Survivors by Amy Marsden

Author:Amy Marsden [Marsden, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: LGBTQIA+, paranormal, bisexual, post-apocalyptic, dark, medical personnel, scientist, military
Publisher: NineStar Press
Published: 2021-08-20T14:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

James struggled against waking, the remnants of his dream fading even as he clutched at them. Something about the sun and a smile. The further the dream slipped away, the colder he felt.

He lay on a shallow, uncomfortable mattress. He tried to relax on the thin surface, lifting his hand from underneath the warm blanket to rub his face. He winced as he touched the bruise blackening his eye and groaned as the pain in his shoulder loudly announced itself. Agony pounded an offbeat rhythm throughout his body, and he longed for unconsciousness to claim him once more.

When it became apparent that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, James turned his attention to taking stock of his injuries. His shoulder hurt the most by a fair margin—the pain there threatened to overwhelm all else. He gritted his teeth and breathed as evenly as he could, trying to concentrate on the lesser hurts.

His throat ached, like nails had scraped it all from the inside, and the left side of his face—chiefly the eye—was tender and sore. The rest of him was battered and bruised, and a pervasive fragility coated every inch of his body, like his skin would crumble at a touch.

He remembered the air base and leading the enemies away from the civilians. He remembered getting shot. Getting fucking shot. Typical.

The gunshot wound worried him. He couldn’t move his arm when he tried, and he had to stop immediately as another wave of pain washed over him. Had he been given any form of painkiller at all? It didn’t feel like it.

He blinked open his eyes, squinting against the bright light emanating from seemingly everywhere. The room was unfamiliar—the white walls appeared too bright in the light, and a thick black sheet covered the single window. Where was he? A hospital? It looked like a hospital room. Images of his father’s last weeks accosted his mind, and it took every ounce of willpower to force them out of his head. He hated hospitals.

He rubbed his face again and registered the growth of hair there. How long had he been unconscious? What happened? Was everyone all right? He made to sit up, but the room spun, and he almost passed out, nausea rising as he pulled in several deep breaths of cool air.

He relaxed back on the thin mattress, not moving. It was too painful.

Would he be able to use his arm again soon? He needed both arms. With a long exhale through his nose, James turned his mind back to his surroundings in a futile attempt to ignore his shoulder and the worry gnawing at him.

He wasn’t in his armour anymore, only his boxers. No wonder he felt cold. He had an IV line going into his right hand, and other wires connected him to a heart rate monitor, the beeps steady and strong. A sling cradled his left arm, and thick bandages covered his shoulder. Maybe that’s why I can’t move it.

The door creaked open, and a woman stepped through.

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