a surgical knife, I had my Hydra issued knife which I stole- close enough.  I pulled it out, and washed the dried-up blood with the snow.  Hopefully that blood isn't infected, I thought, knowing that a simple cleansing in snow would not completely rid the knife of germs and bacteria.  Gently, I placed the knife on my bullet hole, stretching my skin with its blade.  The pain of that made my heart race.  I felt the bullet against my flesh, and quickly I jabbed my fingers inside the wound.  Ripping it off aggressively, I screamed as I flung the bullet out of my body.  Blood spurted out of the hole, trickling down my clothes like a waterfall.  The bullet lay in the dulled snow and mud, a shining light contrasting nothing.  

I managed to bandage myself, using cloth from Oliver's trench coat.  Dizziness overcame me, and I collapsed to the ground once the task was done.  Tears came, late as usual, and I cried for myself.  I cried for Oliver.  "What do I do now, Ollie?" I whispered to the wind, as if my friend could hear me.  Papa instructed me to keep going, but what if Hydra was right?  I would not survive a day without Oliver.  Oliver's probably reached heaven by now, I thought, I hope Mama and Papa will welcome him.  They can be happy.

When Papa died, I was jealous of how he and Mama would be in paradise without me.  A wicked thought, I know.  But, when Oliver died I knew that I couldn't be jealous.  Like Papa, I didn't listen.  Now Oliver was dead because I didn't fucking duck when he told me to.  I didn't deserve heaven.  My purpose was clear now:  I wouldn't just be getting revenge on Hydra for Papa's sake, but now for Oliver's too.

A new energy took over.  I crawled over to the silver bullet and placed it in my pocket, a new keepsake to go along with my boarding pass and knife.  Then, I stood up.  I was weak, stumbling in no particular direction, but I was proving Hydra wrong.

I was surviving.

For five days I was lost in the woods.  Through cold blizzards I would keep walking, or be huddled by some tree for the night.  Frostbite threatened to nip my fingers and toes, fever and chills began to settle in.  Even during the coldest nights I would sometimes burn up, only to then be left shivering the next minute.  All this time, I moved blindly; which way was South?  Which way would get me to Fisher's Peak?