((Trent Savage continued from Fountain of Youth
Hey man, where are you?
I thought you woulda been here by now, but...
Is somethin' up?
You can talk to me, y'know.
You don't have to shut me out all the time.
That was all he could focus on as he ebbed in and out of consciousness.
For a moment he thought he could feel someone carrying him, but that feeling quickly went away. Fleeting feeling though it was, it felt comfortable, like he was starting to get used to being lugged around. Fuck using his legs, he thought, he could hire his own chaperone to walk him around the island. Yeah, that'd be nice. It'd be great not to have to think of trivial things like using his own two feet to get around any more. That'd be the sweet life.
But... why was
he being carried around, anyway? Okay, so the first time was his own fault - fucking MOLEHILLS
- but what was this all about? Craig and the others were about to get shot into high heaven when all of a sudden our heroic Mr. Savage blustered in and saved the day by cracking that crazy Kronwall round the head with his trusty club-thing. It was an awesome feeling, knowing that he'd single-handedly saved so many lives all with one little blow to the head.
Speaking of which, his own was throbbing like a bastard.
His blood was pumping normally; a little oxygen for you, capillaries, a little bit more for the lung twins, so why was it hurting so god-damn much? Was it the wound from earlier on? Back at the station? Shit, had he fainted again? Did someone steal his- oh they better not have stolen his stuff. He opened his eyes - slowly. The light burnt a little, but his vision soon returned, allowing him to take a proper look around the area.
He recognised this place.
The residential area... yeah. He and Craig had been here before, on day two. They spent the night in one of these houses, that was right. Then came the morning they'd set off out again, finding themselves in the town center. Then all that crazy shit happened, and he even managed to beat up Nik fucking Kronwall. Good times. Well, they would've been great
times if he could only swat away the gnawing gnat on his brain.
Something's not right.
He took another look around.
His shit really was gone - DICKS - but more importantly, so was Craig. That was weird. The guy hadn't left his side for one second while they'd been here, and now he'd just vanished without a word? No way. It didn't add up. His bags weren't even next to Trent's body, so where the fuck was he? A lash of pain whipped his head as he tried to stand, sending him back down to the floor in writhing agony.
Teeth securely locked in place around his knuckles, he screamed into his fist before attempting that whole standing business again. This time though, he'd be much more steady. He didn't want another train to "Fuckthatreallyfuckin'hurts
ville. And so he did, much more slowly, much more stiff, he gradually got to his feet before giving out a quality sigh and letting himself fall back onto the wall.
A third look around the little settlement showed signs of people still being there, which worried him. Were they the ones who brought him here? Who knew. What was he going to do without a weapon and a giant head wound, anyway? Bleed on them? Do a little head-banging to see how many shakes it would take to dislocate his brain from his skull? Fuck that. He needed his things and he needed his friends.
Vi, Craig, you just wait. I'm gonna find you guys, and then the three of us are gettin' the fuck outta here while the gettin's good.
And with shaky, fumbling steps - fuuuuck the paaaain - he wandered his way towards the fountain which, he hoped, would still have his things.
((Trent Savage continued elsewhere))