Martha My Dear, Where Have You Gone?

Part 4

"Gosh, I'm freezing!" John thought, annoyed, as he rubbed his cold hands together. "All of this for a dirty old mutt! Paul better be thankful he's got me as a mate. Otherwise..."

"Agh!" suddenly reached John's throbbing ears.

"Oh right. He may be in pain. His leg's broken after all. I shouldn't be frustrated."

"How are you doin', lad?" John asked his friend concernedly.

"I'm alright," Paul answered shortly and John could tell he was growing frustrated with himself and the situation.

The raging, blinding snowstorm didn't improve either of their moods, though. John was at the point of going home and forgetting about Martha until morning. Don't get him wrong, he did care about the poor dog, he just wasn't interested in spending enough time in the frigid air to contract Hypothermia. But, he had promised...

Paul was physically beginning to reach his breaking point. There was absolutely no way he was going to let John know that, though, for he was going to find his dog, no matter the consequence. He just wished that that tree branch hadn't broken his leg. He would have so much vigor now if it hadn't. Not to mention he wouldn't be needing John to help him walk. But, no matter! They were going to find Martha! Just a little more walking. That's all.

"Paul? What's your plan here?" John asked cautiously as he stopped walking, which, of course, meant Paul had to stop walking as well.

"The plan is we walk until we find her," the bassist answered, irritated.

In the dim light of the street lamps, John could see Paul's pale, angered face and his heart broke for him, yet he still held in a bit of frustration at the same time. He didn't like the idea of him using his leg, but Paul's stubbornness was prohibiting a proper visit to hospital. That fact alone, you could say, was causing John's main frustration. And, as soon as the rhythm guitarist had looked into Paul's glassy eyes that seemed to hold a certain frenetic expression, John was reassured that Paul wasn't doing well. Not to mention the sweat lining his entire face. He just had to get past his friend's stubbornness, but how?

"Macca, that's not a great plan, y'know. We're gonna catch Hypothermia or something," he shuddered as he clenched his eyes shut, for a blast of ice and snow then pounded the duo. The wind howled and it was getting harder and harder to know what was what.

"Shuttap, John! I know that! But I'm not leaving until I find her!" Paul exploded as he pushed John away in anger. It was a terrible decision, though, for Paul's broken leg couldn't hold up his weight and, as soon as John's support left him, he fell straight on the ground, huffing and puffing in anger and pain.

"Paul? Are you alright?" John asked, surprisingly in a calm voice.

"No, John, I'm not," the younger Beatle answered as he began to sob, for he couldn't hold the pain in any longer, both physically and emotionally.

"Well, what do you want to do, mate? Do you want to just let this be until tomorrow or keep looking?" John inquired. Sure, it might have sounded a bit cold, if you'll excuse the pun, but John was at the point of plain business.

"I want Martha to come running up to me right now. That's what I really want," Paul replied as he stared absent-mindedly at the heap of snow covering the frozen ground.

"That would be nice, but it's not exactly realistic," John chuckled.

"Yeah, you're right. Maybe we should just go home like you said," the bassist sighed as he closed his eyes, a tear now sliding out of his closed eyelid.

"Now he's sounding sensible!" John rejoiced internally--for about a millisecond. He then realized something, something that just didn't make sense to him.