Martha My Dear, Where Have You Gone?

Part 3

"Paul! Where are you?!" John cried, squinting his eyes, for he didn't like the idea of becoming blind due to the incessant, bullet-like snow that was pounding his body.

For a moment, John didn't receive any sort of response at all, which, of course, he found quite worrisome. So, he tried again.

"Macca! Where are you?!"

That time, however, a response was given to the anxious Lennon.

"Over here!" a weakened version of Paul's voice sounded from somewhere in the whirlwind of white.

John immediately ran towards it, hoping and praying that he would actually find his friend in need. Feet sinking and eyes watering, the older man unknowingly crept closer and closer to his young mate. Only a few feet away now, almost there, until...

"Ahhhh!!" pierced through John's cold ears.

"Paul!" John managed to bellow before tripping over an object lying on the icy snow. His hands skidded across the powder, which caused his stomach and chin to hit the ground first. And here's a clue for you all, the object was Paul.

"Oomf!" John yelped once he had made impact. "I swear!" he then spat as he sat upright. "Paul? Was that you?"

"Sadly," Paul croaked back after a small sob.

It was then John could finally see the faint, horizontal outline of Paul McCartney. Through the wind and snow, he could make out that Paul's face was contorted with a look of intense pain and fear and that his lower body was half hidden by a large, bulky object. "Oh gosh, is that...a tree branch?" John thought inwardly.

"Paul, what happened?" the rhythm guitarist cried as he cupped his hands around his mouth as an attempt to block out the wind.

"This tree branch fell on me leg!" Paul voiced as loud as he could. "I think my leg's broken!" he then added with an obvious grimace as his head fell back onto the snowy ground below, for it was too heavy for him to hold up any longer.

"Oh my gosh, Macca," John sighed as he organized his crowding thoughts. What was he supposed to do?

However, his thoughts were interrupted by Paul's frail voice.

"John?" he said.

"Yeah, Paul?" John replied anxiously as he adjusted his almost useless glasses, for they were fogged-over substantially.

"Did you find Martha?"

"That silly git. Half of his body is smashed against a tree branch, his leg is broken, and he's worried about a darn dog. Classic McCartney," John reflected with a slight smile, yet his emotions wanted to lean the way of irritation and worry. Still, he decided to be gentle with the lad. After all, he knew Paul cared about Martha deeply.

"No, Macca. I didn't," John answered, which caused Paul to sigh and frown intensely. "I'm sorry, but I'm sure she'll turn up," he added.

"Yeah, I guess," Paul muttered after another wince.

"But, in the meantime, we need to get you up and to hospital," John said as he got up himself and made his way over to his songwriting partner. "If your leg is broken, you need some help."

"No, John. I need to find Martha. If you'll get this blasted tree branch off my leg, we can find her sooner!" he cried as he began to uselessly attempt to lift the branch.

Ignoring his friend's first comment, John lurched forward to stop Paul from hurting himself further.

"Paul, stop!" John screeched as he quickly arrived at Paul's side. "I'll get it!"