The Shelter

Part 4 - The Hand

Karma woke up from aching pains in her hand. What was going on?

Maybe she'd died? She couldn't see or hear anything. But no, her arm was still throbbing. Not dead then.

She tried to move it, gasping when an intense pain hit her. She gasped like a fish for a few seconds, the blinding pain overtaking her senses for a second.

Not doing that again, she promised herself.

She moved her other hand, trying to see where she was. It seemed like she was encased somewhere. She started feeling claustrophobic but decided that she should get more information before freaking out.

She fumbled for her Helmet, sighing in relief when she managed to connect it to her temples. She could hear her breathing again, and when she shuffled, she heard the clacking of what seemed like bricks together.

"Hello?" she whispered. "Anyone?"

Static answered her. No-one was there.

All she remembered was the X reaching towards her. Had they brought her to a cage? Where was she?

And what on Earth was happening with her hand? The pain was making her dizzy and made it hard to think.

Ok, let's try to get a light source, she reasoned.

She got out the charger from her pocket, the blue light enough to see slightly. She vomited as soon as she laid eyes on her hand.

It was stuck under a pile of bricks, completely squashed, bones popping out in some places.

Once Karma had emptied her stomach, she looked further around. She pushed some bricks, but they were too heavy. She was locked in.

"Help!" she whispered frantically in her Helmet. "I need medical help!"

But nobody came.

Nobody heard.

xx-xx

"Hello?" Karma tried. "I need food and medical help. I need rescuing."

She didn't know how much time had passed, but she'd vomited two more times from just the smell clinging to her clothing, the pain in her hand was starting to be unbearable, it was the only thing she could think about. She couldn't swallow the dryness in her throat away and her stomach was growling so loud in the silence.

There was only static.

xx-xx

The claustrophobia was really messing with her brain.

She needed to breathe, she couldn't stretch her legs in the space, and she couldn't move her arm.

ITHURTSITHURTSITHURTS.

The blood was staining her clothes, sticky and the smell filling the small pocket of air she was trapped in. She needed to breathe. She couldn't. She couldn't.

"Please, please, please," she mumbled over and over again. "Please."

xx-xx

"Honestly, I thought I'd probably die a braver way, you know Momma? This is kind of stupid. My hand hurts. I'm hungry," by now, she was just repeating what she was thinking. She was scared of dying in these four tiny walls, in this black canvas, with her broken hand. It had stopped bleeding two or three waking-ups ago, but the pain was still clinging on to her tightly, clutching at her head, her chest, her throat.

"I thought I'd die a hero."

xx-xx

"I don't even know if people miss me. That's the worst part. I don't even know if they're searching for me. They probably don't even know where I went. I should've listened to Martha, I shouldn't have been so careless, I should've..."