Lifeline (Daniel Ricciardo)

Chapter 9: Wrecked

Writer's note: this chapter runs alongside @lacellak 's chapter 31, link in comments.

When I woke the sky was no longer a jet black but, a royal blue; daylight was approaching.

It took me a good few minutes to come to my senses, I had been out for a good few hours.

I sat up as my name was being called, I felt the grip around my shoulder tighten.

"Karin, can you hear me?" The voice was undoubtedly Daniel's. He pulled me in closer to him as I registered where I was, and what was happening. Still happening.

"I can hear you." I whispered after sometime, meeting the gaze of the Australian. He had a t-shirt tied around his head, which seemed to have finally stopped oozing. Or, at least, the new fabric wasn't stained, yet. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." he answered, I could feel him shaking though. "Are you alright, your hip and-"

"I'll be right as...I don't know the English..." I trailed off noticing my surroundings.

We were sheltered under the canopy of the forest, it was ever so slightly drier here and not as windy. Not to mention further away from the wreckage and the screams of the injured. I could still smell the smoke and aviation fuel though; it was incredibly overpowering.

"Sebastian is doing a bit better, Evan came over about five minutes ago. He's gone to get some more water. I didn't want to leave you." he uttered, his eyes were glazing over. This was like hell. Hell on earth.

"I just want to know where we are."

"Me too, but it's fucking remote wherever it is." He winced as he readjusted himself on the floor of the forest. He was still in a lot of pain.

"What's up?" I asked, noticing that it wasn't just his head that was causing the agony.

"It's... nothing." he inhaled and tensed, his knee was in an odd position.

I looked across at him, his own top was covered in blood and other fluid, presumably from where I had thrown up down the front of him. Twice. This ordeal still felt too raw to be real.

"Daniel, you need to tell me where you're hurting." I attempted to sound a bit more forceful, in reality I didn't know how much more pain and suffering I could be subjected to.

"Just twisted my knee, but I'm fine." He removed his arm from around my shoulder and instead took my hand in his and gestured to my hip. "Can I take a look, there's some dressing left over by the cockpit..."

"You need that for your head."

"No, you are paramount." he sighed as I prepared myself mentally to pull down the waistband of my jeans. Moving the fabric down over the wound was going to be the hardest bit.

"There's plenty of me where I come from." I said, feeling the air hitting the hole that was left across my hipbone. What in God's name could have done that?

"I don't think so." he replied as he gripped my left hand again, I was holding it back just as tight. Getting oxygen to the wound was one of the most painful things, even if it had stopped weeping.

I mumbled something back, still concerned for the driver and putting my own needs on the back burner, not really thinking about the complications that it could lead to.

We sat in silence for a while, trying to get our head around what was going on, or rather, what had gone wrong. My hand was still in his, and it was a comfort amongst all of the misery. His thumb would run along the top of my arm every so often once he had decided to place his other arm around me. I was shaking, I was cold, but I had some warmth there.