When I woke up after having my appendix removed, I was glad to see that there weren't any surgeons or nurses hovering over me. In my drug-addled mind that was the only thing I was concerned about rather than the sleek metal walls around me or the metal gurney I was lying on.
It took me a fair while to come around enough to realise that I wasn't in a recovery room - I was in the morgue, in a drawer, with a toe tag on and judging by the sounds that started coming from somewhere outside, I was no longer alone.
I started to feel the walls around me, jolting when I felt something slide off my stomach and onto the gurney - my phone. Whoever put me in here clearly knew I was still alive and gave me away to call for help. Turning it back on I saw that I had dozens of missed calls and messages from friends and loved ones.
The world had gone to hell while I was under the knife and for all I knew at that point, I was the only one alive. If it hadn't been for Isaac checking the drawers and not immediately shooting me then I'd probably still be stuck in there, mindless and bloodthirsty as the rest of them.
I don't like to think about what might have happened if I hadn't been found. The idea of slowly starving to death in a metal box is scary enough as a theory, let alone as a near miss in real life. To know that pure luck and a stuck trigger is all that stood between me and sudden death isn't reassuring at all.
Still, I'm alive for now. Sure I'm not healing right and might just have the nameless infection that leads to bloodthirst and cannibalism but for now I'm doing okay enough to carry on and help the group survive. I just have to remember to take myself out of here before I lose my mind completely.
Sounds doable to me.
No comments:
Post a Comment